the sentry

It was jealousy at first sight.

What, prey tell, was this person doing, coming into our house, stinking it up? And the noise! Oh the ear splitting noise! In the middle of the night for Pete's sake.

How could everyone be paying so much attention to this miniature person? She has no hair! And there I was with locks and locks of soft curly hair. And look at my eyes. Couldn't they see how sad I was? How forlorn?

Little by little things have changed. It may be defeat, however, we think it's much closer to acceptance.

He tries to lick her downy head, ever so slyly so as not to be detected. Just one lick as he passes by.

And he has become the nap centurion. Maybe it's the soothing Baby Einstein music that keeps him there, but we like to think that he has finally fallen in love.

the thing about dogs

Are dogs a pain in the ass? Why yes they are, but just like exercise, the benefits far exceed the irritation.

the pecked hen

Sugar Daddy has flown the coop.

He took off to Cabo San Lucas for five days to spear fish and generally act like a caveman. In a moment of pure insanity, I encouraged him to go. I must be some kind of stupid.

So I'm going it alone.

And it's not so fun. I'm not complaining per se. I'm just informing the public so that everyone will feel sorry for me.

When my husband is home, I have a tendency to feel like I must be a director so that things get done. And I have been known to "micromanage" such chores as diaper changes and tooth brushing. But one must always wipe from front to back when changing little girls and take extra time on the molars of a sugar crazed boy. These are widely known facts.

"I feel like a pecked hen. You correct everything I do." Ben said one day.

"I believe the phrase is hen pecked my dear." I said.

"Case in point." he mumbled and went back to making up the bed so that it looked like a child had made it.

But now I'm missing my pecked hen.

I'm missing how good he is at entertaining the boy in the evening. I'm missing how he takes the trash out with ease and makes sure my Red Bull is chilled and waiting for me before I even know I want one. I'm missing how he perfectly fills out the right side of the bed and lays his hand in the small of my back as we drift off to sleep.

I vow to spend less time pecking and more time noticing the delightful minutiae of my life with Sugar Daddy.

Along with the pecked hen, we have the chagrined hound.

Finnigan has taken the arrival of the new baby pretty hard. Knowing that his chances of being my baby ever again are slim to none, he has taken to harassing everyone else non-stop for attention.

Just look at that face. You know he's saying "Just love me Mom." I guess I need to spend some one on one time with him. I'll get right on that after I feed and change the baby, unload the dishwasher, cycle the laundry, find some staples for Thom's art project, fill out some thank you cards and call to make a well baby appointment with the doctor. Ey yi yi.

There really is no rest for the wicked.

P.S. The good news is I love my flower shoes.

tokens

In honor of Valentine's Day, which is quickly approaching (I better get crackin on my gifts), I give you 5 little things that make me feel loved in a big way.


#1. When Sugar Daddy asks for my opinion on certain things and he listens to what I have to say, I know he sees me as not just his wife, but as person with equal life experience and good judgement.




#2. When people love the gifts I give them so much they cry, I feel loved and happy. Not because they are crying of course. No, that can be a little embarrassing. Just because it reminds me that the things I do are valued.




#3. In our quiet moments, when Thom sits on my lap and plays with my hair and we talk about his day, I know that I am not just his mother. I am his mommy.

#4. Although it drives me absolutely bizerk, I know that my dog, Finnigan, is madly in love with me because he follows me EVERYWHERE.


#5. And last but not lest, I know Sugar Daddy is head over heels for me because when he comes home from work, and there is glitter all over the kitchen floor, canvases, brushes, paint and paper strewn around the table, no dinner in sight and the laundry is crawling up the wall, he kisses me and asks to see what I am working on. Then he clears a spot on the counter and makes us all quesadillas. Now that is love.

kraken n' coffee

Can anyone out there tell me why I am so incredibly fascinated by Jacque Cousteau? I mean really, I have never even been diving. I do, however, narrate to myself with a French accent when I snorkel. It seems more exotic that way. I love to find old publications of Cousteau's books. The colors in them are so bright, so unreal. He fancied himself a serious biologist, but he interpreted things the way he wanted to see them. I guess I'm a little that way as well.

Jump with me now from Cousteu to just plain crazy. What's with sailors and their legends and superstitions? They're worse than baseball players. Did you know that Scottish law once required fishermen to wear a gold earring, which was used to pay for funeral expenses if they were drowned and washed ashore? Sailors gave us mermaids and kraken, that oh so mythical octopus like creature that attacks ships apparently to devour the people aboard. Now that's just silly. But I couldn't leave something like that alone. I had to immortalize it in jewelry as I have a tendency to do.

So there's all that swarthy sea business, and then there's Fin. My mocha cappuccino cutie pie. He's irresistible.