No birthday pictures this year, well, not yet. Tom spent his birthday in Sun Valley for a conference. Like I do every year I get to gush about the man that I love. This year I just want to mention some great things I've learned from Tom. I think that's the best compliment anyway.
the list: Thanks Tom for:
Teaching me slow and steady wins the race. This man is a pacer. I'm telling you. If Tom has to report to a surgery by 7, he's there by 6:45. Every time. Every day. If it's 5, he's there by 4:45. If it's noon, he's there by 7 anyway. I just love that he's consistent. I love that he gets his life organized in a way that he can accomplish all that is required. And then he still helps me, and is playing with the kids.This is really a big thing that I've learned from him this year.
Smell the roses. When Tom comes home I'm a whirl wind. I've been on the floor playing with the kids, sharing snacks, talking, doing homework and it's time to get dinner going, get the house picked up. Da,da,da,da,da...march, march, march. SO, not always do I run to the door waiting for prince charming (but sometimes I do) and when Tom comes in the kitchen it's not uncommon for him to recieve a whisk, dirty diaper, or a crying baby. But, he never fails to stop me and steal a kiss. It's just those little things that he does. I think I'll start waiting by the door more often, I sound really heartless!
Well, a kiddo is up, which means I'm done. Here's the bottom line: another year has come and passed and I'm noticing more everyday why I married the guy.
Saturday, January 21, 2012
The sweetest things
So, you want to know why I don't post a lot, right? Well, I have a hard time uploading pics from the camera, then to the blog. AND, if you aren't posting pics who cares right? Yeah, except I still love to read posts without pics, so you just may have to hear me rant and rave without beautiful pictures...until I get organized to get all my pics on my jump drive. Okay, so I'm suppose to be in bed, but I just laid there in pain (you know the womanly sort) and decided since I couldn't sleep, I miz'well be organizing something...and I may miss Tom a little.
While I was organizing my email I found some pics that Danica took 3ish years ago. (OH Danica, I love you to bits!)
While I was organizing my email I found some pics that Danica took 3ish years ago. (OH Danica, I love you to bits!)
Mary once commented that life flys by too quickly and she can't stand seeing her boy grow up so fast. At the time it felt like they'd never get older (at the time they were 2 &3ish). But, look- my babies are no longer babies. It's one of those times that you can't decide to cry and ache or smile and be glad. In the end, I'm going to shed a little tear just because as a mom seeing your children as babies-you see so much. And you remember so much- I can hear Paul's giggle. But I'm much more glad. And content, I don't wish it went (still going) different; even when I wish I had learned lessons then that I know now. You can't help growing up with your kids, and you can't beat yourself up about it. Instead, I'm glad I sat with them. I'm glad we ate a million apples and went to the library to pull all the books off the shelf. I'm glad that I've had to vaccuum a million crackers, fruit snacks, crayons out of my car. I don't care. I love eating together, even in the car. I'm glad we had playgroups, park days, and that they slept in my bed more than they should. I'm glad of the times we watched tv together and I'd kiss and smell their heads. I'm glad that we'd read "oops" a gazillion times. I'm glad for dimpled hands that I'd kiss and eat and put all over my face. There was one night Tom was gone. It was, way past bed time-like 10pm. The kids were up, just wouldn't go to bed and I was done. My shift was over. So I pulled out this left over rootbeer from who- knows -where. We all sat down on the kitchen floor and passes around the liter and ate graham crackers. It was the best time ever. I bet you could cut the air with scissors the love was that thick.
Here's to children, the sweetest things.
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