Its a Love Story- Chapter 2

Picture a high school classroom.  There is a blonde, 17 year old girl, sitting in a desk in the front row, as this seemed to be the only seat available.  She has shoulder length hair, carefully curled under.  She is sitting with one leg crossed as she always does, slightly slouched, in an “I’m untouchable,” sort of way. Not because she is, but because that is what she has to be to make it through this day.  The other students filing into the Spanish III classroom, just as the bell is ringing are now whispering to each other about who the heck “that-girl” is.  She can hear it all, pretends not to, and for about the 63rd time since she woke up, she is forcing back tears into her burning eyes.  She takes herself back in time about a month when she could walk into her highschool with a smile on her face, say good morning to friends and teachers, walk with confidence, and love being a teenager.  But ever since her parents decided to move to Ohio from Ames, Iowa at the end of her Junior year, all she has done is cry.  Her dreams of her senior year with her best friends, planning for the senior traditions, homecoming, prom, college visits, walking side by side during graduation with teenagers that she weathered and celebrated the years of highschool with …. gone.
Now, she is just a stranger.  A stranger who doesn’t want to be in this Spanish classroom.
As the girl sits, completely oblivious, there is a tall, dark boy who takes his seat in the back row.  He has black hair, moussed.  He is wearing a sweater vest over a white tee-shirt and baggy jeans.  He comes in laughing and joking with his buddy and also wonders and whispers about “that girl.”  He is thinking that the back of That Girl’s head is awfully nice.  There haven’t been a lot of heads that have turned his, or made him stop in his tracks, but this one does.  He sits down with one leg in the aisle (as he is too tall to fit his knees under the chair-desk), casually puts his chin in his hand with one index finger pointing up (the rest in a fist), resting on his cheek as he always does. 
The Spanish teacher calls the class to order, indicates that there is a new girl in class, as if they didn’t notice already and comes over to That Girl.  She rattles off a string of sentences in Spanish, testing her and That Girl doesn’t even flinch.  She responds back to the teacher in Spanish, wherein the teacher smiles and says “You will do great here.”  That girl knows the statement was made about the class, but can’t help wondering if she really will do great here. 
When the bell rings, That Girl stands slowly, gathers her bag, and behind her “Alejandro” does the same, but slower than he usually does.  He’s waiting to see if the front of That Girl’s head is as good as the back.  She turns around, their eyes meet.  He smiles.  And That Girl’s face remains stoney, as she walk briskly out into the hall to find her way to the next class.  As she makes her way through the hall, teenage girls stare, glare and slip their hands into their boyfriends’ hands.  Other girls shyly smile at her, but say nothing.  And That Girl slips into the bathroom, into a stall, and lets the tears she has been holding back fall.


Its a Love Story- Part 1

Once upon a time there was a girl.  And she kissed some toads.  These toads were all very different from each other.  You see, the girl was trying out all kinds of types of toads, in order to find the one who would turn into a prince. 
The girl tried “The All American”- toad
The girl tried “The Body Builder”- very nice, but still a toad
The girl tried “The Senior”-toad, big mistake
The girl tried “The International”-toad, variety is NOT the spice of life
The girl tried “007”-toad
She wanted a prince who would think she is pretty, never stop thinking about her, want to be with her all the time, and know that he couldn’t live without her.  He would find her funny and not be scared off by her silly quirks.  And maybe, just maybe, he would be pretty cute too.  But none of the toads turned into princes.    If only the girl had known that she didn’t need to kiss toads, would regret kissing toads.   That if she had just waited, her Prince would find her.

When the F Word is Funny

Dear Donovan,
*I find it fascinating every day how different boys are from girls.  You are certainly nothing like your sisters.  The idea that you would be completely different and unique from your sisters used to terrify me, but now I realize that it is a new adventure.
*You love choo choos.  The first thing you ask for in the morning is to watch “choo choo show” while you eat your breakfast.  And oh my, if a choo choo is paired with a “neigh” you are in little boy heaven!
*You have ZERO patience.  When you want something, you want it now and will repeat your request like a broken record until you win.
*You could have been the model for the “Family Guy” clip of  Stewie repeating the word “mom.”
*You are now 2 years old and say truck in a way that I can’t spell out here and someday I’ll tell you that it is a naughty word, but for right now, it is pretty darn funny. {It starts with an “f” and ends in “ck,” and for some reason this is also the word you use for “rocking” in the rocking chair….. really inappropriate}

*Never have I seen such opinion in such a tiny little body. Who knew that a 2 year old could get so furious about having his picture taken.

“No Mom. No Pishur.”


I was unaware before you came into my life that having someone scream at me and be absolutely furious with me…. could make me laugh so hard that I struggle not to drop the camera in the snow.

*You love to dump buckets of toys on the ground, and have to be physically removed from standing in the fridge

*Say the word “eww” with these little pursed lips and such feeling that I really believe whatever it is,  really is disgusting
*I completely melt when you say “tanks Mom” (thanks) because you say it in such a way that makes me feel like your lunch might as well have been the moon.
*I love how you shorten words and/or changes their names entirely! 
Balloon = loon

Layla = La

Izzy = Cici
Addison = Ads
Horse = Neigh
I love you = Lub woo
*This weekend we went as an entire family to get your hair cut. All of your sisters and I stood there, obnoxiously surrounding the poor Master Cuts stylist, oohing and aahing at how super cute you are.  I personally called you handsome at least 15 times, said you are the cutest baby on the planet 3 or 5 or 20 times, may have even forced the stylist to admit that this must be the cutest little boy she has ever seen… Needless to say, we all think that you are utterly fantastic.
And Donovan, most importantly, I lub woo too.

Its a Love Story

It is a well known fact that I am madly in love with my husband. He’s dreamy.  I tend to tell anyone around a long string of fabulous adjectives that describe him.  Not to brag.  No, I do it because I can’t help it.  Its like finding a truly wondorous new shampoo that changes your life.  You don’t keep that to yourself!  You tell the world. You know, except that he’s not shampoo and I’m NOT sharing him.  You get the idea though.  Its happy news. 
I write this in the hope that it will give someone hope.  I don’t believe that I got the ONLY dream man in the world.  There are others out there.  I write this in the hope that someone will find that Love is real.  It is attainable.  It is possible.  Love that doesn’t hurt.  Real, God given LOVE.
Alex is goodness. 
He is full of integrity (He doesn’t like it when I describe him that way,  it is just who he is, not something that he attempts). 
He truly thinks I am beautiful.
He WORKS for his family.  Dude pours every ounce of {substantial} intelligence into his job to provide for his family.
Makes dinner without thought, hesitation, long suffering sigh, complaint or pointed glances at me, if he arrives home to find me sick or tired, or with a migraine.

So anyway.  If ya’ll can bare with an overdose of  puppies and rainbows and happiness with me, I’ll do a few posts on our love story.

What Does March Look Like in Ohio??

In case you were wondering March in Ohio does not involve bikes.  Or sidewalk chalk.  Or flowers. Or buds on trees.  And honestly, this is also what April can look like from time to time. 

This is what a swing set looks like in March:

This is what my street looks like in March
This is what a rhododendron looks like, in Ohio, in March:
This is my backyard, in March.
Happy March to ya, may it bring you less snow than what we have.  May your March bring you tulips and daffodils and crocuses.  Sunshine, blue sky, and warm air.

To Jump or Not to Jump

He stands at the very top of the stairs waiting.  Does a few quick squats while he decides.  Is today going to be the day?  Will this be the time where he can jump off that step into my waiting arms without first feeling Mommy’s hands under his arms?  Will he jump without the security of touch? 

{this is not the spot from which I encouraged him to jump, I do encourage safety}
He has complete faith in me.  I’ve never dropped him.  But his fear of heights and stairs keeps him from the comfort of my arms.  Without the physical presence of my hands on his waist, he does not want to jump.  But if he did.  If he jumped with his little footie pajamaed feet, into my waiting arms, he just might find that it is quite a thrill.  A little adrenaline rush.  I’m sure that we would smile and laugh after the leap.  I’m sure he would want to do it again. 
How many times do I do that to God?  He’s never given me reason to think that he won’t catch me.  That we won’t have the time of our lives if I would just jump.  But will I?

What keeps you from jumping?  Is there a “jump”  that you really want to attempt, but fear is holding you back?