the valentine’s saga, continued….

Shall we pick up where I left off?

Let’s see…..

Oh yes, Saturday night. PB puked all night long. For my friends who didn’t see the first post, Ben had walking pneumonia and an ear infection Friday. I had a sinus infection. PB had a cold. A fun time was had by all.

Sunday, my savior of a mother came and got PB so Ben and I could scrub the house down. We cleaned for 3 hours, scouring every single thing in the house and washing at least 75 loads of laundry. My stomach felt a little funky Sunday morning, but I thought nothing of it. We went to pick up PB from my parents house and thought he looked much better. He was playing around and acting his usual self.

And then he threw up again.

So all Sunday night, he was feeling pretty icky. Ben took him to the doctor on Monday morning, to find out he had a double ear infection, walking pneumonia (just like dad!), and a stomach virus. At this point, Ben and I expected our roof to collapse or our floors to fall out from under us. After literally a whole month of sickness shared in our house, we were starting to feel defeated. Doesn’t it always seem that when it rains, it pours? Though I will say this, I am blessed, blessed, blessed that this is all we are dealing with. I know my little problems are trivial compared to what others go through. I am so thankful for stupid ole’ viruses and ear infections. I know it could be so much worse.

Anyway, we were sitting on the couch Monday night, playing with our sweet boy (who was feeling a tad better), when I simply looked at Ben and said, “I think I’m going to puke”.

And sure enough, that’s what I did. ALLLLLLLLLLLLL night long.

So instead of boring you with traditional Valentine’s things, like flowers and candy and notes to my honey, I’m gonna get real and share our Valentine’s Day in numbers.

4 – the number of consecutive weeks that someone in our house has been sick.
24 – the number of times I puked
4 – the number of toilet paper rolls I went through (because, you know, a stomach virus isn’t a stomach virus unless you’re crapping all over yourself)
57320405 – the number of minutes I spent on the commode, with my head hanging in the trash can
24 – the number of hours it’s been since I slept
2 – the number of sweet, sweet, parents I have, who are taking care of my baby boy while our house is a war zone
5 – the number of pounds I’ve lost so far (hmmmm, a stomach virus as a weight loss tool??)
7 – the number of Sprites and Gatorades I’ve had in the last 18 hours
3948173419347 – the number of times Ben and I have laughed at our current situation. It’s funny, the first Valentine’s Day that Ben and I spent together, we cooked a nice meal together, held hands, and exchanged sappy Valentine’s cards. We said all kinds of sweet things to each other, because we were so much in love, you know. The flowers, the cards, the candies, it was just a little frickin’ storybook day. I probably posted some crap on Facebook about how lucky I was to have him as my boyfriend. I probably called him sexy and said that he was so romantic.

I had no idea.

You know what, I am a stinkin’ lucky girl. I really feel like the luckiest girl in the world this Valentine’s Day. I got more than roses or diamonds or candies. I got a good man who takes care of his family. He takes such good care of our baby when I can’t help at all. He waits on me hand and foot. He holds my head over the commode so I won’t bust it on the lid while I puke. He cleans the vomit on the bathroom floor. He wipes the puke from my face.

Now, that’s sexy. And romantic.

This year’s V-day card. It only seemed appropriate.

This will probably go down as one of the most memorable Valentine’s Days, for all the right reasons, of course.

What has been your most memorable Valentine’s Day?

Happy Valentine’s Day, friends! I hope you have a wonderful day, free of vomit, and full of lots of sweet things. Eat some chocolate for me!

Have a blessed Tuesday 🙂

the valentine’s day weekend.

This past weekend, Ben and I planned to celebrate Valentine’s Day. We’d planned to go out to eat, and to go see ‘Safehouse’. Is it just me or does that movie look so bad to the bone? I could already taste the popcorn and that large coke.

But…..

Things didn’t go exactly like we planned.

Friday night we had an incredibly romantic date on the couch. PB went to bed a little early, so we had the night alllll to ourselves 😉 I laid on the left side of the couch, with toilet paper stuck up my nose to stop the drip. Ben laid on the right side of the couch wrapped up in 14 blankets. I had a sinus infection, and Ben had walking pneumonia and an ear infection.

Saturday, it got even better.

Ben and I divided our time between the couch and the bathroom. As we sat on the couch, eating leftover Chili, toilet paper sticking out of our noses, Ben looked at me and laughed and said, “Happy Valentine’s Day, momma”. I rolled my eyes.

Later that night, we put PB to bed, and, as I was feeling a little better, I treated myself to a nice long bubble bath. It was 10:12 p.m. (a late night for me, I might add) I was smelling fresh and clean, and just getting ready to dry my hair when I heard an odd noise coming from PB’s room. We walked in to find PB standing in his crib, drenched in puke. He had thrown up all over himself, his bed, and his carpet. We were up with him all night. I think he managed to puke on every rug/couch/chair we owned.

At 2:14 a.m., as we were rocking him to sleep on the couch, covered in puke ourselves, watching reruns of ‘Friends’, I looked over at Ben and said, “Happy Valentine’s Day to you, too, daddio!”

What else can you do but laugh?

Have a blessed Monday 🙂

i’m a woman. i never say what i mean.

Ben plays in a recreational basketball league.

The games are in the afternoons after work, and I usually don’t mind if he plays. He just gets home a little later and we adjust our routine a little.

But last night, I cared.

And I did what any crazy woman would do.

I lied and told him it was fine.

And here’s the deal. It wasn’t fine with me, dangit. I had a butt load of lesson plans to write. I wasn’t feeling very good. And the house still hasn’t recuperated from PB’s sickness. So I called Ben after work and the conversation went a little something like this:

“Hey”.

“Hey”.

“What time will you be home?”

“Well I’m playing ball this afternoon, so I’ll be home a little later”.

“What? I didn’t know you were playing ball tonight. You didn’t tell me this morning”.

“Yes I did. You said that was fine”.

“Well……(insert a realllllly long sigh here)……. I’m going to need you to hurry home because I’ve got a ton of stuff to do tonight. I’ve got observations and everything tomorrow. I’m still going to have to cook supper, too. I don’t feel good, either. And, my pets’ heads are falling off (okay, I didn’t say that, but it seems like a natural progression). So, you’ll need to hurry up so I can have some help”.

“Okay, that’s fine. I’ll be home as soon as I can”.

Let’s stop here for a second. Look at the second to last paragraph. Can you tell that I’m basically screaming in, ALL CAPS, THAT IF BEN KNOWS WHAT’S GOOD FOR HIM, HE’LL KEEP HIS BUTT AT HOME TONIGHT? Because, actually, that’s what I’m saying to him.

But somehow, this is what he heard, “Okay, sweetie, have fun at your game tonight. I hope you play good. Hurry home so I can give you a big kiss!”

Instead of coming straight out with what I want or don’t want, I like to leave it up to interpretation. The problem is, a man never interprets it the way I intend for it to be interpreted. In this case, I’m telling Ben not to go to the stinkin’ ballgame in the most ‘please feel sorry for me’ kind of way. I’m doing this because I’m a woman and what I say is never really what I mean.

Can I get even a little amen?

Oh, I’m so bad for this when it comes to my marriage. I’m the queen of mind games. And now I’ve met my match.

So when I say, “Sure, go to your ballgame, but please hurry home because I have so much to do”, I really mean “Don’t you dare go to your ballgame, you terd”.

And this is what Ben hears, “Why yes, sweetie! Please have a wonderful time! I hope you score a bunch of points and have a marvelous time bonding with your male companions.”

I’m a woman and I never say what I really mean.

Amen.

Am I alone? Anyone else out there guilty of the interpretive speaking? Anybody else’s husband have hearing similar to Ben’s?

Have a blessed Wednesday 🙂

the ‘think you’re so hott’ desk

When Ben and I were only a few weeks away from getting married, we went to Walmart and bought our first ‘home’ purchase together. It was a white computer desk with a detachable hutch, and I was feeling pretty hott.

It was a big ole’ desk. At the time, I was so excited to be buying something so grown-up with my husband to be, I could have cared less what it looked like. It really wasn’t that bad, though. It wasn’t made of real wood, but it was still pretty. It was white with a brown desk top.

I felt so cool buying that desk. I must have flashed my engagement ring at the checkout counter a zillion times.

We sold that hott computer desk about a month ago. It was just too big for our tiny house, and it really wasn’t functional for us anymore. It had too many open shelves that PB could get in to. I’ll admit, though, I was a little sad to see it go. I got a little sentimental about it.

I started searching for a new computer desk when I ran across this beauty, in my parent’s basement:

And guess what this is? It’s my mom and dad’s ‘think you’re so hott’ computer desk!

This desk has been sitting in their basement for at least 20 years (it’s at least 30 years old). I never paid any attention to it until I needed a really cheap (or free) computer desk. And then, all of the sudden, it looked like a million bucks to me.

I asked mom if I could have it. She said yes. And then she went on to tell me that this was the first thing that her and dad bought as newlyweds. She said she thought she was so hott when they bought that desk.

I had to laugh when she told me this, as I had felt the same thing about our old computer desk. Something about your first ‘home’ purchase as newlyweds that makes you feel like you are just the coolest thing since sliced bread. You kinda feel invincible. You feel so grown up and giddy about your new life with each other. You have so much pride in all that you do together.

I hope we always feel like that.

So, I went to work. First, I washed down the whole desk, removed the hardware, and then sanded it with 80 grit sandpaper. Then, I painted it with 1 coat of primer and 3 coats of paint. I originally thought the whole desk was real wood, but alas, the top of the table was not. I was a little bummed because I had planned on just staining the top of the desk. So I improvised, and painted the top of the desk a deep brown. And then I sanded a little more, and added some stain to the edges to give it an antiqued look. Finally, I added a clear coat of polyurethane to the top of the desk and let it dry for about 3 days.

The finished ‘think you’re so hott desk’:

I spend about $25 on paint and rollers. I also spent $4.50 on new knobs for the top drawers. I spray painted the old pulls to save some money.

Maybe one day, PB and his wife will ask if they can have this ole’ desk as newlyweds. And maybe they’ll think they’re so hott when they bring it in their house together. And then I’ll tell him how his grandparents thought they were so hott when they got the desk, and how Ben and I thought we were so hott when we bought our first computer desk.

And then he’ll tell me that we’re nerds.

What about y’all, do you have any ‘think you’re so hott’ newlywed purchases? Did you feel like a million bucks when you made your first purchase together? Or are we just really nerds?

Have a blessed Wednesday 🙂

the-christmas-tree-putting-up tradition

We put up our Christmas tree Saturday night. I know. It was still several days from Thanksgiving. I’m not trying to steal Thanksgiving’s shine, so until Thanksgiving is over, I’ll call it my Thanksgiving tree. And I’ll give thanks AND celebrate Jesus on Thanksgiving day. See? Works out perfectly.

PB went to play at his granny’s for a little while on Saturday while we put up the tree. So it was just Ben and I, putting up our 3rd little Christmas tree together. The first year we were married, I thought I was so stinkin’ hott when we put up our tree. Putting up a tree together was like marital rite of passage. So we went all out that first year. We had all the time in the world, listening to Christmas music, making Christmas cookies, taking lots of pictures, meticulously decorating the tree, and watching what else but National Lampoon’s Christmas vacation, you know, like they do on those Hallmark movies.

And I determined that this would be our Christmas-tree-putting-up-tradition.

So last year, with a new baby in tow, we put up the same tree, ate store-bought Christmas cookies (because I was lazy and sleep-deprived), turned the Christmas music down real low, threw some ornaments on the tree, and watched about 10 minutes of National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation before we fell asleep.

This year, folks, it was like a scene straight out of a Hallmark Christmas movie.

We got the tree out of the box, and got to work.

Hark! Is that National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation?

Look a little closer.

Gasp. Why, no! It’s a football game!

I managed to squeeze a little ‘Mele Kalikimaka’ in on YouTube. We scarfed down sugar cookies during halftime, tried to strategically place the ornaments out of PB’s reach, and I reminisced about our first Christmas tree as Ben yelled at the refs.

The only thing missing was the Christmas sweaters.

Things have changed since our first Christmas. And things will continue to change. I like to think our Christmas-tree-putting-up tradition reflects the time in our life. The first year, we were hott stuff, newlyweds, trying to have a Hallmark Christmas. The second year, we were exhausted, new parents, still trying to have that Hallmark Christmas. And this year, we got real. We had about an hour to ourselves so we tossed up the tree, watched football together, ate an obscene amount of sugar cookies, and laughed at our newlywed selves.

It was probably the best Christmas-tree-putting-up to date. Though I can imagine next year’s Christmas-tree-putting-up will probably top this one. I have a feeling PB is gonna be one nasty Christmas tree decorator.

What about y’all? Do you have any not-so-Hallmark Christmas-tree-putting-up traditions?

Have a blessed Monday 🙂

6 years

A couple of days ago, Ben and I celebrated 6 seriously awesome years together. We started dating in September 2005, as little babies in college. Ben had really huge hair, and I still wore eyeliner every day to class. Gah, overachiever.

I call Ben ‘Pearl’ now when I see this hair-do. Doesn’t he look like a church lady?

And now, 6 years later, Ben’s got a nice haircut, and eyeliner is reserved for important matters, such as date night. And weddings. Which now, are coincidentally the same thing.

I like where we’ve been………….

And where we’re going…………

A few days ago, I was having a ‘sentimental’ moment with Ben. I was telling him how much fun I have with him. I told him that I enjoyed our marriage more every day, and that if I’d had any idea how fun marriage was, I would have done it many moons ago. I told him that I still feel as giddy about him as I did 6 years ago.

And Ben, in his most serious expression said this to me:

“Yea, I totally agree. I feel the same way. You know, even the annoying things you do aren’t that bad.”

Romance at its finest.

————————

I apologize for the sparse posting. If you make fun of the man cold, you will catch the man cold. I speak from experience……….

this did happen.

Saturday night, Ben, PB, and I went to a wedding. This is wedding numero 84720 for the summer for us, but I’m not keeping count.

The wedding started at 6:30. We needed to leave our house absolutely no later than 5:45. We were running way behind. I was trying to find a dress that hid my deflated spare tire. Ben and PB were watching 6 football games at the same time. Raise your hand if your husband does that! We’ve got two tv’s in our house. Ben turns both on to different football games, and runs back and forth to each tv watching the games. And then, he proceeds to watch at least 3 different games on each tv, flipping the channels like a mad man. It’s incredibly entertaining for me to watch.

So I put on my bossy pants and told Ben he had 10 minutes to be ready to go out the door. I dressed PB, which takes every bit of 45 minutes. At one point I decided it would be just fine if he went naked to the wedding. He screams and kicks and tries to climb off of the table. I would rather put pants on a rattlesnake than to dress my son.

At 5:57, we walked out the door. I put my makeup on in the car. We got about 10 minutes down the road, and I realized I forgot the directions.

“That’s okay”, Ben says, “I know a shortcut.”

Dear friends, if your husband ever uses the phrase “I know a shortcut”, demand immediately that he stop the car and give you the wheel. This is a lie. There is no shortcut. Don’t you remember what happened to Little Red Riding Hood when she took a shortcut? Don’t.do.it.

“Whatever you say”, I grumbled.

At 6:20, we were 10 minutes into our ‘shortcut’ route, with no end in sight. I was getting fidgety. To be late to a wedding makes it almost pointless to go.

It was now 6:25. I was mad. The wedding would start in 5 minutes. We were nowhere near the venue. We started arguing. It’s my fault because I left the directions at home. It’s my fault because I made Ben shower. It’s my fault because I had to dry my hair. It’s my fault because I let Ben take the shortcut. Is it me, or do men not like to own up to their mistakes sometimes?

Finally, at 6:29, Ben admitted, “I think I went the wrong way”. We made up.

We stopped and asked for directions. At 6:47, we found the wedding site. We were late. We’d missed the entire wedding. People would notice that we were late. They would probably ask questions.

Before we got out of the car, Ben looked back at a peacefully sleeping PB, and he said, “Britt, can we just tell people that PB pooped on himself and we had to stop and change him?”

The things your children do for you……..

Please note the foreign object that my child has in his mouth. Nothing screams good parenting like someone capturing a picture of your child with a strange object in his mouth.

Have a blessed Tuesday 🙂

EEK, as a side note, I forgot to mention my first guest blog was posted yesterday! Check out Life Blessons to see it. I’ve you’ve never read Carmen’s blog, you’re in for a real treat. She’s an incredible woman of God, and writes passionately about her faith, marriage, and living a Godly life. She one of my favorite bloggers 🙂

the lesson-giving nightstand.

This is our bedroom.

On the right side of the bed is our nightstand. It’s nothing fancy. It has ugly, dangling cords hanging from it. But that little nightstand taught me one of the most valuable lessons I’ve learned in my marriage: it’s not always about me. Ouch! It kinda hurts to type that.

When Ben and I first got married, I assumed that life would carry on as usual, and that we would do things the way that I said and I did. Because my way is the only way. It is, obviously, the best way.

Can I get an amen?

We were total newlyweds, like 2 days into marriage and living with each other for the first time. I had just arranged our bedroom with all of our hand-me-down furniture.  Our bedroom felt cozy and comfortable. It felt like our room. It was arranged just as I wanted.

As we were getting ready for bed that night, Ben asked, “where is my nightstand?”

What the heck is he talking about? We’ve got a nightstand and its on my side of the bed. I’ve had a nightstand beside my bed for the last 2827 years of my life. And my married life will be no different.

“What are you talking about? We’ve got a nightstand right here.”

“Yea, but I want it on my side of the bed”.

Ummm….no?

“No, it needs to be on my side of the bed. Plus, aesthetically speaking, it only looks good and fits on my side of the bed”.

“Well, let’s just switch sides of the bed”, he said.

“Are you kidding me? I’ve slept on the right side of the bed my entire life. If you make me move, it will probably disrupt my sleep patterns, and permanently change the woman I am.”

“Okay, just move the nightstand then”.

“No, it looks better over on my side”.

“You don’t always get to have it your way”, he said.

WHAT??!?!?!? Things are just supposed to be done my way. Family vacations, traditions, mealtimes, meal choices, tv time, I just assumed we would do things the way that I have always done them when we got married. That’s in the Bible, isn’t it? Hello? Since when did he get to have a say in things?

I pouted the next day. I did the ‘idunno’ shoulder shrug the majority of the day. You know, when you’re acting like a baby, and someone asks you a question and, although you know the answer, you shrug your shoulders and say ‘idunno’. No? Am I the only one? Okay.

“What do you want for supper tonight?”…………idunno
“What time are you going to the store?”………….idunno
“What is your name?”………idunno

Ben told me that I was acting like a baby and that I needed to grow up. He told me that we were married and that we should share things now and that we needed to compromise.

UGGGHHH. Don’t you hate that moment when you realize you are wrong? And that you are totally acting like a baby, but you don’t want to admit it? Been there. Done that. Story of my life.

I guess it hadn’t hit me yet that we were two different people living together, trying to be our own family. The traditions and way of life I was accustomed to was simply that. My way of doing things. Ben had his own way of doing things. I couldn’t expect him to drop his own lifestyle completely, and live just like me (although that would have been much easier;).

So the next day I put my big girl panties on. I compromised.

Look closely. Do you see that mess on the left side of the bed?

That’s my compromise. That’s Ben’s nightstand. Barely visible. Barely fits. Messy. Just the way he likes it. He keep all kindsa stuff down there. Playbooks, Bibles, flashlights, floss, ink pens, chapstick, Kleenexes…you name it, its probably down there. I don’t mess with it.

I found an old, short stool and crammed it on his side of the bed. He was happy. I was happy. It was my first real compromise as a married girl. It was a good lesson for me. When things didn’t go my way, I could choose to pout (which was/is always a favorite reaction of mine) or I could find a way to make it work for both of us.

Letting go of my stubborness has been and is still one of the biggest challenges of my married life. I’ve realized that now, more than ever, I need to keep that in check. I want PB to see good qualities in his parents. The older he gets, the more I see him imitate Ben and I. I want him to imitate the good qualities, not my stubborness and bossiness. I want him to see compromise. That’s been another one of the unexpected blessings of having a baby. It holds me accountable to be a better wife. I know, one day, when PB is looking for a wife of his own (sniff, sniff) I’ll want him to find someone with admirable qualities. I’ll want him to find someone who values compromise in a marriage. And I can only pray that he will learn that from Ben and I.

I do still think my way is best, though 😉

quality time.

Ben and I traveled 13 hours in less than 36 hours this weekend. We went to a wedding cookout and spent time with our beloved friends (Hi, Re!). I love old friends. You can spend months or years away from them, and then spend one weekend with them and its like you never missed a beat!

In the whopping 36 hours we were gone this weekend, PB managed to cut one of his top teeth and crawl! Not that ole’ army crawl either. This is the real deal, big boy crawl. Seriously, we were gone for 36 hours, and he cuts a tooth and crawls. Next weekend he’ll be stealing my keys and taking my car out for a spin.

Anyway, we’re pooped. It was only the second little trip without the PB that Ben and I have taken. We stayed up way too late and pretended like we were young, cool, and hip. I always miss PB when I’m away from him, and I’m always itching to get back to him. But I think that a little trip here and there with just my Ben is a nice way to remember us.

One of the unexpected blessings of parenthood was my deepened appreciation for Ben as my husband. We spent the first early months of parenthood trying to pretend we knew what we were doing. It was fun. It was hard. It was tons of responsibility. We were thrown into a new lifestyle where our world revolved around our baby. Most days were a blur of diapers, bottles, and sleep deprivation. By the end of the day, Ben and I would crash.

A couple of weeks after PB was born, my amazing momma kept him while Ben and I went on a date. I think we planned on leaving around 6; I started getting ready around 4. I had a big night planned. A fancy restuarant, perhaps. I dressed up and even put on eyeliner. We ended up going to the mall, eating at a little fast food pizza place, and going to the movies. It was the best date I’ve ever been on. I appreciated that alone time with Ben more than I had ever done before.

So this weekend, we made the most of a long 13 hour car ride. We talked about our hopes and plans for PB. We talked about finances, about jobs, and about bills. And then we sang Brad Paisley and Carrie Underwood and variations of John Denver and Beyonce until we were laughing so hard we couldn’t see to drive.

In the rush of everyday life and parenthood, it’s so easy to put my relationship with Ben on the backburner. There’s a baby to be fed, laundry to be done, and bills to be paid. I can get so caught up in being a ‘grown up’ that I forget what started this all. Ben. My very best friend. My favorite buddy. The boy I met in college and fell in love with. The boy I routinely beat in games of ‘horse’. The boy that I made another boy with.We made this little family together.

I’m learning that parenthood adds a whole new dynamic to a marriage. It adds a lot more fun, a little more chaos, and a deeper appreciation for the one who helped to start it all. So today I’m thankful for my awesome husband. I’m thankful that God led me to such an incredible man. I’m thankful for the wonderful dad that he is. And I’m thankful for the little times we get to spend together…just the two of us…to remember what this was all about in the first place…..

P.S. He still doesn’t close the drawers. Nobody is perfect.

Keepin’ it real…..

What about you, dear imaginary friends? What do you do, whether you are parents or not, to keep your marriage fresh?

man things.

Ben.

I love him. He’s vaaanderful. He’s my best friend, the father of my bebe, the fixer of broken things, the wiper of poopy baby butts. He’s quite the catch!

But..he’s still a man. A man who does ‘man’ things. Like pretending he’s listening to me when I am committing one of the greatest unwritten biblical sins: talking during a college football game on tv. Involving a SEC team. Gasp. I know, I should be stoned to death as I am typing this.

Or leaving his clothes on the floor instead of in the laundry basket, because, you know, that might require him to take 2 more steps, and walking isn’t to be wasted.

Or leaving his socks everywhere. Everywhere. I swear, they multiply. The man has more socks than Imelda Marcos had shoes.  Little black socks. He takes them off and wads them into little black socks balls, and I find them everywhere. I have dreams about them. They haunt me.

Or leaving dishes scattered around the house. Or leaving the toilet seat up so I that I fall in during my midnight visit………

You get the point.

But this:

This is new.

I like to call this one the “I’m-looking-for-one-of-my-(cursed)-black-socks-and-instead-of-closing-each- drawer-after-I’m-finished-searching-it-I-will-pull-out-the-proceeding-drawer-even-further-because-I-can’t- be-bothered-with-such-trivial-matters-as-drawer-closing” man thing.

Looks kinda like artwork, doesn’t it?

I learn something new every day.