Just don't forget the Bug

I like to think I'm a fairly laid back mom. Color on the table? Get a baby wipe. Splash ketchup on the beige carpet? A little carpet stain remover will do the trick. Fell asleep before your bath three nights in a row? As long as he doesn't stink, we're fine. French fries for dinner? Only once a month or so, but hey, he only ate green beans last night, so it all evens out.

The husband on the other hand insists upon much more order than I do. This comes from him being a teacher; without classroom organization, there is no sanity. And so, I allow him to insist on the order that he needs, as long as it doesn't cause more work for me. Good deal, huh?

And so, today, my father-in-law (FIL) and The Husband took Bug out to lunch and then for a visit to the taxidermist. What a lovely man-bonding activity for a lovely August afternoon. I'm grateful for the lack of invitation. Being the SuperDad that he is, The Husband remembered to bring Bug's sippy cup, and I'm sure a spare Pull-Up or two. (I think he brings the cup just to avoid having to share his lemonade with the drink-thief-disguised-as-a-drool-faucet, but I can't blame him. Toddler backwash is nas-tay.) However, when my cell phone rang at 1pm, it was an apologetic Husband informing me that we would need to purchase a new straw-style sippy cup for Bug because his was left behind in the restaurant. To prove how laid-back of a mom I really am, my response was not "Oh no! Is it too late to go back for the cup?", but instead, "You didn't forget Bug, did you?"

Eh, a cup can be replaced. A replacement Bug would take 9 months of baking and a little thing called human cloning.

I'm happy to be a laid back mom.

A noble profession

Whenever I tell people what The Husband does for a living, they gush about how wonderful he must be, how patient, how rewarding, how kind. All of these things are true. He's a special education teacher, working mostly with children with autism or other disorders that require the children to be in special needs classrooms. The Husband IS a kind, patient man who loves his students and feels the joy of emotional rewards when his students succeed at a milestone they struggled with in the past.

It's interesting to me to hear all of these comments, but one in particular always strikes me: the use of the word "noble." I usually apply "noble" firefighters and cancer researchers and Girl Scouts who stand outside the grocery store peddling their cookies (what could be more noble a vocation than to ensure that my midnight cookie cravings are satisfied?). However, The Husband and I met in high school. I've seen him in rented tuxes more times than I can count on one hand, we helped each other recover from his 21st birthday celebration (perhaps our least noble undertaking, by far), and I watch him play "Ninja Gaiden" until midnight.

But then, I remind myself that nobility comes in far greater capacities than in what one does for a living. It comes from kissing scraped knees, changing squirmy toddlers, teaching a little boy how to pee while standing, holding my hair while I puke, sitting by my side during hour 26 of labor, and calling to say hi just because.

And so, when someone says, for the 13th time in a month, "Wow, he must be a really great person!" I smile graciously and say, "Yes, he's quite the noble guy, isn't he?"

And so....I'm happy to be married to such a noble man.

Blogging: Attempt #1: The introduction

I will make no presumptions of my own ability to keep up with the blogosphere. I'm a veteran message boarder, journal reader, conversation lurker, Myspacer, Facebooker, and Friendster-er, so why not add "blogger" to the list, right?

So, we'll start with an introduction. This is me:



I'm the one on the left. The one on the right is my shadow, progeny, chatterbox, mimic-son, Michael, henceforth to be referred to as Bug. My name is Denise and I'm 29. Yes, I'm REALLY 29. Not *wink*29*wink* or celebrating the anniversary of my 29th birthday or anything. I was born in 1979, which means on my last birthday, I had 29 candles on my birthday blackberry pie.

That's the day that I decided that I want to be happy about turning 30. I don't want to dread the "big 3-0", in fact, I want to revel in the newness that a new decade provides. Once you hit 21, the only exciting birthdays left are the 5s and 0s. I want 30 to be fun, exciting, and something I look forward to for weeks leading up to the big day. I want it to be a BIG DAY. Hear that Husband? I expect a celebration of life. Balloons. Food. Friends. Alcohol. Someone to take Bug when I'm teetering on the edge between "funny" and "drunk." Note to self: email this blog to The Husband.

Speaking of The Husband, this is him, or more accurately, this is him, with me, and Bug. His name is Mike, henceforth to be known as The Husband:



We've been married for 5.5 years, and he's 29, too. However, as he's likely to remind you, his birthday is 6 months after mine. What he doesn't remember is that HIS 30th Birthday Bonanza will be a reflection of my own 30th Birthday Bonanza, so it better be good.

And so, as I hope to end all blogs, I will end this one with what I'm happy to be today. Sometimes it will be "breathing" and other days it will be "a mom." Today, I'll just say, I'm happy to be me, and all that it entails.