Dear Andy, thank you for this blog post

The backstory.

What goes around comes around.

(And also, he shaved right after that photo. In case you were worried.)

(PS- I asked him if he was thinking about becoming an Olympic swimmer again.)

The verdict is IN

Arianna’s eyes are turning brown.

Andy 4.

Moriah 0.

(So. Not. Fair.)

Just for fun

See? Told you.

(And it was like 90 degrees out.)

He survived

Well, Andy had quite the day yesterday. First he and a buddy started painting the color on our house, and they started at 7:30 a.m. (Which, for someone who works restaurant hours, is the middle of the night. Sort of.)

They got one coat of one whole side finished. We’re going from a whitish-gray to a grayish blue. Shutters were gray and now they’ll be white. I doubt I’ll post a picture, sorry. Maybe of the color, I’ll think about it.

Okay, here:

I got home this afternoon from running errands to him mowing our front lawn. He has spent all his time priming the house lately, he hasn’t had any time to cut the grass. We even had someone stop and ask if we needed them to cut it. (For a fee, of course.) I politely declined.

Anyway, about halfway through, he must have mowed over a yellow jacket’s nest. He only got stung twice (thank goodness for having worn jeans!). Our neighbor called and asked if we knew our lawn mower was sitting in a huge swarm of bees. Yeah, we noticed.

So the destruction of their nest took the rest of the evening. I watched (and may or may not have laughed my head off) from the comfort of the girls’ bedroom window.

(You would have laughed too if you saw the number of layers he put on and what he looked like with a hoodie cinched around his face with a pair of safety goggles. I’m just saying.)

And then lastly, he had his re-audition for our city’s professional choir. I know he did well; he made me listen to the recording. The only bummer about that whole situation is they have rehearsal on one of his days off. Which, okay, is not really that big of a deal.

Me???

Besides running errands (alone), I can’t really remember what I did yesterday. I did actually make dinner (rare) and last night managed to give all three kids haircuts.

Not that you can tell from Drew’s morning bed hair.

(Which never fails to amuse me.)

Hello, Weekend, nice to see you.

Yesterday was a little bit nuts.

We’ve been planning on painting the exterior of our house all summer (and by we, I mean Andy) and have been slowly stripping the one really weathered side over the past few weeks.

Yesterday we (meaning Andy) started priming that side. Thankfully he had a friend — an actual painter, no less — help for a few hours in the morning. My job was to keep the kids out of the paint.

(Our kids feel strongly they should be involved in everything.)

So we packed up and went swimming. I know summer is slowly coming to a close so we’re trying to soak it up as much as possible.

And it all finally clicked yesterday for Adelaide; she figured out how to hold her breath underwater. Which means she spent a lot of the day like this:

And I STILL have yet to capture her actually jumping off, but this is the closest I’ve gotten:

Definitely my water baby. Maybe if I start her in lessons now, she’ll be ready for the 2024 Summer Olympics?

Andy had finished painting by the time we got home, so I put everyone down for a nap, fixed my hair and makeup, and ran back out to do the grocery shopping ALONE.

Sooooo nice. That’s all I need to say about that.

He also managed to snag a babysitter THAT AFTERNOON so we were able to go out to dinner at the very last minute last night. I let him choose and surprisingly he wanted to go to his own restaurant that he sees nearly every day. (Which speaks highly of the place, yes?)

We spent about two and a half hours there, just talking, relaxing, and eating. (Ohmywordthatwassomuchfood.) A very nice treat for the end of a busy day.

(Even if my date was covered in paint splatter.)

Andy tried to get a Redbox movie for us while I put the kids to bed, but the kiosk that we usually use wasn’t working and he came home empty-handed. That was really fine by me because I promptly fell into bed and fell fast asleep.

(Even if it was only to be waken fifteen million times by various children and one pregnant bladder throughout the night.)

(Why is that?)

Happy Birthday to Andy!

Yes, we like to cram all of our holidays into one week. Mother’s Day, our anniversary, Andy’s birthday, (and when we got married it was also my graduation day)…

Today Drew’s school has their closing chapel so we’re going to that. I’ll try not to cry. (How did I get a kid this big? Wasn’t he born yesterday?) And then later Andy and I are heading out to a bed & breakfast since my mom is here to keep the kids and let’s just say that I CANNOT WAIT!!!

No one will wake me up tomorrow morning!

(It’s the little things.)

Also, thank you all for your congratulations yesterday! Many of you asked what the kids said/thought. We haven’t actually told them yet. We (meaning I) decided to wait until they wouldn’t have so long to wait. Time is eternal when you’re 3.

(That and them asking me every five seconds if the new baby is here yet. They would SO be doing that.)

(It’s called maintaining the peace.)

Q&A Part III – How we met

Remember those questions? Well, Jackie had also asked how Andy and I met, which I saved for this separate post. (Lucky you.)

It was the fall of my sophomore year of college, and a friend and I were chatting in one of our dorm rooms when she casually mentioned that I “needed to be nice to people who smile and wave at [me].”

What! What is that supposed to mean!

I asked her WHO did I not ‘smile and wave’ to? and she would not say. But it was such a pointed remark, I knew she was talking about a specific instance involving a specific person, but one that I clearly did not remember.

Finally she said, “just be nice to Andy,” and tried to leave it at that. I thought she was referring to another, different Andy we were both sort of acquainted with, and was confused as to why on earth she’d care whether I said hi to him or not.

After a little more discussion that I can’t go into here, we figured out we were talking about two totally different people. And then she said she was referring to Andy ______. (Last name omitted for obvious reasons.)

Me: “who’s Andy ______?” I’d never even heard of him before.

(See? How could I have been expected to WAVE and SMILE to someone I didn’t even know existed? So there!)

So of course at that point, I started asking about this mysterious Andy and she declared him “really cute.” That obviously piqued my interest, and she and I started scheming an introduction.

A couple of days after that, we were about to sit down in the cafeteria and she grabbed my arm and nudged me; quickly and discreetly pointing over to a dark-haired guy already seated at a table, I think with one of the professors. She was right, he WAS cute.

A few more days and I spotted him sitting and eating with several of my friends, so I nonchalantly walked over and sat down next to Suzanne. Andy didn’t see me and was standing up to leave, realized I was there, replaced his tray on the table, and sat back down.

And the rest, as they say, is history.

High Time

Earlier in the week Andy mentioned that he had Friday off and a friend of his was coming up to go golfing during the day and would I like to have a girls’ night out later while they stayed home with the kids?

Um, excuse me, are you my husband? Because I’m pretty sure you just turned into Santa Claus.

(If you’re wondering how on earth a mostly-normal, reasonable man would volunteer for such a tremendously exciting Friday night, I should also tell you that his friend planned on bringing his Xbox. Whatever that is.)

(Men.)

So I got on the phone, posthaste, and talked two of my friends into dinner and shopping with me last night.

And, since I’m a fair friend, I told Nicky if she didn’t want to spend any money, she was welcome to sit and wait for us in the car.

I’m very thoughtful, I know.

After dinner we browsed Ann Taylor Loft and all three of us found some good deals. (So no, she didn’t take me up on my car-sitting offer.)

At World Market, I found a few fresh tea towels (because mine were just sad). I bought this green one on top:

And this bicycle/flower shop/Arc de Triomphe one on top:

The three of us at Starbucks:

And then I came home and found this, which made me fall on the floor laughing:

My living room rearranged to accommodate Xbox Fest 2009.

She is her father’s daughter

I vacillated this year on whether or not I would really decorate for Christmas. I do think it’s important to set apart the holiday season for my kids as well as create memories and Christmas traditions as a family.

I just didn’t know if I had it in me to rummage around in the attic, half bent-over, searching for that elusive Christmas box and then dragging it all down and putting it out.

And the dusting, the boxes and trash, the what-the-heck-do-I-do-with-my-regular-nick-knacks quandary, and the DO NOT TOUCH, YES, PRETTY, DO NOT TOUCH!!!

(All that and the side of my personality that says if I’m going to do it, the whole entire house needs bedecking, floor to ceiling. I must enjoy overwhelming myself.)

You can imagine my relief when it finally occurred to me that I didn’t have to have a garland or snowman on every available surface. I don’t even have to use everything I own!

So that was my philosophy for Christmas decorating this year: pick and choose. (You’ll see the results on the 15th.)

But yesterday morning, I was laying in my bed completely asleep, and IN my sleep, I heard the clanking of my porcelain nativity characters somewhere in my dreams. I woke up and shot out of bed.

I walked into the living room to find Madeline standing on a kitchen stool she’d pushed up next to the entertainment center, the angel and a wise man nestled in the crook of her arm, and the rest of the figurines clumped precariously near the edge.

I can’t blame her for being drawn to them. I hadn’t put them out until after she was asleep so they were completely new and wonderful to her. And they’re very beautiful to look at.

I explained that yes, they were fun to look at but they were also very fragile and we don’t touch them. Which, might I just say, is extremely hard for Madeline. Way more so for her than for Drew or Adelaide.

So I was telling Andy about it last night, and his immediate response was “she’s just like me!” He went on to tell me how over-the-top curious he was as a kid and how when his parents left the house, it was a mad dash to rummage through all their stuff.

(And yes, his mom reads my blog – hi, Mom! But Andy said he didn’t care if I posted this story because he’s “27! They can’t be mad about it now!!” So there you have it.)

Anyway, the main thing we talked about was that Andy ALWAYS knew what his Christmas presents were. He’d hunt around in the attic, his parents’ closets, the cellar, everywhere. Even ceiling tiles, I kid you not.

From his own mouth, “I was a SNEAK.”

There was a funny story from one year – his parents knew he’d been sneaking around and didn’t put his main gift under the tree. After the rest of the gifts had been opened, Andy kept asking them, “are you sure there’s not one more present?!” How’s that for giving oneself away.

So basically, yes, she IS her father’s daughter.

7 Things – The Husband Edition

(If you’re brand new here, it will make more sense if you read this first.)

1. Andy gets a fresh towel for every single shower. It drives me to the edge of insanity.
2. He takes at least two showers a day. (See No. 1 above.)
3. He’s a ‘hands-on’ type of dad. For example, he piles all three kids on top of himself and slides down the big slide at the park near our house. It’s a wild ride and the kids love it.
4. He’s an INFP, the confidante. He’s easy to talk to and most people implicitly trust him.
5. We tease each other relentlessly. (Could you tell?!)
6. He leaves his dirty socks next to an empty hamper. (I’ve thought about putting them inside his pillowcase, but that might come back to bite me.)
7. He’s pretty cute. (So I think I’ll keep him.)

Straight from the horse’s mouth

Last week Missy posted her husband’s list of 7 random things about her and it was hilarious. I’ve also been tagged a few times for this meme (did it once already here) and made the mistake of mentioning to Andy that he could, potentially, write the list for me. (I can personally vouch for No. 4.)

(At least he can sing.)

No. 1: Moriah is viciously competitive. Oh yes my friends, don’t be fooled by the cool comic image she keeps up on the blog. Be it the ball field, the coliseum, or the Nertz card game arena, make no mistake it will get ugly.

No. 2: Moriah is the daughter of a retired two-star general. This random fact goes hand in hand with the preceding comment. And since I have the floor for once (and probably never again), I would like to tell a short story about a run-in I had with the general while dating the lovely Moriah.

While visiting her during Christmas break (on base), I made the mistake of coming downstairs to breakfast in what I soon found out was ‘inappropriate’ attire. I had walked into the kitchen with my pseudo early-morning smile and was about to sit on a kitchen stool when I was outflanked by a stern-faced two-star who proceeded to walk me hastily out of the kitchen.

I was then told in a blunt, matter of fact, military, fashion (and I quote) “you see this?” (while tugging on my shirt) “this is an undershirt. It goes under another shirt, now go up stairs and put a shirt on.” I know, I know. WOW!

I grew up in a family where it was common practice for the men to come to the breakfast table in a white tee-shirt. That was the way it was and for the first time, still in my formative years, my presuppositions of breakfast apparel were put into question.

I wish I could say that I took the reproof to heart and learned my lesson; but being somewhat defiant, as most son-in-laws are (at least after they are married), I do make a point to continue in the tradition of my forefathers and even, on occasion (like when Moriah’s dad is over), I simply come to breakfast with, well…no shirt at all. :)

Okay, back on task here. No. 3: Moriah is an excellent still-life sketcher. She is very good at art as long as it is not abstract. A born realist, I would say.

No. 4: Moriah is married to one of the oddest birds that ever walked the planet. Though quite handsome–if I do say so myself–don’t be fooled, this guy can at times put the ’s’ in strange if you know what I mean. (Thankfully I do have veto power on the blog when it comes to attention directed at me. I usually try to oblige.)

No. 5: Moriah is a very rational woman. Unlike me, who, if compared to an amusement park ride, would be about as steady as the Batman Forever rollercoaster at Six Flags. If someone is crying, nine times out of ten it is me. If someone is freaking out, nine times out of ten it is me. If some one needs directions, I can assure you it will be me. I’m not complaining–being opposites has been a huge blessing. (At least for me and the kids; poor Moriah.)

No. 6: Moriah can and will transform herself from a beautiful fashion queen to a household Rosy the Riveter repair-type in the blink of an eye. Oh yes my friends, I have left the house for work with no signs of change, and come home to a totally renovated room. She even has in her possession a female’s guide to household repairs.

No. 7: Moriah does not, nay, will not try new foods that she is skeptical of in any way. She is a woman who knows what she likes and I’m afraid that is the end of it.

Thanks for reading, as I am sure you will never hear from me again.

Cheers.

Andy

Marathon stats

Old Man Andy is currently hobbling around the house and it’s quite the sight to behold. But he and Ezra finished in the top 20% out of about 1,200 runners, so I guess he earned it.

They even received a cool medal:

Funny story. A spectator yelled out to him “ARE YOU SINGLE? IF YOU ARE I WANT YOUR NUMBER AFTER THE RACE!!! …I’M SERIOUS!!!”

Single? Uh, no.

(And who hits on red-faced, sweaty men in the middle of a race?! Who does that?!)

The Life and Times of Andy’s Hair

Originally published April 2008.

[Now, before you think me a terrible wife, let it be known I have full authorization to hit the "publish" button when I'm finished with this post. And thank you, honey, for being such a good sport.]

A couple of years ago I caught Andy, hunched over the toilet, shaving all his hair off. He was going to become the next great swimmer or something.

(He even made me buy him a particular piece of men’s swimming attire that I will not specifically mention here. Ahem.)

(And he did go swim some laps.)

(Once.)

Yesterday I dug through some of our old pictures and actually found a photo of him right after he had buzzed his hair:

Anyway, I had warned him before this little shaving spree that if he ever did shave his head, I would get a haircut of my own. A short one. And even though he’s typically a fan of longer hair on me, clearly my threat accomplished nothing.

I promptly had my hairdresser friend cut my hair; I was pregnant with Madeline at the time. I even found an old picture of it, too:

It was a fun change. That’s really all I have to say about that.

Except.

This past weekend I was sitting here at the dining table, reading through my Google Reader, and I heard the bathroom door shut quietly upstairs, and the buzzers turn on. I felt my heart drop into my stomach.

I took the stairs two at a time, and threw open the bathroom door. There was Andy, caught red-handed with the clippers again.

Me, amused: “What are you doing?”

Him, sputtering: “I, uh… I need a summer cut. Look, it’s a Number Eight. It’s not that short.”

Me: “Okay, but you should do shorter on the sides and back. And if you need help trimming the neckline, I’ll come back.”

Here’s what I came back to:

That, my friends, is no Number Eight.

That is a Number Four.

Oh my.

I may be paying my hairdresser a quick little visit.

BUT! I found some other photo album gems while I was digging around and let’s just take a fun little walk down the memory lane of Andy’s Hair. You game? Good!

Here’s one from when we were in college and Andy was studying abroad in Vienna. Some of my cousins and I were studying in the South of France and he came for a visit. This is what he looked like upon first walking in the door:

I whisked him off for a haircut and shave, posthaste:

His hair and beard grown out for the Madrigal Dinner (I think his senior year?):

Our first Christmas married (still long; no beard):

Cut short for his senior recital:

Short, add goatee (I was pregnant with Drew):

This one says it all:

Who is this next guy? Doesn’t look familiar…

Wow. Shouldn’t you be in Hollywood filming something?

Well. Nevermind.

(Also the funniest bed-head picture you’ll ever see.)

More bed heads:

At least Drew comes by it honestly.

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The Mop Tops.

(This family is obviously not lacking in the hair department.)

Cut again short for my cousin Courtney’s wedding:

Long again by Thanksgiving:

Still long at Adelaide’s birth:

Cut for her baptism, understandably:

To conclude, here’s a more recent picture of Andy’s hair (also entitled ‘Meet My YouTube Junkies’):

And thankfully this Number Four business won’t take too long to grow out.

[It didn't. Now it's September and he could use a little trim. :) ]

An update

Alright, alright. I’ve been holding out on y’all just a little bit.

(Nope, not pregnant or anything. Settle down.)

Andy is back working at the restaurant. He decided that the job we moved here for wasn’t a good fit, for better or worse. He was working with a friend, and friends they still are. No strain on either side, which is a blessing (but I wasn’t really worried about that).

I don’t know where we’ll end up, but that’s the nature of the Christian life; trusting and waiting on the Lord. We’re content to coast here for now, Andy working in the evenings again and being home during the day. (It’s actually quite nice, what with a house full of pre-schoolers and all.)

I know, we’re full of surprises. But now you know!

Hey, it’s all good now

I bought some new pajamas for Madeline a few days ago and she wanted to wear them yesterday, waaaaaay before it was time for bed. I said she could. She also wanted underwear instead of a pull-up. (Picky, picky.) I said that was fine, too.

You know where this is going, right?

Around 4 a.m. I woke up in a dreamy fog to a little person standing next to me whining in a tiny voice, “I’m all wet!”

Yeah – totally forgot to put a pull-up on her before I tucked her into her cozy little toddler bed last night. (Smack head with hand.)

She started herself a bath and I stripped and changed her bed. Adelaide, of course, woke up from all the commotion. Got her a bottle.

I finally had both girls settled down again in their beds and made a tired beeline for my own. A few minutes later Madeline reappeared, this time saying she had to poop.

So we dealt with that.

Went back to bed…

A few minutes later I heard more crying and whining. I went back in to her room to check on her; “I feel hot!” I felt her head, and it was a little warm. So I doled out some toddler chewable fever-reducing tablets and trudged back to bed, hoping I wouldn’t see her again ‘till morning.

I didn’t, although she did wake up a tad on the early side. Anyway, right after Andy left for work, I found her in the bathroom munching on Tums. I think she only had two or three at the most but I put in a call to Poison Control anyway. (It’s been a long time since we’ve called them; we were due for a chat.)

They said a one-time dose of thirty or forty tablets would have no effects. (Who knew?!) Perhaps a stomachache akin to eating too much candy. So that was a relief, since we were dealing with a quantity much, much less.

So, yes, I drained the contents of the coffee pot myself today. When he got home, dear Andy thought it in the family’s best interests to send me off to Starbucks alone, which is where I now sit, Vanilla Latte in hand.

I love that man.

Andy, My Love

I got tagged for this (the month for memes, apparently) and thought it had some humor potential…

1. Who is your man? Andrew (Andy, Honey, Andramus)
2. How long have you been together? Married – 6 years
3. How long dated? Two and a half years?
4. How old is your man? 27 (yes, I’m a year older)
5. Who eats more? ha; no comment.
6. Who said “I love you” first? You know, I really can’t remember. Most likely him.
7. Who is taller? He is. But I can come close with heels.
8. Who sings better? HA HA HA He was a voice major; definitely him.
9. Who is smarter? ME, DUH! No, I think we’re each smarter in different ways.
10. Whose temper is worse? No comment.
11. Who does the laundry? Me. Me. Me.
12. Who takes out the garbage? We both do. He usually runs it over to the dumpster, though. That’s what men are for, right?
13. Who sleeps on the right side of the bed? He does – it’s closer to the wall and I get ultra claustrophobic by the wall.
14. Who pays the bills? ME! We’ve tried him doing it and, well, that didn’t work so well. People like to be paid on time. Who knew?
15. Who is better with the computer? I used to have a monopoly on all things computer but now with his job he uses it more. So now we’re probably tied.
16. Who mows the lawn? Nobody; the school does all that. But at our Ch@ttanooga house Andy did. He’d make me lather him up with tanning oil first but he’d probably shoot me for telling you that.
17. Who cooks dinner? Me. He can cook though, too. He has restaurant experience. And if he cooked every night we’d be poor from the grocery bill alone.
18. Who drives when you are together? Him.
19. Who pays when you go out? What kind of question is that?
20. Who is most stubborn? Me.
21. Who is the first to admit when they are wrong? We’ve both gotten pretty good at that but if you asked him, he’d probably say that he is.
22. Whose parents do you see the most? Lately his, because they live 5 minutes from us. But before this year, my parents definitely.
23. Who kissed who first? I think it was mutual.
24. Who asked who out? I think he first asked me to a Choral Arts concert that he was singing in.
25. Who proposed? Andy, on the beach. It was deserted and windy and dark.
26. Who is more sensitive? Him.
27. Who has more friends? Me?
28. Who has more siblings? Me.
29. Who wears the pants in the family? My Big Fat Greek Wedding – The neck turns the head, remember? Er, I mean him.
30. How did you meet? My dearest college friend sort of wrangled up an introduction in the Great Hall of Covenant College. Over a cafeteria lunch. Romance, indeed.

Hey, feel free to play along and lemme know if you do.

Happy Birthday, Andy!

Birthday Donuts:

Listening to Drew attempting to sing “Happy Birthday.” Quite comical.

Yum.

***Oh, and I also forgot to mention that yesterday (Mother’s Day) was also our 6th wedding anniversary. May is certainly our month-o-holidays.

The Life and Times of Andy’s Hair

[Now, before you think me a terrible wife, let it be known I have full authorization to hit the "publish" button when I'm finished with this post. And thank you, honey, for being such a good sport.]

A couple of years ago I caught Andy, hunched over the toilet, shaving all his hair off. He was going to become the next great swimmer or something.

(He even made me buy him a particular piece of men’s swimming attire that I will not specifically mention here. Ahem.)

(And he did go swim some laps.)

(Once.)

Yesterday I dug through some of our old pictures and actually found a photo of him right after he had buzzed his hair:

Anyway, I had warned him before this little shaving spree that if he ever did shave his head, I would get a haircut of my own. A short one. And even though he’s typically a fan of longer hair on me, clearly my threat accomplished nothing.

I promptly had my hairdresser friend cut my hair; I was pregnant with Madeline at the time. I even found an old picture of it, too:

It was a fun change. That’s really all I have to say about that.

Except.

This past weekend I was sitting here at the dining table, reading through my Google Reader, and I heard the bathroom door shut quietly upstairs, and the buzzers turn on. I felt my heart drop into my stomach.

I took the stairs two at a time, and threw open the bathroom door. There was Andy, caught red-handed with the clippers again.

Me, amused: “What are you doing?”

Him, sputtering: “I, uh… I need a summer cut. Look, it’s a Number Eight. It’s not that short.”

Me: “Okay, but you should do shorter on the sides and back. And if you need help trimming the neckline, I’ll come back.”

Here’s what I came back to:

That, my friends, is no Number Eight.

That is a Number Four.

Oh my.

I may be paying my hairdresser a quick little visit.

BUT! I found some other photo album gems while I was digging around and let’s just take a fun little walk down the memory lane of Andy’s Hair. You game? Good!

Here’s one from when we were in college and Andy was studying abroad in Vienna. Some of my cousins and I were studying in the South of France and he came for a visit. This is what he looked like upon first walking in the door:

I whisked him off for a haircut and shave, posthaste:

His hair and beard grown out for the Madrigal Dinner (I think his senior year?):

Our first Christmas married (still long; no beard):

Cut short for his senior recital:

Short, add goatee (I was pregnant with Drew):

This one says it all:

Who is this next guy? Doesn’t look too familiar…

Wow. Shouldn’t you be in Hollywood filming something?

Well. Nevermind.

(Also the funniest bed-head picture you’ll ever see.)

More bed heads:

At least Drew comes by it honestly.

The Mop Tops. (Above and below.)

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This family is obviously not lacking in the hair department.

Cut again short for my cousin Courtney’s wedding:

Long again by Thanksgiving:

Still long at Adelaide’s birth:

Cut for her baptism, understandably:

To conclude, here’s a more recent picture of Andy’s hair (also entitled ‘Meet My YouTube Junkies’):

And thankfully this Number Four business won’t take too long to grow out.