To My Darling Husband on his Birthday

I love you with every beat of my heart, every cell of my body, and every sparkle of my soul. Thanks for the adventures. 
I love you. ~H

The Day We Accidentally Eloped

This past summer we took the kids to Montana for our annual summer visit. We visited the Madison County Courthouse in Virginia City where Dave and I were married in 1996, almost 18 years ago. (Sheesh! How did that happen??). As I recounted the tail of our nuptials for the kids I realized that it was a story worth sharing and documenting for the great grandkids. (Yes, I fully expect that the great grandkids will enjoy GG's blog!!).

Here's the story...

It was the summer of 1996. I was 20 and Dave was 26. We were planning to be married on the Madison River in Montana. We had planned an ultra groovy ceremony perfect for our river-side-dog-friendly-shoe-optional-locale. Our ceremony would be complete with bare feet, Enya, and an ivy covered trellis, hand made by Dave. It would be my dream wedding (and my husband-to-be conceded to my every whimsical desire. Thanks, Honey.). One detail that we both agreed upon was that we didn't want an officiator. We didn't feel the necessity for the state's permission in our unity. At least not in the ceremony of our unity. We agreed that we wanted to spend our lives together, and why did we need the blessing of the state to make it so? We felt that all we needed was our life long commitment to each other, the blessing of our families and a ceremony to be witnessed by our dearest friends and family. (Aside - Now, almost 20 years later - March 2014, in light of the recent denial of marriage equality by so many states, I am proud to have foregone the blessing of the state in my own ceremony.)

But back to June of '96 - So there we were planning our groovy ceremony, and we realized that even though we didn't want an officiator to be a part of our ceremony, we did want to come out of our "wedding" as legal husband and wife. We realized we would have to go to the Madison County Courthouse beforehand to get a marriage license, which we assumed was how you made a marriage legally binding. So about a week before our nuptials we made the 45 minute drive to Virginia City, adding to our "To Do in Town" list: file marriage license. We figured filing our marriage license would be as simple as getting a license for our dog: fill out an application, pay a fee, and file it with Bundy, the county clerk. You filed everything with Bundy in our tiny county: dog licenses, car registration, property tax, and, we figured, marriage licenses. So we arrived at the county clerk's window, wearing our usual errand running attire of the 90's: Levi's and hiking boots and told Bundy we were there to get our marriage license. We explained to her that we were planning a groovy wedding ceremony and we wouldn't have an officiator but that we wanted to be sure that we were legally married when it was all said and done. She tilted her head and looked at us through the readers on the tip of her nose, assessing whether or not we were serious. Once satisfied she said, "Ok. Then you two will need to go see Judge O'Malley." Great. We thanked her and inquired as to where we could find Judge O'Malley.

"I'll have her meet you upstairs in the courtroom. Did you bring a witness?" she asked as she glanced down at our matching flannels and hiking boots. We looked at each other.

"A witness for what?"

She smiled and said, "Never mind. I'll send someone up."

So up to the courtroom we went figuring that was where the applications for the marriage licenses would be found.

The courtroom of the second floor of the 150 year old, brick Virginia City Courthouse was empty and cold and slightly creepy with the 20 foot ceilings, heavy red velvet drapes and rows of wooden pews that had surely seen all varieties of atrocities since the 1860's. We sat in the front row and waited. Eventually, Judge O'Malley arrived wearing a long black robe. She was trailed by two women in business suits and sneakers. I recognized them from downstairs. Smiling, she said, "You two ready?"

We were slightly confused. Ready for what? To pay our fee? To sign our application? But we didn't want to seem like the ignorant, barely twenty-somethings that we were so we hopped up from our pew and said, "Yes, ma'am." We approached her where she stood in front of her heavy oak desk with the name plate that read Honorable MaryAnn O'Malley. She asked us to face each other while the other two women shuffled around and stood behind us. "You can join hands." We looked at each. Weird. But it wasn't until Judge MaryAnn O'Malley said,

"Welcome everyone. We are gathered here today..."

that we finally understood.

"...to witness the joining of these two people in matrimony. Do you, Dave, take Heather to be your lawfully wedded wife? To love and to cherish her, in sickness and in health, as long as you both shall live?"

Holy $#@%! We were getting married!! Right then and there. In our Levi's and our hiking boots. At the Virginia City Courthouse. In Madison County, Montana. And we hadn't even planned it!! Honestly.

"I do."

"And do you, Heather, take Dave to be your lawfully wedded husband? To love and to cherish him, in sickness and in health, as long as you both shall live?"

Holy $#@%!

"I do."

"Do you have a ring?"

"Uhhh." I took off the ring that Dave and I had chosen to symbolize our groovy commitment to each other and that I already wore on the ring finger of my left hand and gave it back to him. The ladies shuffled in their sneakers.

"Repeat after me. With this ring, I thee wed."

"With this ring, I thee wed." And he put it back on my finger.

Dave took off the ring that I had picked out for him and gave it back to me.

"Repeat after me. With this ring, I thee wed."

"With this ring, I thee wed." And I put his ring back on the ring finger of his left hand. I daresay, we both trembled a little.

"By the power vested in me by the state of Montana, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride."

Holy $#&%! We just got married!! We had just eloped!!! And we didn't even mean to. Our parents didn't even know!! Our siblings didn't know! Holy $#&%! We looked at each other and we could hardly contain ourselves. We laughed right out loud. Right there in the Honorable MaryAnn O'Malley's courtroom we laughed. And we kissed. And we laughed again. And we hugged. We were married. Just like that.

"Congratulations!" The two women said, clapping their hands.

"Congratulations," said MaryAnn O'Malley.

And we all went back downstairs to sign our marriage license, pay our fee, and file it with Bundy.

Dave and Heather in front of the Madison County Courthouse in Virginia City, MT, June 24, 1996 - right after we got married without knowing it. Four years later to the day, our second son, Emerson, would be born. 

A visit to the courthouse in 2003.

A visit to the courthouse in 2013. 

Virginia City, MT 2013

 In our Levi's and hiking boots with the Honorable MaryAnn O'Malley in 2013. 

One Groovy Birthday

Here's a funny story that you'll appreciate.

Last summer Emerson turned twelve. We had a really fun bonfire at Carmel Beach to celebrate. We had arrived early with Emerson and a few of his pals to get set up and get the fire going before the throngs arrived. (He'd invited the entire 7th grade.) Just a few minutes before "go time" I looked up from the fire to see Em's friend, we'll call him Will, pick something up out of the sand. He held it up to get a better look and I could see that it was a clear plastic container the size and shape of a film canister. Inside there were two...well I couldn't tell what they were. So I said, "Will. Bring that over here."

"What is it, Mrs. Stewart?" he asked as he handed it over.
"I don't know," I lied as he scampered back to join his pals in the ice plant.

Well, I didn't know for sure what it was, but I felt fairly certain that the clear plastic canister with the two dried herbaceous looking "flowers" inside was not something I wanted in my hand just when I was expecting a bunch of parents to be dropping off their 7th graders in my charge.

I looked around quickly for a place to get rid of my stash. I though about burying it in the sand, but I wasn't keen on the idea of another 12 year old finding it again in the future.

I thought about stashing it in my purse. But then I realized that I was likely to forget about it entirely for months until I was about to go through security at the San Francisco International when I would wonder if I had any nail clippers in my purse that would be confiscated. Gulp. Yikes! Bad Idea. Do not put it in your purse. Mucho bad idea.

But what was I supposed to do with it?! I was starting to panic! Parents were going to be arriving any second!

Then I had a brilliant idea. I would burn the evidence. It would burn to oblivion and no one would ever have to know. Yes. Perfect. Brilliant. Do it fast. Before any parents get here. But don't burn the plastic. Imagine the toxins and there are kids around! Yes. Good. Take off the top and dump it in the flames.

So anyone who has any experience with such things will know that this was NOT a brilliant idea. And I knew it too just a split second after the buds hit the flames. That was one groovy bonfire. And for about 20 minutes Dave had to stand guard at the bottom of the stairs, upwind of our fire, to cut parents off at the pass.

'Twas Two Weeks After Christmas

'Twas two weeks after Christmas when all through the house,
Not a twinkle light twinkled to the joy of my spouse.
The stockings were nestled all back in their crates
Along with the snow globes and fancy red plates.

The ham, long since finished, the soup from it, too.
The yams were delicious, but those days are through.
The fire'd gone cold, having not one more log.
And the fridge was entirely void of egg nog.

The paper 'twas crinkled and thrown in the trash.
The bows piled high for the children to smash.
A plain silver tack was all that remained
In the place on the wall 'twhere the mistletoe hanged.

The poinsettia was dropping one leaf at a time.
It's depressing to see it as bare as a vine.
So to the back porch that plant had to go,
In hopes that no neighbor would see it like so.

The tree, it was gone, and the ornaments, too.
The needles turned brown, not much I could do.
With one kid in tears it was dragged to the curb,
"To cut down a tree for a month is absurd!"

The children were sent back to school on Tuesday, 

The toys, long forgotten. The bill, on the way. 

Their rooms are still messy with nowhere to sit

With all those new toys like that model car kit. 

My house now feels empty and quiet and cold.
"You should be happy." To myself, I do scold.
But, alas, I'm all misty and just have to say
A year 'til next Christmas seems a long way away.

Heartbroken

I can't stop crying this morning. I'm so very sad today, this first school day since the tragedy in Connecticut. I'm so sad for the moms and dads that are waking up this morning with no babies to take to school. No little piggy tails to tie, no lunches to make, no little hands to hold on the way to school. No sloppy wet kisses on the front steps. No "I love you, Mama". No jammies left on the floor by the heater.

Heartbreaking.

So devastatingly heartbreaking.

Dear Earth Mother,
Please help them find peace.

To Do This Christmas

SPEND less ..... money. 

SPEND more .... time having "California Snow Ball" Fights with the kids. 

MAKE less .... lists.

MAKE more .... merry. 

DO less .... shopping. 

DO more .... baking with kids. 

HAVE less .... stress.

HAVE more .... singing. 

WATCH .... more Christmas movies with my kids.

WATCH .... less calories. 

BE Scrooge .... less. 

BE-lieve .... more. 

Wishing you a stress-free, merry-filled Christmas!

Hugs,

Heather

You know you're a busy mom when...

...you return home after a long day of running errands and try to unlock your front door using the keyless entry fob for your SUV.

...you pick up your iPhone, unlock it with your passcode, and then put it to your ear as if you've called someone. You do that regularly.

...you leave your house to find that your car has been stolen right out of your driveway. Before you push send on the 911 call you remember that the last time you saw it was when you parked it at school to pick up the kids...yesterday. And then you'd walked home.

...your nine year old exclaims, "Mom! I lost another tooth!" And you hear yourself reply,"Awesome! Now go get a dollar out of my wallet and put it under your pillow."

How do you know you're a busy mom?

My New Favorite Swimsuit

I've recently become an affiliate for the company that makes my new favorite swimsuits. I have two. One in black and the one pictured below: mango. My favorite. The top is the triangle style and the bottoms are the European brief cut. No, not that European. If you don't know what an affiliate is....I'm not sure how well I can explain it. But I'll try. I put a link on my blog and if you click on it and then order a suit from their website they give me a commission. And I'm about to order two new suits from them (I'm thinking the french mulberry and the ocean), so I figure I might as well make a commission on my own order, right? Anyway, they are not only super cute suits but they come in the best colors and are very sporty. In other words: supportive. The bottoms have a draw sting and the top has the cutest criss cross back with a tie. Which means that if you're a swimmer (occasionally I fancy myself a swimmer) you can synch everything up and do laps without equipment malfunction and without an atrocious one piece with built in shelf bra. Barf. My girlfriend Amy wears hers while surfing. She likes the scooped brief bottoms and the vent top.

" Honeeeeey? I think I'm about to jibe the genoaaaaaa......"

"Uh-oh. Hard a port! I'm givin' 'er all she's got Cap'n!" (name that movie)

So if you're in the market for a super cute new suit check THESE out....

Tell them Heather sent you. Just kidding. They'll know...

Mudda's Day

Have I mentioned how much I love Belize? And one of my favorite things is the language.  Locals speak English and Creole, both of which bounce happily off the tongue with a jolly islan' rhydm. 

I could listen to it all day. 

We spent Mudda's Day in Cay Caulker. It's a little island toward the north end of the Barrier Islands. It was nice, but more touristy than Placencia, and as such, not as much to our liking. But we had a nice day with breakfast at Amor Cafe (yummy!) and then we rented a golf cart to cruise the sandy streets. A highlight was seeing a cayman (salt water croc) near the airstrip. 

Evie and I enjoying our new hand me down blow up kayak from Mistral. 

Laundry detail. 

"Whot ah lokey mudda." Breakfast at Amor Cafe on Cay Caulker for Mother's Day. 

 The kids and I have ventured into a delicious new hobby of making our own bread. Salt water bread. Cinnamon swirl bread. Amish white bread. We even made our own doughnuts. So fun. 

 Salt water bread made with fresh salt water from Tobacco Cay. 

(Per the recipe found in Dove - a must read.) 

 Our rented ride on Cay Caulker and a(nother) nasty storm front blowing in. 

 I just loved this tall and skinny house on Cay Caulker. 

The sandy streets of Cay Caulker. 

Tobacco Cay. This is a charming (albeit tiny) little isle with friendly people and lovely island architecture. This picture doesn't do it justice. It was a dreary day. 

We enjoyed exploring the little island and visiting with the locals. The kids got their fix of running and tree climbing. 

Capitan insisted that I dock Balance in Placencia. I was sweaty nervous, but I did it! And all the pilings are still standing. Phew. 

We're back in Placencia until the weather permits us to head east to the Bay Islands of Honduras (Monday or Tuesday). Thom arrived on Friday and we've been enjoying sharing all of the delights of Placencia with him. 

Thanks for checking in! Next stop - the Bay Islands. 

Clothing Optional

I like to refer to this portion of our trip as the “Clothing Optional” Leg. The kids have come to call it the “Mom! Put Something On!” Leg. Anyway, as far as I’m concerned clothing is simply unnecessary at this latitude. Unless, of course, you are assigned by the capitan to do bow watch on the way to the Blue Hole in order to keep an eye out for protruding coral heads. And, of course, the twins join you on the bow. They’ve never seen the light of day (except for that one time at the lake...). And even though it’s before 9am and you think sunscreen is not yet necessary, 30 minutes of tropical sun proves too much for the most delicate skin of your yonder regions. Thank goodness for the aloe plant you have on board. After two weeks, the peeling has finally subsided and the twins are as pasty white as ever. Tan boobs are simply not in your genetic make up. So sorry. 

So aside from that second degree burn, complete with water blisters, I have so enjoyed the freedom of having the boat and the islands to ourselves and the unlimited options of “island attire” subsequently available to us. {The kids aren’t nearly as enthusiastic. If they weren’t entirely traumatized by life on a small sailboat before, they surely are now.} A’ course, hoisting the main sail without the help of supportive accoutrements hasn’t proven to be the most graceful of maneuvers. And there was that one time while the twins and I were at the helm (in the shade) when from out of nowhere, hidden by the genoa until it was entirely upon my port quarter, appeared a shuttle dory full of locals commuting to work from Coco Plum Cay to Dangriga. I jumped in utter shock, having seen nary a soul in two days, gathering the twins protectively in my arms. The locals waved heartily in my direction, smiles all around, and I gave them my very best tyrannosauras arm wave back while the girls turned a brilliant shade of crimson, and not from the sun.*

Due to the aforementioned nature of this leg I don’t have many pictures that are suitable for sharing.

But I will say this...

Stunning.

The turquoise of the water contrasted by the pasty white of the....sails. 

Surprisingly stunning. 

*Cross your arms across your chest. Now wave without moving your arms. This is the tyrannosaurus wave. Haven't you seen Toy Story? 

Hair Brained...And Five Years Ago Today

Three days 'til we embark on the adventure of a lifetime.

And am I ever hair brained!

Let me explain.

Being that my list is about 7 iPads long, time is currently one commodity that cannot be wasted. Gas, on the either hand, is not nearly in such short supply. So this morning I needed to run to school to snap a quick picture for yearbook (remember when I had all that "free time" for things like yearbook?). Anyway, I decided that I was far too busy to walk the two and a half blocks to school. Better to waste gas over time, I reasoned. So I drove. And parked right in front of the school. Before long "snapping a quick pic for yearbook" turned into "snapping a quick pic for yearbook, then sorting through a monster pile of lost and found (yes, found it), and then discussing the ins and outs of my homeschooling plan with the principal". By the time I left the school I was so short on time that I nearly ran all the way home. Only to find that my car had been stolen!

Honestly, if my brain weren't attached I may forget to pack it. But, at least the yearbook will be done.

On another note entirely, five years ago today we landed in soggy San Francisco.  After living in Guatemala for two months, we were finally bringing home our brand new baby girl. It was such a happy day. We love you, Sunshine. Check out that story here.

Wistful

Don't I look wistful in this picture? That's because it was taken at Cole's 8th grade graduation. (By my girlfriend with her mega zoom from across the gym. Thanks, Erin. It's a lovely picture. Poignant with a hint of sparkle.)

Isn't he so adorable? (And, don't you love Dave's fu-man-chu? I knew I married an outlaw...)



I had barely recovered from that momentous event when BOOM just last Wednesday he started H.I.G.H.S.C.H.O.O.L. And he is quite possibly the most adorable freshman I've ever seen. (He looks JUST like Dave in high school in this picture.)

  And, I really thought I was prepared. I read the books. Got the skinny on teachers and programs. Sent emails. Made inquiries. Requested teachers. Went to the principal's coffee. Did my due diligence. And, when other moms were lamenting over the loss of their "babies" I was secretly rejoicing that my "babies" were no longer such babies. Hallelujah. I was excited to walk this next chapter (that I had been so fond of in my own life) with my son who will CLEARLY eat up the entire high school experience. Let me give an example. The Friday before school started, he and I spent the better part of the day at the high school picking up his class schedule, books, student i.d., P.E. clothes, etc. Lots of waiting in lines. When we got to the front of the student i.d. line the adorable, juniorish girl manning that station asked him what year he was. Without skipping a beat he lifted an eyebrow, cocked his head to one side, folded his arms across his chest, peaked at her from above the rims of his super cool aviators, and said in a voice more befitting a man than a 14 year old boy, "JUNIOR.....No. SOPHOMORE........No. FRESHMAN." My chin hit the floor, but she was smitten. She peered up at him, twinkle in her eye, smiling ear to ear and said, "You COULD be a junior. What's your name, Freshman?" As I gathered my chin off the ground and glance up at my man-child I was somewhat stunned to see the cocky confidence that permeated the very air around him. And I dare say I was proud. Because let's be honest. That's exactly what you need to be successful in high school -- a healthy dose of cocky confidence.

But here's where the story turns south. At least for me. He went to the "back to school" dance on Friday night. It was called the "Freshman Mixer". Which, p.s., I didn't really like that name. It sounded too much like a "Singles Mixer" or something. Anyway, the idea was that the "LINK CREW" (primarily junior and senior kids whose job it is to assimilate the freshmen into high school) were tasked to dance with as many of the freshmen as possible. You know, "make them feel comfortable"; "show them the ropes". Seemed like a nice idea. Although, this is what my freshman boy-in-a-man's-body had to say when he got home, and I quote, "Oh my god. I had the best time ever. Senior girls in short shorts and tank tops 'grinding all up on my junk.' " end quote.

I'll just pause here to let that sink in.

Observations:

1) How great that our kid is still willing to share all of the gory details of his life with us.

2) WTH - Were there no CHAPERONES? If there were, is this permissible behavior at the high school level? If so, I may need to consider homeschooling....again.

3) I'm seething mad. I do not want my kid's "junk" involved in any school time activities, Thankyouverymuch. Call me old fashioned.

4) I'm surprised to realize that I've become one of "those" parents. You know the ones like Dr. and Mrs. Houseman (Baby's parents) from Dirty Dancing. Or Reverand Shaw Moore (Ariel's dad) from Footloose. I remember thinking when I saw those movies as a teenager that those parents were so totally out of touch with their teenage kids. I specifically thought to myself, "When I'm a parent of teenagers I will not allow myself to be so out of touch with what's going on and what's 'normal' with the teenage crowd. And yet, here I am. Completely out of touch and totally appalled by this behavior. I'm calling Shaw Moore.

5) Who is looking out for these girls and their self respect? This "grinding" seems largely degrading to girls and women. Again, where are the chaperones? Who is the teacher advisor to this "Link Crew"?

6) Dave says, "It's no big deal. This is all part of growing up. At least he's talking to us about what's going on." Yes, that's true. Am I overreacting?

7) The good news: Cole told us that there was one girl that caught his eye.
       Me: "Was she a senior?" (gulp)
       Cole: "No, she's a freshman, and she's in my G.A.T.E English class." (Thank God.)
       Me: "Did you dance with her?" (gulp, gulp)
       Cole: "No. I didn't want to dance with her like that." (Thank God.)
So at least our moral teachings haven't past him by. Hallelujah. But it's still irritating to feel like the school is working against us as we try to impart on our son the importance of getting through high school without engaging in nonsense. (Read: without having sex -- or doing drugs.)

8) I'd like to send an email to the principal, but I hate to start off my high school career (yes, mine - I'll be in high school for the next 12 years. Sigh.) with a big honkin' issue like this.

9) Please advise, my dear, brilliant colleagues in parenting. What to do? How to handle?

One of "those" parents,
Mrs. S

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly of This Year's Resolutions

I rather dislike New Year's Resolutions.

It's simply another way for me to feel badly about my lack of accomplishment. (Yeah, whatever. I know I have four kids. You know what I mean.)

Having said that, here's my "If-I-never-had-to-sleep-or-tend-to-the-needs-of-my-four-children-or-those-of-my-darling-husband" list of New Year's Resolutions: (note the implied disclaimer)

*update blog more often
*re-do kids' rooms
*lose 15 pounds ("And this time, I'll keep it off!" - name that movie)
*play with kids more
*"play"with husband more - need I elaborate?
*plant beets in my garden this year
*find the courage to get a lumineer on my front tooth, which is dead and discolored and makes me not want to smile : (
*finish my 2009 (no, that's not a typo) scrapbook before 2012
*improve photography skills - maybe even take a c-c-c-c-class. In my spare time, of course.
*learn how to upload more easily said photos onto blog-- is it just me, or did this recently get harder? Anyone?
*put more energy into dinners
*make more friends (are there really ever enough?)
*pay more attention to Emerson - he's so his father's son...
*improve laundry "system" (read - fold it before it becomes Mt. Laundrymore and swallows a small child). P.S. I hate this one. It's on my list every year. Often, it's the ONLY thing on my list of stupid Resolutions. I've said it before - if I wasn't so irreplaceable I would fire myself.
*Lastly, figure out what the heck to do with myself before my youngest starts kindergarten in the fall (note to self: see above list.)

That was fun.

Now I'm going back to bed.

Wake me when it's over.

Oh wait, I just thought of one more thing for my list:

*find happiness in everything I do - even irritating things like stupid lists of New Year's Resolutions.

Good night.

Happy Birthday to Me

Thanks for borning me, Mom. I love you. ~H

February 1976
(How cute is my mom?? She was 21 when I was born -- at home, by the river, in Carmel Valley, California. Totally groovy.)

Invincible

Did you know that I used to be invincible? Immortal even. I could trek all over foreign countries with nary a concern for the safety of my person. But those days are, apparently, OVER! Four kids and fifteen years later I can hardly handle Target on a Friday night without fearing for my life. I am quite content safely tucked in at home, with my children happily watching Speed Racer (how darling is Matthew Fox, anyway?). Yup, just me, my blog, and I (and maybe a glass of wine...or two). Happy Weekend! ~Heather

Love Languages

So Cole's off to Science Camp, Dave's back to Montana, and I'm back to lovin' on my blog. We had a lovely weekend. Great to have some quality time with Dave, marked by a rather intense
heart-to-heart* on Sunday. Amazing the clarity that comes from spending two weeks apart, and apparently, there were some things we needed to iron out.

In a nutshell, we need to remember to speak each other's love languages. Have you read that book? The Five Love Languages by Gary Chapman? I just picked me up a copy yesterday (even though I was familiar with the basic concepts). Now, when I say "we" I mean me. Apparently, even though I feel like I'm screaming from the mountain tops how much I love and adore my husband, to him I may as well be saying, "Wah wah wah wah wah wah." I simply have not been speaking his love language. And we've been here before. And he's taught me his language before. But, gradually, over time I slip back into speaking my native tongue, and he feels neglected and unloved. This is always devastating and shocking news to me, because anyone who knows me, even a little bit, knows that I love my husband more than anything on God's Green Earth. I'm surprised that I can even share this on my blog, 'cause here's the deal. I'm not a perfect mom. Yeah, yeah, yeah...who is?, you say. But I really thought that I would be and it comes as a bit of a shock to me that I'm not. I make mistakes everyday in my mothering career, but I honestly thought (and took comfort in knowing) that at least I'm a kick ass wife (Am I allowed to use mild profanity on my blog? They say it in Shrek, you know...).

So, to hear, from the perfect mouth of the person I love the most, that he doesn't feel loved...well, let's just say the words "BIG, FAT, FAILURE" come to mind, which, on Sunday, was almost more than I could bear. Now, please do not feel sorry for me. I have an excellent marriage, and this type of break down and the subsequent growth that spurs from it, is what makes it so. Besides, as they say, making up is always fun.

In summary, I know Dave knows that I love him more than anything. And I know that I'm a kick ass wife. But, I also know that my native love language is often lost on him. Therefore, I am very excited to hone my language skills so that I can more fully express my love for my husband in a way that he can understand. Amen.

I hope I haven't bared my soul too egregiously for anyone. But lately, I'm all about being honest. Painfully honest. What other option is there, really?

*I call it a heart-to-heart because in the end I like to think we grew from it. (Plus I'm a cup half full kinda girl). However, I do recognize that most people would simply call it a lovers' quarrel (and even that's being mild).

**Sweetie, I hope you don't mind that I shared so many gory details of our weekend, but I know that you're all about being honest, too.

P.S. I love you. hee hee

Mom of the Year

My sister forwarded me an email the other day reminding all of us to appreciate every single day we have with our kids. You know the ones: "Forget house, play with kids". And being that it was the first day of fall, this email inspired me to make an attempt for the "Mom of the Year" award. I thought to myself, "Today, I am going to grab the kids out of school early, put on a darling orange vintage apron (inspired by Nie) and bake cookies with my kiddos." (confession: This idea was born when I found, in the very top cabinet of my kitchen, a bag of those little candy corn pumpkins....from last year! Shhh - they'll never know and anyway, I'm pretty sure the shelf life on those puppies is like a hundred years.)

So after lunch I headed to school to fetch my kids. I stopped at the office to sign them out. When I got to the "reason" section of the sign out sheet, I paused. I glanced at the what the other moms had written, "dentist, dr's apt, sick". I thought to use one of those but then thought better of it and wrote. "Cookies!" I left the office feeling rather proud of myself, and I wondered if I'd be hearing from the principle later. Bring it on baby.

For some reason it took 45 long minutes to gather up my kids (and their jackets, and lunch boxes, and homework, etc.). So by the time we got home we were only an hour early. Oh well, an hour, I thought to myself, that'll do to make cookies. I had no sooner turned on the oven to preheat and donned my darling vintage apron than the phone rang. It was Dave, and he needed my approval on a change in the tile design for the shower at the cabin. I was confused by the change and wasn't ready to part with the original idea (which apparently I had grown rather attached to). Long story short, 45 minutes, some less-than-nice words, and several tears (What can I say? I was hormonal) later we agreed that the change was unavoidable and I reluctantly gave it my blessing. And at what cost? My cookie window was just about closed and my husband was totally irritated with me. The kids had long since tired of asking when we were making cookies and, seeing that mom was not in her "happy" place, had wondered off to safer corners of the house. So much for "Mom of the Year" (not to mention "Wife of the Year"). With tears dripping onto my vintage apron, I hardly felt like June Cleaver. I certainly did not feel like making cookies. But I had promised. So I blew my nose, sent a quick note of apology to my husband and called the kids down to bake cookies. We had fun, and the cookies turned out pretty darn cute.

"Mom of the Year"? Not really. Maybe just "Mom in the Moment".

P.S. I should've just told Dave right when he called that I trusted his judgement and would love whatever he decided to do with the tile. And that's the truth. Thanks for the great advice, Mom.

To Do

...Before Dave gets home on Friday at noon (yippee)!

*Pick up the hood/vent for the cabin-----check

*Costco-----check

*Tidy the front porch (turns out that side walk chalk mixed with water makes an ooey gooey finger paint perfect for "painting" the house and front porch)-----check

*Clean the house-----tomorrow

*Try to get blue crayon off side of house -----suggestions anyone?

*Help boys organize closet (In other words - do it yourself and spare the headache.)

*Sort Soli's clothes and integrate bag of hand-me-downs received today (thank you Mrs. Fisher).

*Mow the lawn-----now that may be pushing it.

*Hire neighborhood boy (perhaps son) to mow the lawn-----that's better.

*Organize playroom-----yeah right. Who are we kidding? Sorry, Sweetie.

*Shave legs-----indeed.

blue crayon - at least they're working on their arithmetic.

Top Ten Things...

...that I love, love, love about my small house.

Number 10: The way the walls curve into the ceiling.

Number 9: It's age. 100 years old this year!! Built in 1908. Imagine the births and the deaths that these walls have witnessed. Fantastic.

Number 8: The original wood floors. Covered and preserved by carpet for the last 30?, 50?, 70? years. Then uncovered and brought back to life by us (as in, Dave).

Number 7: The original buffet and china cabinets in the dining room and the original cabinets in the kitchen (so very glad we didn't let anyone talk us into tearing out those fabulous cabinets when we remodeled our kitchen.

Number 6: The size. It's a small house (comparatively speaking, of course) - 3 bedrooms, 1 bathroom and only about 1550 square feet. But, I have to say it feels very perfect to me. The boys share a room and the girls share a room which I think is really wonderful for kiddos. Some of my best memories are from sharing a room with my sister. And even after we had our own rooms we would often end up sleeping in one of our rooms or the other (this went on well into high school).

Number 5: There is only one bathroom...to clean. Silver lining, people, silver lining. Yes, there are certainly times when I have to pass out numbers to use the pooper or send someone to pee in the backyard. But, truthfully, I love the exchange of information that happens in the bathroom. I pretty much know what's going on with everyones' poop and who has hair growing where. There is absolutely no privacy and therefore there are almost no inhibitions. Which I love - usually. My kids are none-too-shy to bend over, hands touching floor, to show me "this", "that", or "the other thing". And they've learned a lot about LIFE in the bathroom. ie; the difference between pads and tampons. And this is an important distinction because I figure someday my girls will be women and my boys will marry women (who will surely send them on a night run to Vons for a package of one or other. God help them if they bring back the wrong kind). As I see it, I'd really be an irresponsible mother if I didn't teach them the basic difference between the two. Just the other day Emerson asked me, in the bathroom, of course, "Mom, do they make pads to fit underwear or underwear to fit pads?" Anyone?

Number 4: The playroom. A few years ago Dave remodeled our attic into a 480 square foot playroom. That is where the majority of the toys are, and, often times, where the majority of my kids are. Ahhhh. Breathing room. (Did I say 1550 sq. ft. was perfect...well, I guess 2000 is a little more perfect).

Number 3: The avocado tree. And here's the story:

Once upon a time there was a tiny avocado sapling. One day a darling couple spied this avocado baby at the nursery. They instantly fell in love with the little green eyed youngster. So they took it home to their new (old) house and planted it with the utmost love and care in the perfect spot in the backyard. The sapling looked healthy and happy for a few days. But then, one day, a leaf fell. And then another, and another until all of its beautiful green leaves lay on the ground amongst the dog poop. The darling couple was very, very sad that their herbaceous baby hadn't made it. They were so sad that they couldn't bring themselves to yank it from its roots and cast it aside in the compost pile*. So they let it be, naked and alone, in the back yard with the dog poop all winter long. And then in the Spring, a miracle happened. A small green leaf sprung from a naked branch, and then another, and another. Until the youngster was once again covered in a healthy green coat. And the darling couple cried happy tears. It would be OK. And it would grow to be very tall and very handsome. And it would bear the most delectable fruit that the darling couple (or their neighbors) had ever sampled. The end.

Number 2: Our delightful neighbors. What a difference a good neighbor makes...

Number 1: Location, location, location! Across the street from the park and 'round the corner from the school. Our little, hundred year old house sits along side 5 square blocks of other fabulous, historic homes of the same age. Our little town was an original company town started by Claus Spreckels, as in, Spreckels Sugar. The sugar factory was a primary producer in its day, and the buildings are still in tact (although no longer used to process sugar). We have about 375 people, a post office, a park, an elementary school, a volunteer fire company, the coolest old fire house, and a hundred year old corner store (I'm pretty sure some of the candy bars are that old, too). We just love it, and we feel very lucky to be able to raise our kids (and our avocados) in such a charming little town.

Thanks for checking in! ~Heather

*We don't actually compost. Just sounded good in the story...

A Love Note for Me

Waiting in my inbox this morning:

Everything I am doing up here reminds me of us and how perfect we are as a couple. Mostly I think about the future, when the kids are older and the house is quiet. I think about being able to spend time together just the two of us here. I feel like this cabin is our 5th child. It is a part of us, only this time I am the one going through "labor". In my own way I am building memories that we have not had yet. Every piece of siding and every floorboard that goes in gets me one step closer to getting back to you and starting to enjoy those memories. I am sorry that I am away from you. I miss your smile and your touch. I miss your company and your support.
Please give the kids each one extra back scratch for me tonight and tell them that it is from Dad, I will make it up to you when I get home...
DS