MamaBlogga

As I’ve mentioned before (probably several times), Hayden is a very particular, meticulous little guy. Naturally, he was deeply disturbed to discover that one of the fluorescent bulbs in our kitchen had given up the ghost argon.

Every time we turned on the lights, every time he looked up at them (and this light is visible from the kitchen, living room, family room and dining room, so this was a lot), Hayden informed me anew “Night! Night! B’oken! B’ake it!” (Light! Light! Broken! Break it!, for those who don’t speak Haydenese).

If you’ve ever had a two-year-old, you know—this can get old very quickly. Finally, I told Hayden a week ago that Daddy would fix it soon. This placated him for a while, though he would often remind me “Daddy pits it.”

After four or five days, though, this excuse began to wear thin with Hayden. This week, when I told him Daddy would fix it soon, he looked at me. “Mommy pits it,” he nodded solemnly.

Apparently the kid knows who gets things done .

My sister tagged me, and today is a great day to talk about my “DH.” (See #3 for the reason why.)

1. What is his name?
Ryan.

2. How long have you been married?
Going on four years.

3. How long did you date?
Well, let’s see. . . . from the day we met to the day we married was 325 days. Our first date was 256 days before our wedding. We were engaged (with ring) for 94 days.

And today is the first anniversary of our first kiss! It’s true. Our first kiss was 144 days before our wedding.

4. How old his he?
29. Seriously.

5. Who eats more?
Usually Ryan. Sometimes Hayden, if it’s macaroni and tuna, especially .

6. Who said I love you first?
I did. Grumble. I contend, however, that he felt it first but was afraid to say it. We had only been dating for a few days, so he has an excuse.

7. Who is smarter?
I’m smart enough not to answer that question. He would say me, but I think we have the same college GPA. Good enough?

8. Who does the laundry?
In fits and starts. Lately it’s been me, but at times it’s been mostly him.

9. Who does the dishes?
Ryan washes the dishes, I unload the dishwasher. But we’ve just arrived at this arrangement. Here’s hoping it lasts.

10. Who sleeps on the right side of bed?
We both do. The “right” side of the bed? Sitting at the head of the bed, facing the foot of the bed, I’m on the right. Standing at the foot of the bed, facing the bed, he’s on the right.

11. Who pays the bills?
Autopay, mostly.

12. Who cooks dinner?
Usually me unless I’m feeling lazy or not so good.

13. Who is more stubborn?
Dunno. Maybe me?

14. Who proposed?
Ryan, of course.

16. Who has more siblings?
Ryan—he’s fourth of five, I’m first of four.

17. Who drives when you are together?
Usually Ryan, though I’ll do it if I feel like it, if he’s too tired, or if I know the way and don’t feel like navigating.

18. Who has more friends?
Real people: I would say he does. “Imaginary” Internet people (no, not you, you’re real): probably me.

19. Who wears the pants?
Most days, we both wear pants. But neither of us wore pants for our wedding:

I hate to have to tell you this, but I’m funny. You should probably already know that, of course. But my day to day life is pretty funny. Not movie-funny, but regular-life-funny. Sometimes it’s looking-back-on-it-now-that-I’m-not-sobbing-yeah,-I-guess-that-was-funny.

The other day, I sang a little song for Hayden. I told Ryan about it that night, and Ryan got the goofy look on his face that he gets whenever I sing (which is usually accompanied by a “You should sing more often”). Here is the song. You may recognize it. It was first popular in 1918. Not that you’re that old; it still gets sung a lot.

H-H-H-Haydie, beautiful Haydie,
You’re the only b-b-b-boy that I adore
When the m-moon shines, H-H-H-Haydie,
I’ll be knock-knock-knock-knock-knockin’ at your door.

After I finished repeating the song for Ryan, Ryan has a sentimental look on his face. “Did he like it?” he asks, thinking that he knows the answer.

“Actually, no. He hated it. And he really wanted me to put him down.”

And I didn’t even tell Hayden that the song’s originally about a girl. Sigh. At least my husband still likes my singing.

Today, I’m told, is a holiday. I’m afraid I don’t much care. I’m not politically opposed to it or offended by the “commercialized and forced romance fostered by social pressure on men blah blah blah.” I just don’t see much point in going out of my way one day a year for romance—because Valentine’s Day just isn’t about love.

My father has told me a lot of things (if you know him, I’m sure he’s told you a lot of things, too ). One that has always stood out in my mind was when he invited me to watch the very end of the movie Fargo with him (edited on TV).

It’s probably the least interesting scene in the movie: policewoman Marge Gunderson is sitting in bed with her husband, Norm, talking about his entry in to the duck art stamp contest. He’s disappointed to take second; she reassures him that he’s done well (and that people will use three-cent stamps).

“That’s love,” my father informed me. “That is real love.”

At the time, I was probably a young teenager and just had to take his word for it. But today, I have to say that I agree. I see that same level of real love in my relationships of all kinds today.

Love is paying attention. It’s knowing what your loved ones are doing, what they care about, what their aspirations are. Love is encouragement. Love is hoping the best for one another, thinking the best of one another, and finding the best in one another.

Love is being there. (Can you even imagine where you’d be without them?) Love is remembering one another. Love is caring for and about one another.

Love is listening to my husband’s account of his day with interest. Love is rehashing the same four political discussions we always have. Love is helping Hayden climb onto the couch even though he just jumped down. Love is making dinner despite Hayden’s constant clamoring to see into the cooking pans—and despite the fact that he probably won’t eat it.

Love is the sum total of every action that shows that we are thinking of one another. Love is the constant underpinning of a secure family life.

Despite this talk of love, I don’t plan much of a Valentine’s Day celebration. We may not have a ton of chocolate or flowers or balloons or cards or romantic dinners for two (though there will be tokens, I’ll admit). That’s okay with me; honestly, I appreciate the tokens more when I get them because it was his idea, not the calendar’s.

For Valentine’s Day, like the days before and the days after, our family will have love. May yours also.

Enter Scribbit’s February Write-Away Contest, too! Oh, wait, I mean, don’t enter. Just let me win .

The prompt for the second Letters to my Daughters Group Writing Project is “ten rules to live by.”

Now, obviously, there are already ten rules to live by (you might recall the ‘thou shalt not’ language, yes?). But here are a few things that I’ve picked up in my rather short life. Following them, like following the commandments, has definitely made my life easier!

1. Believe. Believe something. Believe in God. Believe in yourself.

2. Be honest. Be honest with yourself. Be honest with your spouse. Be honest in your dealings with your fellow man. At the very least, it’s a lot easier to keep your story straight. Plus, when your kids lie to you, you can point to your honest example to show them that it’s wrong.

3. Don’t sweat the small stuff. I’m terrible at this. But when I remember this rule, I don’t yell at Hayden for throwing bubbles on the floor. It’s really not that important.

4. Love. Love everything and everybody in the whole world, only he never let on so . . . oh, sorry, that’s Oklahoma. Love is really a key to happiness. Love God, love your family and love what you do for a living. What else could it take to make someone happy?

5. Let go. This is hard, but it’s definitely the most healthy.

6. Talk things out/Fight fair. The best way to do this is not to get upset and yell, but even if you can’t do that (I often can’t keep myself from at least getting upset), don’t bring up settled (or unsettled) issues from the past in an argument. If something is bothering you, gently and in a non-accusatory way, bring it up with the person who upset you.

7. Think ahead. The time to tell your children the rules (and impose their consequences) is not after they break them. Decide with your spouse what the rules are, tell them to your children. (In the rule of law, this is called publicity—telling people about the laws. It also has to do with prospectivity—you can’t punish people for actions they made before a law was passed.)

8. Make your expectations reasonable and clear. Not just for your children, either. This was the first piece of advice I gave one of my college roommates when she got married. Tell your husband what you expect of him and odds are a lot lower that he’ll disappoint you.

9. Impose (and accept) consequences. Be consistent in discipline, whatever style of discipline you use. And when you get a speeding ticket, accept the consequences. Call speeding civil disobedience if you want, but an important part of that is willingly accepting the consequences.

10. Spend time together. Spend time with your family and your friends. Eat dinner together as a family as often as you can.

What rules do you live by? (And hurry if you want to participate in the GWP; the deadline is tomorrow!)

I have to brag about my husband. While he was home alone for two weeks, he tackled the huge project that has been on my to do list every month for more than a year. We don’t have any before pictures of our closet/laundry room, but let me describe it to you: The laundry shelf was organized—but that was about it.

There was a stack of very large Rubbermaid containers with some random things in them that reached to about hip height. Sometimes this stack ended up in front of the dryer door and had to be shoved aside. Usually it was between the extra washing machine and the built-in wood shelves, effectively blocking off 2/3s of the room. On top of the dryer and the extra washing machine were all manner of precariously stacked items that belonged somewhere deeper in the closet, but either we couldn’t get back there or they didn’t fit anymore. Things like Christmas decorations, painting supplies (we’ve been done painting for almost a year and a half)

The beyond there, the closet was completely impassible: a box fan, a storage drum, a couple hundred pounds of pasta (no, really), ski poles and boots (we haven’t been skiing since before we were married) (oh, and we have no skis), an old printer—and that’s just what was on top.

I was moved to tears to come home to this:

Oh, and did I mention that he does laundry—and dishes?