Aug
14
It was during a softball game that I fell in love, or maybe it was lust, with my husband. We’d been to dinner for our first date and he invited me to come along afterward to watch him play his game, which is the reason I hesitate to say “love.” How can you know you love someone in three hours? At the very least, I knew I liked the way he looked out there and I wanted to learn more about that body. Oh, and the guy inside it, too, of course.
He loves to reminisce about the moment after the game when I reached out to grab his hand on our walk to the car. He says I touched both his hand and his heart and he was hooked. Little did he know, I was going for a butt grab but missed.
Since that first game, I’ve tried to be there every time my husband played softball, because I like to watch him play. He has a childlike joy for the game, like he’s doing it for the first time, every time. But in hot, sweaty, super-sexy man body.
Last night, he had the opportunity to play at Firestone Stadium for a charity game. He played it off like it was no big deal, but in reality, it meant a lot to him. He’s always wanted to play there. And I know he got a thrill at being called out on the field at the start of the game. So did the girls. Their Daddy was a sports hero.
He played first base during the first half of the game and made some great plays.
He wasn’t too happy with his hitting, but it all looked good from my angle.
The kids had the chance to run the bases during the seventh inning stretch.
My husband was the only player to run them with his kids. And that makes him more attractive to me than anything.
Jul
9
I live in Tuscarawas County, Ohio. Obviously. (I know, I know. Good-bye anonymity! As if I ever had it…so while I’m at it, if you live here, too, be sure to come to My OH! Monday. I’ll be there in all my round and pregnant glory!) And when I head for the highway, I always pass this county road sign.
The abbreviation for our county on those kinds of signs is TUS. Someone added a letter H. So it says, “TUSH.” Hehe. TUSH. I can’t really explain why this makes my heart feel so good. All I know is, my kids believe the only way we can access 77 North is to sing the intro to the ZZ Top song.
And so began our journey yesterday. We were heading to Canton after I made the strategic decision to take my van, Stella, because 1) she has air conditioning (and it’s broken in every.other.car. we own) and 2) she had enough gas for the trip so we wouldn’t have to put more in Dave’s car before our next payday. And Lord knows, a tank of gas can make all the difference when money is tight. The children need milk, after all.
We made it to our exit and were sitting on the downhill exit ramp at a red light when it happened. Our brakes went out. Dave later said that it felt like a bubble popped under the peddle, it went to the floor and SMACK! We hit the car in front of us. I started freaking out, OF COURSE. It’s what I do. And the way you freak out when you’re pregnant is to grab your belly and scream - because that’s what nature tells you to do! DANGER means PROTECT THE BELLY. Dave quickly wondered VERY LOUDLY if I was in labor and by then the kids were screaming and crying. But then I realized I had a job to do, I took some deep breaths and said, “Okay. Okay! It’s okay. We’re alright.”
The light turned green and the man in front of us - you know, the one whose ass we were up - gave us a wave and took off. A man we spoke to later said, “That’s lucky,” but I don’t know, considering I’m waiting for the cops to come break down the door and get us because we crashed into someone and didn’t hand over our insurance, our bank account and Julia to make it right. But the thing that really matters in this story right now is that when the dude took off, we had nothing holding us back and so we started to drift into the very busy intersection ahead. Dave used the emergency brake, which stopped us. Sideways. And in a cloud of smoke, which may have been cool in a Dukes of Hazzard kind of way had my children not been poking out into oncoming traffic.
At that point, we had a decision to make: turn left to go up the very steep hill or right to go down the very steep hill. We had to move and there was no place to pull to the side. So, we went uphill. Lucy had gotten distracted by then and was singing “Mama Mia…here I go again! Ma ma, how can I resist ya?” Julia was shrieking that we were going to die. I kept saying, “We’re fine. We’re fine. Daddy will get us out of this.” And he did. We made it to the nearest brake shop. Fifteen minutes after it was closed.
We spent the next hour in a Subway restaurant with no air conditioning waiting for a tow truck for Stella and a ride from my mother…in her car…with no air conditioning. And now, $250 later, a tank of gas doesn’t seem all that pricey.
Jul
4
Boom!
by Leslie
Dave and I have never watched a fireworks display together. Never. He’s always had to work on the Fourth of July. When he pointed this out to me, my thought was, “Fireworks? We see them all the time when we’re together!”
We’re going on our seventh year of marriage - you know, the one where you’re supposed to get itchy - and I couldn’t be crazier about my husband. My chief complaint about him? I don’t get to see him enough. I still see fireworks when he kisses me. Pregnancy hormones could have something to do with that. Or the fact that he just straight up turns me on. Some people may say it’s love, and yes, I have that for my husband. But I still lust for him. Lust is fireworks. Love is a Bangles song. Is this burning an eternal flame?
Anyway, because I’m a real geek, I looked up the definition of fireworks. I found that fireworks are “devices consisting of a combination of explosives and combustibles, set off to generate color, smoke, and noise for amusement.”
Dave, we see those EVERY DAY.
May
24
It’s Relevant
by Leslie
One of the fundamental differences between Dave and I is this: I give the girls their Happy Meal toy right away, but he makes them wait until they’ve finished eating.
May
20
The plan for today was to tie myself to my computer so I could get some long overdue work done, but it was gorgeous outside and I was distracted by Lucy’s pigtails.
She’s wearing pigtails now. They’re sort of magic, I think.
Lola found herself in a new kennel this afternoon. I’m no dog whisperer, but I think she liked it.
By then, it just sort of felt like a holiday, so I pretended it was.
Later, Dave and Julia had their first T-ball game.
They won.
Maybe it’ll rain tomorrow.
May
17
I’d Love To Say Things Will Slow Down Now, But I Think This Is Just The Pace Of Our Lives.
by Leslie
Julia was our star this weekend. She performed four times in three different recitals.
She did ballet and tap in her first show in this adorable little outfit…
…cheer and tumbling in the second show…
…and on Sunday, it was piano.
Our whole family was in one place and we were all bathed and dressed, so we thought we’d mark the occasion with a photograph.
Julia performed beautifully as always. Lucy was a doll through all the sitting and waiting. (You can hear her sing along to Julia’s piano performance in the video below.)
I was a bit emotional, OF COURSE. It was sort of stunning to watch hours and weeks and months of classes, practice and hard work culminate in those few moments on stage.
And after a big, deep breath, we’ll start it all again for the next year.
Mar
27
One week ago, Dave and I spent 23.5 hours without our children at our favorite resort so we could celebrate our anniversary like sinners, gambling and having wild sex.
I found a purse I completely fell in love with during our getaway. It must have been all the sex. Or the money I won. We were supposed to be shopping for souvenirs for the girls and my parents, but I couldn’t help but notice it and want it for myself. After the fourth or fifth time I danced past and fondled it, Dave asked, “Why don’t you just buy it?’
“Oh, I don’t need it,” I said softly, turning back to reach out and run my fingers over the embroidered letters.
“But you want it?”
I gave him a coy look out of the corner of my eye, then turned away from it and headed toward the front of the gift shop.
He grabbed the purse of followed behind me.
“Buy it,” he said, handing it to me.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“YES.”
“I don’t know…”
“Leslie. BUY IT.”
“Alright.”
“And LET’S GO.”
I cradled it in my arms and examined it while waiting our turn to check out. When we were up next, I started to have second thoughts. “Dave, are you sure? Isn’t it a little cheesy?” I asked, holding it up next to my face.
“Cheesy is kind of your bag, honey.”
Literally, now it is.
Don’t worry. I’m not going to start shopping at Bonworth. I was on vacation. Remember that little exchange in You’ve Got Mail?
“People do really stupid things in foreign countries.”
“Absolutely. They buy leather jackets for much more than they’re worth.”
Of course, I wasn’t in a foreign country, just a different state.
And secretly, I still really, really love it.
Mar
20
to say we’re going away
something might stop it
Mar
19
Last night, Dave and I crawled into bed and lay face to face for our daily status report.
“If you get up with Julia tomorrow, do not put any Fun Dips in her lunch. She’ll ask you to, but I already told her it’s not appropriate for school.”
“Alright. Are my good jeans washed?”
“I think so. Did you switch the car seats?”
“Uh huh. Oh, Picasso is out of food. Don’t forget to pick some up.”
“Okay. I rescheduled the dentist appointments.”
“When?”
“Earlier in the day.”
“Alright.”
The room fell silent.
“So,” I chimed, then cleared my throat.
Silence.
I cleared my throat AGAIN. “So!”
Nothing.
Once again, “So,” and a very deliberate clearing of the throat.
Then Dave farted.
“Well, there goes that!” I huffed and rolled over.
“What!?!?”
“I’m not putting my nose anywhere near your butt stink. Looks like we’re not doing it tonight!”
“You wanted to do it?!?!?”
“Duh!”
“What do you mean ‘duh?’”
“I said ‘So!’ and I CLEARED MY THROAT. Like you don’t know what that means!!!”
“I don’t know what that means!!!!”
“I know your signals.”
“And they are?”
“Conscious means you probably want to do it. Snoring means probably not.”
“Well…”
“You weren’t snoring!”
“The last time you said, ‘Alright then,’ and I tried to touch your boob and you yelled and cried because they were sore.”
“Yeah, that was ‘Alright then.” This was “So!” and I CLEARED MY THROAT.”
“So clearing your throat means you want to have sex.”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
“Unless I’m sick.”
“Oh for goodness sake, I’ll never understand you!”
Silence again. A soft Lucy snarfle burped from the baby monitor. Picasso started to purr softly at the foot of the bed.
“So!”
Silence.
“So!” he said again. Then he cleared his throat.
Nothing.
“ARE WE GONNA DO THIS OR NOT!?!?”
“It’s like you don’t know me at all.”
Feb
24
Picasso Is Home
by Leslie
We picked her up Monday night. And we’ve been doing a lot of this.
And this.
(Please ignore my bedhead. Showering isn’t a priority when you get your should-be-dead cat back.)
And it’s doing some good, I think, because she’s now drinking on her own and eating with help. This morning, she rolled on her back to let Dave rub her tummy. Later, she played with Lucy and explored the house a bit, despite her coordination and balance issues.
She’s timid and tired, but she’s still Picasso. I am so grateful.
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Stuff I Dig
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You Should Do This
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Ooooooh. Aaaaah.
