Aaron has been talking about joining the gym with us for a good 6 months and we finally got around to it this weekend. Not because we don’t want him there with us, but because his schedule generally likes to kick him in the shins while he’s sprinting toward home.

It’s more of an internal battle, to use more time away from the kids or me, to reduce stress. Which, hello? I am all for it. The guy needs a hobby – and punching things or throwing balls, running, swimming and lifting weights? All great hobbies. Good for your heart, too. I am a fan.

But here’s what he doesn’t know about the gym, and this is what I’d like to call “The Beginners Guide to our Gym: A Warning.”

1. I know this because I’ve asked, and guy’s locker rooms aren’t like you see on TV. They don’t sit around in towels, completely naked – throwing dirty socks around or telling Yo-Mamma jokes. Turns out when you’re naked, you’re all a bit like the girls locker room. Like a little lost bird who just wants to find her nest again. Flailing limbs, tripping over half strewn on clothes in an effort to avert your eyes from the ass in your face, possibly the years worst-kept beaver trail and then you have to look them in the eyes and be all “Oh hey! This Weather, huh?”

2. You’re so cute, you gung-ho newbie! Try every class and get those stamps for your promotional $50 giftcard. You know what the gym is doing right? A service to themselves: in an effort to keep them past the 60 day drop out, if we dangle a gift card in their face they’ll totally complete the program and learn to love being told that they’re doing it wrong. HARDER! FASTER! DO NOT SLOW DOWN! That gift card? Is only good for the gym, not a great night out – or your favorite retail store. You can buy 50 bottles of water! On them! Or pay for other classes, or kids classes. And well, working that hard to like sweating your balls off should mean I get something shiny when I’m through.

3. Spin class will break your vagina. I mean … well, I mean your vagina. I’m not a guy. I tried the spin class 8 very sore weeks after giving birth to an over nine pound he-man child, whom made his exit from my body through the birth canal. Spelled that one out for ya, huh? That’s technically only 2 weeks after the doctor inspects your still raw-meat girl parts and says, hey guess what! You can totally “practice” making more babies already! This doctor is generally a male because any female doctor would look at you, commiserate and then write you a prescription for an entire 4 months that having any kind of sex will incapacitate the ability to ever give a blow job again. That’s how it works.

4. When you start to have a routine to your gym schedule you’ll notice the routines of other frequent gym-goers as well. You’ll start to know which locker you prefer and which shower stall. You’ll begin the rhythm that will eventually be like coming home, taking off all your stress from the day and zoning out for an hour or two, maybe three. DO NOT INTERRUPT THE RHYTHM OF YOUR GYM GOER COUNTERPARTS. You noticed that Speedo guy likes the locker at the end of the 3rd row, don’t throw his game off and steal it. Don’t strike up conversations with folks on the treadmill, there are people who LIVE on those treadmills (I am one of them) and I stare directly in front of me with something really loud with lots of bass streaming in my ears – and I run away as fast as I can, for as long as I can. Do not disturb this kind of therapy. You know where the chatter’s hang out? Good, go there.

5. Welcome! It’s just like high school PE class only no one is timing your mile.

I’m pretty sure Aaron’s gym experience will be awesome now. He says he’s going to try the Spin class today … so, you know. I’ll be buying foam donuts this afternoon.

I was telling Aaron this week how scared I am of this book. What if I get finished and then I hate it? Or the people who read it hate it? And he said: then you’ll write another one. Just like that.

What a simple expectation. How easy it was for him to believe in me. I might not be the next great writer and I might not make it to the shelves of a box-book-store … but I might find an honest circle of people who feel the same way. Who can respect my story and the raw brokenness it brings – and maybe that’s enough.

Maybe waking up every morning and drowning in these black and white Verdana emotions will be enough when I’ve written my last sentence and cried my final tears through this year of writing.

One of the items on my Life List is to throw a huge party for Aaron’s 30th, 40th, and 50th birthdays. Last year came and went with little to no fanfare and this year? I’m making good on my list. Except the “huge” part of this party is going to be a bunny hill and the bruises on our asses.

When it comes around to his 40th I’m pretty sure he’ll thank me for this because by then I’ll have teenagers and throwing a party will be EXACTLY what I need to do with my time. Throwback to “The O.C” anyone? Anyone?

This is the year of traditions methinks because this is the year I’ve started them. Or repeated them? We got the kids new jammies for story time with the animals at Great Wolf Lodge (slippers included), I baked cookies, we cut a tree down, my daughter decorates it while I string the lights and the boys go to the hardware store.

And last night – we celebrated “fancy” as my daughter would say. Then we broke off and took each kid shopping for the other before bed. A tradition I can’t wait to repeat.

Part of the hopeless-romantic side of me longs for habitual, sturdy and repetitive family memories because as a child there are few for me and as a mom I hope there are many.

SO – Happy Birthday Aaron! I love the way we dream together.

xoxo!

This is my “baby’s first Christmas” ornament. We all got one (I have 3 other siblings) from the year we were born.

However like most things that trend in decades or traditions that folks hold-on to, I was absent for so many of them as a child. I was born in Africa and although we came state side right before I turned 3 … I’m still very anchored to my beginning. My memories have faded but I do remember the smell of the rain season and the feeling of our concrete floors on my bare feet.

I just learned about Elf on the Shelf this past Monday and was completely confused until Twitter cleared it up the next day.

So the story about this ornament? Isn’t really that special. I love babies. LOVE babies, always have; and now my daughter LOVES babies. She thinks this ornament is hers no matter that she can read 1983 on it and understands that it was mine when I was a little girl. (Bought for me state side, by the way … Nigeria didn’t really have a Hallmark store in 1983).

This has always been my favorite ornament because it was one of the things my mom kept from my baby days (literally, the woman did not keep things) and because being the youngest of four kids there wasn’t much that was “mine”.

And then I started having romantic notions about this ornament when my oldest brother came home after meeting a girl and exclaimed to the entire family that “He met the girl he was going to marry” which he did and it turns out they both had the same baby book. At 13 I then wanted to be able to tell a story like that some day. (I’m getting cheesier by the minute, I know. But it’s true!)

I wanted fate to step in and match me with a guy who had something exactly the same as me. Forget that my mom didn’t keep things or that being born in Africa meant I’d have to meet someone who either traveled a lot, was also born in Africa or had a crazy story … so I just always thought it would be this ornament. Or be able to tell the story of how he went home one day and exclaimed “he knew!”

So when I married Aaron – who is 3 years older (no chance of having the same ornament) and never went home to exclaim his proclamation of love for me (he didn’t live at home and I never really heard of his conversations with his parents while we were dating) a little part of me cried over this ornament.

Instead he’s logical, measured, passionate. He’s committed and when he knew, he knew. Not a moment before – and never wavering since.

I think about this every time we hang the ornaments while my daughter tries to convince us that this ornament is really hers, I get protective of something that has sentimental value over real value and tell her to back off. This is my ornament. It’s my reminder that I made a mark when I entered this world. It’s my reminder that being different is exactly who I am, who we are.

And in a way it’s the very story I always wanted to tell … except instead of the details overlapping our details intertwine.

Today is our wedding anniversary.

I was all excited to kick Year Sevens myth in the mouth before we entered it … and then it all became true. It wasn’t itchy, it was just a bitch. I am so happy to be done with it. There were more good times than rough ones, to be fair – but all of last year is kind of heart breaking.

So! YAY!

Eight Years.

I’m ready for it, soooooo ready. I get stupid happy and sentimental on anniversaries, birthdays, special occasions. I’m a hopeless romantic to the core (my parents could vouch for this for all those years I spent day dreaming at home) and today I have SURPRISES planned. I’m geeked.

Ready for the sap?

Aaron, yesterday was another anniversary – a hard one. The one where we had to recognize the passing of someone great in both of our lives (in the photo above, the man on the right – my step dad, passed away a day before our first wedding anniversary). I had my biological dad and my step dad walk me down my aisle … and I’ll never regret it. Both men spoke into the woman I am today – the woman who walked down that aisle to another man … for the rest of her life. I was anchored on both sides. How many brides get that privilege? When I tripped – I rebalanced quickly.

The metaphors of my life to that point.

While divorce was the wrecking ball of the family I knew as a child, it was also the healing palm to the wounds of a broken future. When my mom remarried and chose the man above as her spouse – a father figure for me, my life realigned. I re-hash all of this every year on my anniversary because marriage is a big deal. It’s not something I plan to take lightly or for granted. I don’t foresee divorce as an option for us and the fact that we’ve made it this far, honestly, it gets easier to believe myself when I say that.

I love our family and that sitting at the top is Aaron and myself, still holding hands. Feeling each other up every chance we get and making out when the kids quickly run in the other room. But it’s not all about sex – I actually have my best friend with me every day and when he’s not around I feel the pain of loneliness. Not the sorry for myself kind, the … gosh! I miss my friends kind. I like the guy – he makes me laugh every day and it’s a riot to watch him try and get me to do something I have my mind set on not doing. (I’m the stubborn one, by the way.)

He makes my comfort zone wider always pushing me to greater horizons – holding me up to a standard that will protect but also propel me. He’s a catch … and I’m more thankful every year that we landed together.

I think I set it all on Twitter this morning:

I love you, Aaron.

While I’m processing photos and mentally recovering from the Slumber Party today I thought I’d share this fun and super simple project with you guys.

I made these for the shelving project I’ve been working on. (Inspiration for POUF! found here)

I was planning on using old book pages but while I was thrifting and hunting I kept seeing sewing patterns for dimes. And then it hit me. I could just use sewing patterns instead of books – there’s usually a bit more, visually, on a sewing pattern and the ones I found had some added color as well. Happy!

You’ll Need:

Styrofoam balls
Hot glue gun, glue
Sewing pattern (one per pouf)
Ribbon

Start by cutting up your sewing pattern into squares (sorry, no photo) and crumpling each square as you go so that you end up with a bit of real estate in order to flue to the styrofoam ball.

Make a mess.

And glue your ribbon on for hanging.

I found that holding each square down for a good 30 seconds was the way to go, but I got impatient after the 17th one … and then remembered why it’s not ok to be impatient with a hot glue gun. Using a pencil to hold it down will help you avoid burns. I wouldn’t have the slightest idea why. Ehum.

You’ll be left with this lovely bit of sewing inspiration to use in your home.

For a variation with much less individual gluing going on – just take the actualy pattern (a peice of it) and wrap a styrofoam ball. Crumple on top, glue in place … rinse repeat for a fun little bowl of POUFS!

Enjoy!

Then the screaming and crying that ensues, vomiting – bloody goose egg forms just above where his skull meets his spinal cord on his head?

Weird like that. Only weirder because here’s where it just gets weird. WEIRD.

Aaron starts to lose color in his face and says he feels dizzy. Asks for the keys to the car, grabs them from me and practically runs to the drivers side – getting in and turning on the AC full blast.

I follow with all his gear, carrying the crying 3 year old who is limp in pain on my shoulder and asking our daughter to follow along but assuring her that none of this is actually her fault. It was an accident.

I open the side door of the mini van and get the kids inside – checking my sons head and eyes – asking him how he’s feeling and requesting that Aaron move over to the passenger side so I can drive us to the doctors office before they close.

No response. I look over my shoulder to where he’s sitting just as his body falls weightless against the door, his hands shaking without will.

I opened the door to check on him and cannot see his eyes, instead I see the whites of his eyes flickering underneath his batting eyelashes, again without will.

I start to panic. Yelling his name, no response.

Nothing. More of the same eye-rolling-backwards flailing limbs. At one point he started talking to me but I couldn’t tell you about what. He didn’t make any sense but at least his voice was responding to mine. Soon after he came to enough answer my questions: What’s your name? Where are you? Are you ok? Do you still feel dizzy? Can you stand so we can move you?

He kept asking me to make it colder (AC already blasting on high). He was confused. My kids are still sitting in the back of the car … one with an injury of his own the other with a bruised spirit for causing the fall.

I couldn’t explain this. I didn’t know what to do, what just happened?

We finally got him moved to the passenger seat and I started driving to the ER when the color came back and he said “What happened?”. Still light headed, still in need of freezing temperatures … but at least I knew who was staring back me again. I could see the life had returned to his eyes, I recognized those glassy blues.

We still headed to the ER to check out our son who was complaining of a tummy ache post fall. I was expecting to have Aaron looked at too but after we got there (and my emotional break down in the car on the way to the ER) he said he would be ok. Then our son started acting fine, too. Like – no problem at all! Let’s get ice cream! kind of fine.

We talked to the admission nurses about it – they gave us some warning signs and said it would probably be fine to go home and watch him closely (avoiding ER costs) so we did.

We’re still watching – it was a very hard hit to the back of his head and Aaron seems to be ok, resting.

Things just got weird around here today. But the stove still works and so does my sons memory and Aaron’s limbs.

I need permission to ugly cry and eat chocolate, sleep in past 7 am – not shower and watch reality television marathons for 48 hours.

Dad’s unite! The one day a year where jokes about your wife are laughed at, you can sit on the couch watching sports and eating hot-wings and she’ll swoon at your from afar. The only day of the year that you’re doing nothing is actually a turn on for her. Celebrating fatherhood … the other aphrodisiac.

So what the hell do you get him?

Thats a toughy. Aaron doesn’t wear ties. So ….

For starters I made this:

Which can be downloaded here.

It’ll give the kids something to do with dad without feeling like they have to finger paint yet another card. Which is totally Mothers Day material … but Dads? They need meat. Emotions? Hand prints? Aww … baby kittens. THAT ARE EATEN BY BULLDOGS EVERYWHERE. Give dad a break. He doesn’t know how to tell the kids one more time that this picture of what? is that him? the house? it’s an airplane? Oh of course it is! is a wonderful gesture. Which it is, Billy and Sally. You did great.

Dad just needs to lie down and have his Scotch via I.V. before the days events begin.

Let’s put Political-Correctness aside for one day and shout about how awesome testosterone is. You like them apples? OH YES YOU DO.

So, now that we’re all on the same page about our 1940′s MadMen style father figure. Let’s buy Him the gifts.

He drinks coffee every morning and by 1pm he’s not sure if he’s ready for another espresso or just a tilt of the wrist of something stronger. You married an entrepreneur 101: Stress is what’s for lunch.

Source: urbanoutfitters.com

The guy walked the 100 mile forest of the Appalachian Trail for crying out loud. I bet he still likes adventures. I also bet there’s a Zipline near you. Is he afraid of heights? Oh, I’m sorry – the conversation about what to get Him for Fathers Day is over here.

Source: notventures.notcot.org

Last Valentines when you finally bought something new for the “special drawer” he was pleased. As always. I’m willing to bet though that seeing you in short shorts with one of his old college T’s and some awesome orange converse shoes on one of these? Tops that special drawer … and you won’t even be naked. Take him down the hill you’ve always coughed at when he reports his route to you? Emergency room bill notwithstanding … you just renewed your wedding vows, the guy is reminded all over again why you’re the one he wanted to have kids with.

Source: etsy.com

He doesn’t have a ton of hobbies? Not into football, golf is boring, the occasional hiker, would bike on a league if he had time, doesn’t have a gym membership because he doesn’t have time? I’m guessing you probably don’t own a boat then either. You could rent one just for Fathers Day. (We did that a couple years ago) and spend the afternoon on the water, with or without kids.

That could be a budget booster though, too. So maybe you can just bring the dingy from the junk pile out back into your living room and dress up Junior as the pirate. Serve fish for lunch, watch something boaty or fishy on TV and have a nerf gun water fight for dessert.

Source: littlelovely.typepad.com

And at the end of the day of longboarding, zipling or boating he has room for one more surprise you can get away with this.

Source: deskstore.com

After he sees all the thought you put into the One Day All About Him he’ll be sure to finally say yes to hosting that Wine and Cheese Party you’ve been talking about for months. Which he’ll be ok with because at least the decanter does cool shit.

If at the end of the 17th of June you still have no idea what to buy him? Try replacing his tennis shoes, buying him car washes, lotto tickets or a certificate for an interior car cleaning. He’s always wanted to try lobster? Make it. You want to cash in on the Christmas money and buy him that new tech-thing … I bet he’ll appreciate it. Letting him off the hook for lawn-care this week or putting the kids to bed while he reads yesterdays paper for the rest of the month … those count to.

Whatever you do for the Father in your life – whether that means you had children with him, he raised you, is 1/2 your DNA, married in to raising your kids, or is a really special man in your life: treat him right, respect him. And break the personal barrier – give that guy a hug.

Then slap him. Of course. And dare him to drink the entire bottle of Screaming Ass Hot Sauce.

Beer’s will be on ice by the grill.

Anything special on my Life List? Should we do a dance on camera and post it online? Submit our entire story to Dave Ramsey? Drive on down to his show and yell on air?

Leave a comment and tell me, in your wildest dreams (within budget of course!) what would YOU do to celebrate being debt free??!

You’ll be the first to know and it’s getting seriously close. How are we going to ring in this occasion? And will you ring it with me?

But also organize your life morning:

The morning after:

As well as the beginning of the re-instating traditions:

My family is put back together and it feels great. Grrrrrrrrrrrreat I tell you!

Maybe I haven’t said this lately, at all or enough: but I really really like my husband. We have our ups and downs as is wont to happen when you’re married for any length of time – and the 7th year has turned out to be a surprising one, in good ways more than bad. A learning curve, a leaning curve and all kinds of possibilities.

Coming out from under the rock that has been the last few months (maybe years) of uncertainty and worry … we have nothing figured out and all the hope in the world – but the shift is: we have it together.

You+Me.