To My Husband On Our 9th Anniversary:

We’ve been married nine years today. It’s not a big anniversary. We agreed to not really do anything to celebrate. We are not jumping out of a plane like we did on our first anniversary. We’re not doing Vegas like we did on our fifth. No, we’re cooking dinner and folding laundry. We’ll watch a show on the DVR. We whispered “Happy Anniversary” this morning when we heard the baby fuss and the 3-year-old demand our attention.

Today we’ll likely be passing ships as we are so many days. We’re sailing the sea of everyday life together. We talk about money, work, the house and kids like so many other couples. There are marvelous things in our ordinary life that make me love you more than I did nine years ago.

You have to know that there is not a day that passes that I don’t appreciate us as friends. Best friends. When I was away with my girlfriends a few weeks ago, I couldn’t help but text you about the score of the NCAA tournament. I wanted your opinion on the game. I wanted to hear your funny observations and witty comments. While I was enjoying myself with my friends, part of my heart was with you at home. Last night I smiled when you watched Dance Moms with me and I heard you say, “Oh! Yeah. I mean, Kristy is totally right about that one!” Yes, I just told the Internet that you watch Dance Moms. Sorry. But, I like watching it with you.

I love that we intensely discuss what houses we would be sorted into at Hogwarts. I love that we watch every ESPN 30 for 30. We plan our worldwide future vacations that are only dreams right now. I love that you get excited for our daughter when there is a new episode of Sofia The First on Disney Junior. You fetch pacifiers and bring me drinks when I’m trapped under a baby on the couch. Most of all you support my goals and honor my needs. I only hope I’m doing the same for you.

I’m proud of you. I’m proud of the life we’ve built together. You are everything I want in a best friend.  You make an ordinary life exceptionally wonderful. Thank you. Happy Anniversary.

The news that former American Idol runner-up and Raleigh native, Clay Aiken was running for congress in North Carolina brought a smile to my face yesterday. I watched him in numerous TV interviews during his media blitz. His red hair, familiar native twang and sparkly eyes reminded me of another time. A quirky phase I went through in my life.

I have already voted for Clay Aiken. Oh, yes. I was one of millions who voted for him back in 2003. My roommate and one of my dearest friends, Sara and I shared an apartment near campus. I was 21. I turned 22 that summer. We were college seniors who were just a summer semester away from graduating when we watched every episode of American Idol. Okay, I made Sara watch every week because I was captivated by this kid from my home city.

He had a nice singing voice. We were just two years apart in age. I knew some people he knew and he just seemed like a really nice guy. I loved seeing a hometown kid succeed on the nation’s most popular show. I joined the message boards and encouraged Clay support with my AIM icon. I bought the Rolling Stone magazine with his picture on the front and made Sara go to a Kelly Clarkson/Clay Aiken concert with me where I may or may not have bought a t-shirt. I understood why girls were all about him. He was non-threatening and charming. Unlike some of the “Claymates” however, I was not surprised when he came out a few years later after his fame from the show had faded. I was happy for him that he felt like he could say that he was gay and be who he was.

Am I a little embarrassed of my silly infatuation in 2003? Of course. I was a little too old for that. But, I think the reason I had a summer fling with Clay Aiken was that subconsciously I was clinging to my last bit of lighthearted, teenage fun. Voting for a contestant on a reality show was a welcome distraction from my first real-world scary, frustrating job search. That was the summer I ended my internship, finished my final classes of undergrad and had interviews for a real jobs at TV stations. That was the summer I said goodbye to my college friends and moved back home with my parents because that’s where the job was and I had no choice but to face the startling, adult reality that I had no money and no where to go. Little did I know, when summer turned to fall I would fall in love with the man who would eventually become my husband. I quickly left the room at my parents house for an apartment I shared with him. Stashed in that girlish closet were old prom dresses, sorority photos and even a Clay poster taped to the inside of the door where no one would see the evidence of my fandom.

Me and my husband in Oct. 2003

Yesterday, the 32-year-old woman that I am now rocked the baby and wiped the nose of the three-year-old I have with that same man I met the year Clay Aiken became famous. I reminded my husband that he went with me to see Clay at the NC State Fair and the Raleigh Christmas Parade back then. He laughed and rolled his eyes telling me that he must have really been in love to have done all of that. We watched one of his interviews  last night and listened to his views on issues he wants to address as a potential congressman.

I can’t vote for or against Clay this time. I live one district away, but I wish him luck and thank him for bringing back memories of a funny, fleeting time in my life. I wondered how his political career would pan out and wondered if I would remember the day he announced he would run for office. I think this may be a funny, fleeting time in my life too. It is the first week of my life as a stay-at-home mom. I’m sure I’ll look back fondly.

Good luck Clay. While you campaign to get voters to mark your name on a ballot, I will always remember when Ryan Seacrest campaigned for you and I called a 1-866 number over and over, just to be a silly girl for just a few months longer.

This morning I woke up in need. It was one of those Sundays that called for a crispy Belgian brown wonder, dripping with butter and warm syrup. You know, a waffle kind of morning. I rolled over and asked Greyson as sweetly as I could to be taken out for breakfast. Denied. As our tot bounced between us asking for iPhone videos and saying “I’m hungry!” I thought, “Hmm…I can be an amazing mother and get my waffle fix.”

“I’ll cook!” I announced, feet hitting the floor.

As I warmed up the waffle maker and measured out the mix I thought, “Eggs. We need eggs too.” We had some grocery store brand Egg Beater-like carton eggs. Greyson checked the expiration date. October. Score. I found a smaller carton with a  late August expiration. I cooked them up anyway. Mistake. They looked funny. I tossed them. I cooked the October carton. Eh. Still looked a little off but no biggie. October date. We’re good. I was even short cooking spray and the waffles still cooked perfectly and came off the iron evenly. Greyson said to Charlotte, “Isn’t your Mama great!? It was so nice of her to cook breakfast for us.” I thought with great pride, “It is great of me. I am a good mother!” 

Charlotte has been doing this thing lately where she puts food in her mouth, chews and then decides she no longer likes it and wants to spit it out. This happened after she took a bite of the eggs she begged for. Greyson is very perturbed by this quirk and told her, “No! You will swallow what’s in your mouth!” She cried and protested while keeping the half-masticated eggs in her mouth. Greyson said, “Fine! Time out! You will sit in Time Out until you swallow your eggs!” I thought, “Ugh! I hate doing that, but we need to make sure she’s eating what’s on her plate. We need to teach her that. We’re doing right by her as parents.”

Her wimpers subsided and I scooped some eggs on my plate as well. I took a bite. “Oh God! Ugh! Greyson, have you tried these? Charlotte! You can come out of Time-Out. These are bad.” Greyson said, “Oh, Charlotte! Come here, you can spit them out.”

Our bewildered, sniffling child spit her rancid eggs into the napkin I held to her face. She looked at us with tear-filled, confused eyes. Thankfully she seemed only a bit resentful. We apologized profusely and tried to explain when food tastes “funny” or “bad” she can tell us and spit it out.

Now I’m wondering how often anything will taste “funny.” As if punishing himself, Greyson took a bite too, before spitting them out. We bought the name brand carton eggs today, thinking that $1.50 could save us from further parental failures. Okay, I’m not the fantastic waffle-making mother I’d like to be. Sometimes I’m one bad egg in a pair of imperfect parents.

It seems stupid, but lately it has amazed me that there are the exact same number of seconds in each day. Time is so relative, so precious. The evidence is right here on my blog. My life has been so busy that this space has been neglected in recent weeks after I saved it from near death.

Some days I collapse in the bed with knots in my back, knowing I can’t get everything done I need to do in 24 hours. Work, house, parenting, being a spouse, being a friend and writing a blog. It never gets all done.

The relevance of time was never so apparent to me than when I was recently talking to a stay-at-home mom who’s child will start kindergarten in a few months. We were discussing the start of school and where her child would be attending. She said, “It is just SUCH a long day for them!” (meaning the kids)

::blink::

I just stared at her.

Huh? Long day? I nervously laughed an said, “Um, yeah. Sometimes Charlotte gets to daycare at 7:15am or 7:30am and I can’t pick her up until almost 6:00pm.” My voice was filled with guilt mixed with bitterness toward her comment. Both of which were uncalled for. She meant nothing by her comment. It was my own insecurities coming out.

This was the class sign in sheet one day this week:

A few days before I was driving by an elementary school on my way to a client meeting. It was about 3:00pm when school let out. I thought about the future, “God, what are my kids going to do after school until we’re done with work? That’s a long time.”  See, time is relative.

It’s hard working and parenting. It’s also hard being with a little one all day. That’s not news to anyone. Her comment just caught me off guard. She went on to talk about how she needed some “down time” from her responsibilities at home.

Huh? I guess I think of my “down time” as the few hours I get to bathe, feed and play with my child. Then I get to sneak in some husband time and personal time.

Here’s the thing. I don’t know which one is better, working or being at home. It’s all about time. I just hope we all get the precious time we need.

On Father’s Day we had a great time celebrating our favorite guy. We were on the road heading to the Farmer’s Market so Greyson could pick out his favorite veggies and meat to grill. Charlotte loves her Daddy and does what he does. A car pulled out in front of us. He yelled, “What are you doing, douche!?!?”

Sure enough, out of this precious little face we heard the words, “What are you doing, douche!?!?”

Aw! Just like her Daddy.