Tales of Me and the Husband

gracie turns 1 today!

gracie is one today! this is good news seeing as at least 5 times during her first year, i was convinced she was going to die of kidney failure or being punctured by a bone she swallowed.  but alas, she has made it to her first year of life and i think it should be a smoother journey from here on out.

she requested breakfast in bed, which she got, and some gifts from her favorite store ciao bow wow.  she is chewing on a treat right now.

memories of gracie’s first year (good and bad): steve in ER getting stitches on his ear (sharp puppy teeth and ears do not mix), her sleeping on her back with her legs up in the air, being a clumsy slow runner who can now lap us 50 times if she pleases, investigating poop in the toilet (need i say more?), trying to be the alpha leader of the house (we squelched that quickly), stealing our socks, underwear, shirts and bringing them to her bed to lay on, playing hide-and-go-seek, loving being chased when she has something she shouldn’t, playing with her retriever friend larry, going from 9 lbs. to 50 lbs. so fast, being obsessed with fetching, completely and utterly obsessed, learning to swim at lake winnipesaukee, and being our lovely gracie-girl whom we’re really glad to have.

happy birthday gracie!

Should I make up another story of pirouetting children and fairy dust?

Here’s the scene where the perfection takes place.

Would you just look at that?
Here’s where the kids beg for more broccoli, where my husband constantly remarks how sexy I am in pajamas, where not only are the bills always paid, they don’t even arrive (some mysterious do-gooder has taken our bills upon himself–thank you, kind sir!), the floors are always free of dust and hair, and the dog walks on her hind legs, therefore allowing her to actually do some sort of manual labor (and she asks all the time if she can help fold the laundry) with her front paws that are no longer necessary for walking.  
Again, so realistic.
{via}

my pom-pom wreath.

Remember the pom-pom wreath I was going to attempt?

I did!

Me likey.

It’s on the time-consuming side, but I made the poms while watching TV so I hardly noticed what I was doing.

Also, you remember Lindsey’s forgetfulness (I was thinking of linking to a past blog-post but I realized there are about three having to do with Lindsey’s forgetfulness so I decided to skip it)?

This morning was maybe the first morning ever that I didn’t ask her before she left if she had her lunch.

Guess where her lunch is?

On the kitchen counter.

I love my Manhattan loft.

This loft in Manhattan has me drooling a little.  I close my eyes and imagine that this woman is me–in the mornings, my kids and I mosey on down to the corner Dean & Deluca for a chocolate croissant and coffee (Odwallas for them), then head over to the Central Park Zoo (making a stop along the way at a few of the little shops in West Village, maybe 5th Avenue, you know… the regulars), and then we have a gourmet picnic in the park for dinner when Dad is done with his grueling Wall Street work.  Magic.  Oh yes, and all the while the maid is doing the laundry while I’m out.  And it smells like fresh linens and lavendar when we all return, and we are sprinkled with fairy dust when we walk in the door.  The kids have on clothes by a French designer whose name I can’t pronounce and despite our day in the park, their clothes are entirely unscathed and still look freshly pressed!  Then, I dress in my fanciest black dress and heels.  Meanwhile the kids get themselves ready for bed, asking if they can brush their teeth one more minute than usual, and they pirouette while they do so singing my praises for the lovely day, and the husband and I head off to the Met for a little La Boheme (we successfully avoid the paparazzi… though I’m not sure what we are famous for).

This is so realistic.

(Disclaimer: I love my life.  It’s just fun to pretend sometimes.)

The best Easter weekend in a long time.

When the weather turns nice, so does my mood.  This isn’t to say that I am a crabby wench December through March, but if I am a crabby wench, and I certainly can be, it is most likely in those months.  April has arrived in Massachusetts and it has been lovely.  I mean lovely.  If you live in Massachusetts (or probably the Northeast in general) you have most likely already discovered that it takes temperatures reaching a still-chilly 50 degrees for people to break out the flip-flops and the shorts.  It’s like our bodies are begging to be unclothed after a winter of suffocation.  But, what this really means, is that we are cold all the time.  Our attire suggests warmth, but this is a mere suggestion.  Mother Nature does not listen.  So, it is with so much love, that I say thank you to the Powers That Be (Mother Nature?  The tides and wind patterns?  Are you there God?  It’s me, Bridget.) for the truly glorious weather we had this weekend–and, as it appears, will continue to have the whole week long.  It just might be warmer than Santa Barbara.  Tee hee hee.  The weather actually called for the flip-flops that we wear one way or the other.

Steve and I took Lindsey to dinner.  The boys were all in different places (a bill under $60!?  Sweet, let’s go!  Quick!  Before they get home!).  It was still kind of cold this day.  Steve was in shorts and I didn’t wear a jacket.  We cranked the heat as soon as we got back in the car.  But oh, just wait.

The beach.  See that bathing beauty in the bikini?  I first spotted the bikinis in the parking lot.  I thought, “You fool.  Surely it will be chilly on the beach.”  But oh no, there was only a warm land breeze and I was a little disappointed I didn’t pack my own bikini.  +1 for Massachusetts!

With soaring temperatures like the ones we experienced, a cold VitaminWater was a must on the menu.  Okay, now I’m getting carried away.  My sleeveless get-up is not only suggesting warmth–it was hot.  I might’ve perspired a little bit (and I was happy, despite how I look in this picture). The girl behind me has just emerged from the frigid waters.  My skin is still pasty.  Fear not, oh pale one, summer is on its way.

And then came Sunday.  And it was hot again!  Maybe even hotter.  +2 for Massachusetts!  But wait, it was hot AND a holiday.  +3 for Massachusetts!  No flip-flops here, but that is purely for the aesthetic of the Easter outfit.

Lady in red….. green?  This is not matching mom-kid wear, I promise.  But, they’re similar.  Not planned.  Or… was it?  Christmas… I’m getting us these.  I might have to dress Nathaniel and Jordan myself to expect that they’ll go along.

Twins!

Jordan had to be told to smile in every picture (aren’t teenagers the best?).  He just got his braces off–we told him that we paid a couple thousand dollars for his smile and we now own it.

Mmm… he is looking quite yummy.

Once again, kudos to Gail who wins my coveted award for the hostess with the mostest.  Her table arrangements never cease to inspire and her food is nothing short of deeelish.

And finally, the hubs and I messed around in our friend’s new car.  Oh not like that.  We reserve that for our own car, geez.
And, a yearly favorite: singing “Christ our Lord is Risen Today!” at church.  Always love that hymn.  And the subject of the hymn, of course, which is really what it’s all about. 
How was your Easter?

ready to shed tears?

this amazing birth story found via here.

seriously, you will be speechless.
and the pictures, oh the pictures… don’t even get me started.

i’m making steve read it when he gets home.  and i’ll reread it.  and we’ll cry together.  it’s that powerful.

Our Story, Chapter 1.

I thought that on the occasion of our third anniversary, I would begin sharing our story.

I know first-hand that there was a helluva’ lotta’ curiosity surrounding our “courtship” if you will.  I totally get it.  Had I been a student (as opposed to THE student) at the college at the time, I would’ve had a ton of questions resembling, “Huh?!  Whaaat?  How?  Who?!  No way!”  Maybe yours went something like that.

(Although, those of you who were just plain mean–and there were some of those–I’ll never understand.  But, that’s probably none of you.)

Or maybe you didn’t go to the college and you just wonder how I had four older children in such a flash while maintaining my narrow hips.

“She must not’ve posted the pregnancy pictures on Facebook.”  Naturally that would be the explanation.

So, whichever school of questioning you find yourself in (or if you don’t even care), here goes.  And just chapter 1.  Chapter 2 will come some other time.  My shameless plug to keep you coming back (and because I don’t feel like typing the entire thing).

Let’s start at the very beginning.  A very good place to start.  When you read you begin with A, B, C… ah, I’m getting off track.  Where was I?

I’m at college.  I was a freshman (you see?  I’m going way back.) with a schedule-in-hand for my second semester classes.  Pan down.  The schedule read “New Testament” with a certain Dr. Hunt.  This guy required that you make a short trek across campus to buy his specially constructed notes that would aid you in your note-taking.  So thoughtful.

So my friend and I headed on over to buy the aforementioned notes.  Small, red, camp-resembling building…  Here we are.  Enter office.  There he sits.  My first observations?  He’s young and he’s handsome.  He pushes back from his desk and gives us a smile.  He’s suave too (seriously honey, you were… are… suave).

“Hi, I’m Bridget.” I say walking forward and holding out my hand.
“I’m Steve.”

He’s totally hip too, requiring that we call him by his first name instead of the official title.  No crotchety, pen in shirt pocket, poor fashion taste professors in this room!

He comments on my friend’s last name, a Swedish one (those Swedes).  Maybe asks us where we’re from?  I don’t know, details get fuzzy and this was, after all, six years ago.

We leave, notes in hand, and probably both comment on the fact that we thought he was cute, seemed sweet, and was, what was it again, oh yes, suave.

I soon discover that this little pseudo-crush I had was shared by many of the female students.  You only had to mention his name and another crush-confession would come out.  Totally harmless though, the guy was married, and come on… he was a professor after all.  Student-professor relations… that didn’t happen here.

I take his class, skipping only a few, but basically consider it one of my favorite classes.  Tell my Mom about him.  Take a few tests.  Turn in some homework.  He hands back homework, smiles at me as he passes, I turn to giggle at my friend sitting next to me (true story) who also has a crush on him because I knew she’d be a little jealous.  And so the spring semester goes.

Fast forward through summer.  Fall semester, sophomore year.  I take another class of his and contemplate a religion major in addition to my English major simply because I enjoy his class so much (pseudo-crush aside, he’s a great teacher).  He’s a fresh voice, makes you laugh, is really quite smart, but, perhaps best of all, challenges you and makes you think in new ways about religion (sometimes to the dismay of more conservative students… but for me, it fit).

In October, he missed a few classes (eventually missing the entire second-half), and I suppose it quickly came out that his wife had cancer.  Soon after, we discovered that she was really very sick.  Prayers went out from all corners of the campus.  Four young kids–the youngest being only two–made it all the more grave.  The campus, in my opinion, was consumed by it.  I was literally consumed by it.  There was little else I could think of throughout the whole ugly time.

From discovering she was sick to her death, was only about one month.  Crazy.

Chapter 1 isn’t entirely happy.  But it eventually gets there and this is a big part of the whole thing.

Fast forward again.  Junior year.  Early on, by way of my older sister who was in a small group through her church where Steve also went, I discover he’s in the market for a babysitter.  I had thought so much about him and his kids (who I didn’t know at all) over the year that I really wanted that job.  I really did.

So, I got it.

pretty early on in my b-sitting days

So, that’s where Chapter 1 ends.  

colour. spelled the european way.

find these beauties here.

love this DIY and i will DIM (my most recent blog-crush). original here.

i herald the many uses of modpodge.  these are adorable.

garland made from wool felt here.

the talent!  shop at ivie made.

leave it to martha.

my kitchen would look this neat for about 5 minutes.

i am determined to do some of my own things instead of just featuring ones others have done.  but it’s rainy here in massachusetts, and really gray, and i’m not feeling terribly motivated, and i ran out of milk for my cereal so i topped it off with half-and-half and it was delicious, so what?

do you have any awesome DIY to share?  i am obsessed.

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