Showing Love

Speaking of appreciation....


When I get mad at Chris for whatever crazy reason I come up with, 4 things usually happen.

1. I wasp around, pretending not to be mad until I finally explode.
2. I explain in various ways why I'm mad, usually not getting the real reason to roll off my tongue until much later in the argument conversation; he then gets frustrated that I'm even mad about it in the first place.
3. We are silent for a short period of time, we continue to kiss and say I love you and try our hardest to pretend not to be mad, until we finally AREN'T mad anymore (being mad is no fun, it doesn't solve problems, and not kissing and loving on him just does not fit into my schedule).
4. We talk about it. 

The last argument we had, I literally had steam coming out of my ears. The culmination of many things led me to burst (see number 1, above). The next day, he went to work while the kids and I had a snow day. I cleaned the bedroom, vacuumed the house, folded sheets, washed dishes, climbed through 3 loads of his laundry, had dinner waiting on the table for him when he got home, and offered up a foot rub immediately afterward.

But I was ticked off. Why did I do all those things for him?

Being angry does not justify not showing love. He still worked hard all day, he still provided for our family, he still deserves to come home to a woman who loves him with all her heart - even if her mind is still slightly full of steam instead of paper hearts. 

appreciation station.

Life throws curve balls. Sometimes, they're just regular boring slightly curved balls. Sometimes, they're curve balls that shoot a million miles an hour out of one of those machines and it gets stuck and keeps shooting them before you've even had time to swing at the last one and pretty soon you just stand at home plate, ducking every now and then, staring at all the damn balls at your feet.

That's how February has been in our household. It's okay though, because it means all 4 of us have learned how to communicate more effectively (though we don't always choose to do so); it means that we have spent a lot more time together as a family than we had originally planned; it means that we are all learning to give respect if we want to get it; and it means we are adapting every day to being a home.

March is a happy happy month: it will mark my mother's 60th 30th Again birthday, and it marks the first signs of spring.

Ah, I love spring. Flowers and grasses that you thought were dead all winter suddenly come back to life, and front yards look like the fields in Oz, rather than the icky hay-swamps of Nowhere, Midwest [what? that could be a real thing]. You start seeing baby animals every where you go, all your friends accidentally get preggo from being cooped up all winter, your skin begins to glow from the sun instead of the increasing paleness brought on from wind and lack of Vitamin D. It's a glorious time of year. It's a sign of new beginnings. Better things to come. It's the time of every year when I begin to really look forward to everything that's in store.

It also makes me incredibly thankful for everything that I already have.

I want to make sure that this spring (and every season thereafter), I take the time to show my loved ones how much I truly appreciate them. Not just in words, but also in action. Appreciation comes in many forms, and I do not want to stick to just one. I want to express it in every way possible. I want appreciation to be flowing out of my ears in little pink hearts so everyone can see it, feel it, know it, and share it.

Ah, yes. I love spring.

Parenting is a verb.

I've written about 3 blog entries on my phone that I have yet to post. Yes, yes, I'm slacking.

I'm also behind on my daily devotional book. And my healthy cooking. And my leisure reading. And my workouts.

But I am completely caught up on surviving the flu, taking the kids to the aquarium, cheering my mom through knee surgery, and figuring out how to calm a sweet little boy with strep throat [hint: it's singing crazy African beats].

Until I am able to post the rest of my updates, I will leave you with today's Facebook post where I shamelessly blasted my current frustration. I am so incredibly lucky to have such an amazing support system.

 

 

My goodness. I'm going to cry the happy tears, and then run home to hug my precious little family.

 



The Apology Gift

I'm a woman. A scorpio woman. Do you have any idea what this means?

I'm stubborn. I'm a bad apologizer. And if I'm losing an argument, I will start to pick fights on topics I might have a slight advantage at just to make myself feel like I'm not losing. It goes something like this:

"I'm not mad. I just hate watching this team. They're not even good..." 

[This team was playing great. I was mad because my team lost to them when we weren't playing great]

"Watching this game with you and so-and-so is so annoying, you're not a real sportscaster, stop acting like it..."

[He played college football... he knows his shit. He's basically a college football genius. And he holds Division III records. How hot is that?!]

"You're being a jerk. Why didn't you hug me when I walked in the door?"

[He did. And really, I'm not that needy.]

 "You promised to have dinner with me, why'd you eat ahead of time?"

[I was late getting home from work so his wonderful momma cooked for us to be nice.]

I then complained about no alone time, doing dishes, not being taken seriously, the stress of moving out of my apartment, why everyone hates my dog, the whole house is mean to me, blah blah BLAH oh my GOSH Courtney shut up. Seriously, sometimes I'm just a brat for the sake of being a brat. Or for the sake of PMS and I really can't help that.  Yanno what I was really mad about? Probably just holding a grudge over stupid  overrated  OU Sooners because they beat my Cowboys during the annual Pokey Chokey at Bedlam this year. Really, Mike Gundy?!

Thankfully, my sweets knows me well enough to know not to argue with me when I get like this (don't worry - I never ever call him "sweets" to his face). He hugs me, tells me I'm pretty, and goes to bed. Occasionally I get mad that he won't argue.

And theeeeen I spend the entire following day trying to come up with new ways to apologize. Today, I doodled apology graffiti and sent him artsy fartsy pictures of them. He has also received apology sandals, apology dinners, and apology fishies for the salt-water tank. At this point, he probably gets excited whenever I argue with him because it means he's going to get something really stinking cool the next day.

Tonight, we are going to a fancy shmancy dinner to celebrate all the wonderful starts to our 2014

His best friend got hired on at his office.
My best friend turned 27 today. (Remember, they are married so it isn't weird that we asked them to dinner together).
Most importantly, we are celebrating the union of our.... stuff.

I am moving all of my junk into his house this weekend, and I could not be more excited! Once we get decorated, I'll give a tour of all our new DIY projects (we have a lot going at once... It excites my little DIY heart, and it satisfies his ADD needs).

Eeeeeep. So many exciting things coming up this year, and I cannot wait to share them!

[[ On a side note.... It has been a year since my Papa passed. Part of my heart is with him every day. ]]

In Good Company

When I was about 8, I was in my brother's room playing with his toys (like so many other evenings, his GI Joes and Army Men were infinitely cooler when they hung out with my Barbies). My mom came into the room asking weird questions about dinner and softball practice and can we give her so-and-so's phone number so she knew what the regulations were for Cameron's Cub Scouts derby racecar. It was then that I decided to tune it all out, and I distinctly remember thinking, Okay Mom, Mr. GI is about to ask Skipper on a date, let's get moving.

This is easily one of the biggest regrets of my childhood conversations (another is that I once told my brother I hated him, and then I felt bad and apologized for 2 hours; my fits of anger never last long). Immediately after deciding to ignore her, she cried and asked if we thought she was a bad mother. I actually laughed because I was certain there was NO way she was actually being serious.

But she was.

 

Now, let me tell you something about my mother. She has an infectious laugh and the biggest heart I've ever witnessed on the face of this planet. She was also a really, really outstanding parent. We lived about 20 miles outside of the town where we actually went to school, and on any given evening, her schedule looked like this:

5:30 Pick up kids from daycare because she worked a full time job and my dad didn't live at home
5:30-6:30 Dinner and homework at McDonalds because we didn't have time to drive the 30 minutes home and back. Depending on the season, Cameron's football practice conincided with this hour, so my mom and I ate in the car by ourselves
6:30-7:30 Courtney's softball practice and/or cheerleading practice and/or campfire meetings (and sometimes all 3)
6:30-8 Cameron's Cub Scout meetings or baseball practice.
30 minute drive home.
And then bathe both children, pick out their clothes for tomorrow, read their bedtime stories, organize their backpacks, talk to them about their day, learn every detail about every friend in every class, sew costumes for school plays, help put together tri-board science projects, clean the house (oh my god, how was our house so clean?!) and somehow find time to take care of our three dogs, our two cats, a fresh-water fish tank, and then shower and take care of herself.

Wait. And she's asking me if she's a bad mother?!?!

Seriously guys, my mom is cray. She is a fabulous mother and I have never seen one better.

But I do think I finally understand why she cried and asked that crazy question in the first place. Being a step-whatsit is one of the few things in my life I feel pure passion for (aside from my family, my dog and my smokin' hot boyfriend). I absolutely love the cheer practice, the laundry piles, the sight of their sparkling clean rooms [even if I have to clean them myself], the way Noah smells after he's had a bath, every second of Peyton being clingy and snuggly, and then trying to learn details about their day without sounding like I'm doing some kind of prison-camp interrogation. Still, at the end of some days I find myself screaming, "Good lord! There's no way I'm doing this right!!!!" followed by "I will never be as amazing to them as my mom was to me because I haven't been with them from the start..."

 

After looking back on that terrifying conversation with my mom, I finally realized I don't need to have all the answers. I don't need to know every detail about their past. I don't always need to have it all together. What parent does, be it biological, step, or adoptive? None of us are going to know what we're doing every. single. day. We're not always going to know that we're doing it right - or that someone else could've done it better. Chris always says to me, "Just love them as best as you can. Be there for them. And when they're old enough to understand and realize it, they'll know you were their parent all along."  Hold just a moment while my heart melts. He really is the best partner I've ever had in my life. We make a great team, and I love every second of it.

 

I wouldn't know the first thing about being a parent or a partner if it weren't for my amazing mother. Knowing that she had the same, "Am I doing this right??" moments that I have.... Well, that makes me feel like I just might be.

 

Oncology, Party of (K) 9.

I never thought I'd be googling reviews for Veterinary Oncologists. But here I am, frantically searching for any kind of inkling for one who is both magical and inexpensive. So far, my vet has referred me to two: one is less expensive, but can't see my furbaby for another 10 days; the other is comparable in price, but has less than stellar reviews regarding her personality. Neither of these options seem magical.

For those that know me, you very well know that pre-smokin' hot boyfriend and pre-sorta-step-kids, there was really only one love in my life: an 8 pound Chihuahua Beagle mix named Cooper. I have known for a long time that days like this are possible, but I thought I made a deal with Jesus so that my little guy would never leave me.

[My goodness. How cute is he?]

 

 

A couple of weeks ago, Cooper (who has never weighed more than 8.5 pounds soaking wet) started gaining weight in his belly. Over a week's time, he swelled up like he'd just eaten a Thanksgiving dinner. I took him to see my dad, who was an animal husbandry major at OSU. No, he's not a vet. But he knows enough about pigs and cattle that I thought he would at least give me a decent, free guess as to whether I should be worried. We decided the little turkey was just eating too much people food. [Side note: totally guilty. He usually gets scraps from every meal I eat in front of him.]

 

3 days later, his legs were so swollen he couldn't walk straight. I gave him a warm bath thinking it might help with any soreness, and felt some kind of mass in his belly.

 

Total. Meltdown.

 

He got into his vet first thing in the morning (Tulsans, please go see Dr. Robards at Southern Hills Vet Hospital. He is amazing, and his staff will call you multiple times a day to calm your fears and check on you). Dr. Robards drained a full liter of fluid from his tiny little body, and within an hour he was a full two pounds lighter. Rejoice! Yay! Hallelujah!

 

Not so fast. His fluid was building up because he has crystallized particles throughout his body, and his immune system was trying to flush them out. Unfortunately, he has an immune disorder; instead of flushing out the particles, he leaked fluids through his capillaries.

 

[On a side note, we discovered through X-Rays that his previous GARBAGE OF A HUMAN BEING owner broke several of his ribs, let them heal back without medical care, and then kicked him to the streets. I should send you a thank you card, because you sent my little boy right into my arms. I should also punch you in the dome because Coop now has shards of bone floating around in his ribcage. You're a real winner!]

 

Anyway... an ungodly amount of money later, we got Cooper on antibiotics, steroids, and a diuretic. These are supposed to increase his appetite and thirst, flush those nasty little crystallized particles out of his teeny tiny system, and cure what ails him. However, he is now dehydrated, unable to jump onto the couch without falling, and refuses to play. He just wants to be in my lap on the floor and snuggle. I told myself, "It's okay! His body is just tired from healing itself!!"

 

And then I remind myself that his little body isn't so great at doing that. Today when the vet tech called me for an update on my baby. She and Dr. Robards immediately referred me to a Veterinary Oncologist. Wait. A what?? Yes. A Veterinary Oncologist. We are now worried that my little Coop-a-Loop has cancer. So.... we have an appointment in 10 days to get his sweet little senior-citizen puppy tummy an ultra sound.

 

Cancer is scary. There's no doubt about that. But my little guy is tough. When the wind blows just right, his ears raise up so that he looks like a little tri-colored Yoda. He's had a shattered rib cage and an ID number tattooed on his belly and he once got in a fight with a yellow lab and won. He might as well be the leader of a small prison gang.

 

He's strong. He's going to be okay. I'm making the right decision by getting him looked at. I have every reason to hope that he will live many more years of his sweet little life, peeing on my patio and sniffing eyelashes and growling at small children.

 

 

 

 

 



slightly humorous girl?

I just wanted to stop by quickly and let everyone know that I showed my last post "Funny Girl" to the best friend.

Best friend's reaction:

"OMG I'M READING YOUR BLOG AND LAUGHING SO HARD I'M CRYING. You are HILARIOUS. Also -- you inspired me to blog."

I win! Hands down! Funniest girl alive award goes to me! I excitedly tell boyfriend about my success.

Boyfriend's reaction:

 

 

Hmph. Okay. Still not funny. But I'll get there.

 

Also, I have no idea who the person in that picture is, but I'm pretty sure he's Christopher's long lost twin. With a receding hair line. And bigger ears. And less style.

 

Okay, equal style.