Tomorrow is your birthday.  It’s hard for me to wrap my head around the fact that you’ve been in my life for less than a decade, because it feels like you’ve been around forever.  Most people say that they can’t believe how time flies, but with you things tend to move at a slower pace.

We have been through a lot together, you and I.  I won’t lie; you’re the reason I have an intimate relationship with anti-anxiety meds and sleep aides.  You are the reason I throw my hands in the air on a daily basis, look up and say, “Lord, have mercy on me.”

I had a hard time learning to love you.  I was scared to love you.  I didn’t think you were going to stick around very long and I didn’t want to get hurt.  I’m glad I let my guard down.  It was the best thing I ever did and I learned that, when in doubt, you should follow your heart.

You bring adventure to my life because I never know what you’re going to say or what you’re going to do.  Even when we’re out running errands together, I feel like I’m living on the edge.  At least I never have to worry about life being dull.

But, I don’t just love you because you keep me on my toes.  I love you because you are strong, smart, funny and so stinkin’ cute.  I love that you aren’t perfect, because it reminds me that no one is.

Happy 9th birthday, Boo.  Mommy loves you.

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While a lot of our friends are off enjoying Florida sunshine for Spring Break, my family is planted firmly in Ohio…well, as firmly as one can plant thyself when it’s raining two inches a day.

We have been using this time to catch up on doctor’s appointments and accomplish some much needed tasks around the house.  You have beaches and sand?  We have waiting rooms and window cleaning.  So there!

Yesterday, my 12 year old daughter stumbled out of bed and declared, “We should tear out the living room carpet today.”

And because all 12 year old, sleep-deprived kids make rational declarations, I agreed.

We have been wanting to tear up the wall-to-wall carpet for years.  We had it installed in 1998, before we bought our first puppy and before we had our first child.  At that time it was a very light, off-white color.  Because, apparently, new homeowners in their late 20’s are pretty rational too.

By the time our son was born in 2002, the carpet was looking pretty bad despite bi-annual cleaning.  When our boy, the one known as Mr. Reflux, started crawling, small spots would appear everywhere from his constant battles with stomach contents.  It wasn’t pretty, people.

So, yesterday, I took the advice of the 12 year old, grabbed a crowbar, pliers (oh my, the staples!), work gloves and a box cutter and went to work on our 13′ x 23′ living room carpet.

I knew there would be spots of paint on the hardwood, because when we renovated the house we painted the ceilings last and by that time we were pretty sloppy and just wanted to be done.  But, despite the paint, I was pretty happy with the condition of the floor.

We started in one corner and by the time we reached the opposite corner of the room nearly six hours later, we were exhausted.  My arm was so tired from slicing the carpet into strips for the trash men to take that I could barely grip anything, but we saw the light at the end of the tunnel and fought through the pain in our hands, knees and backs.

Until we tore up the last piece of carpet to find this.

And, suddenly, we weren’t seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, but rather the light from the basement laundry room.

I think this looks like a good place for a plant…don’t you?

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One of the most special things about the holidays is spending time with family and, somehow, this weekend we squeezed in events with my dad and step-mom, my husband’s parents and my mom.  You want quality time with the Fali family?  We are so on it.  Especially if there will be pie.

Today, my mom’s house was filled with her famous, Lebanese lamb and rice and quite a few relatives and friends.  After dinner, we moved to her patio to enjoy a respite from the rain that has been plaguing Ohio for days (and will continue for days more).  Arizona called, she wants me.

My son was enjoying the time out of the house, running around the back yard, picking flowers and thoroughly entertaining the crowd.  It’s possible there were show tunes involved.  At one point he ran to me and jumped up on my lap.

As the group watched, my son hugged me and started to run his hand up and down my arm.  I squeezed him tight and asked, “Are you having fun, buddy?”

Then, I got the equivalent of an Easter-slap-in-the-face when he replied, “Yeah!  And, your arm is really hairy.”

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Yesterday my daughter performed in her school musical.  There were three performances at 10am, 1pm and 7pm.  I attended all three.

She didn’t have a lot of lines and she didn’t sing any solos, but she was in full costume and makeup, on a stage, in front of an audience and she was having a really bad day in the scheme of all things sixth grade.  I wanted to be there to applaud her.

After last night’s performance she asked, “Mom, you do realize that you sat through three hours of the same play just to watch me say a total of 27 lines, right?”

I replied, “Yes, I know.”  Then I asked,  “Didn’t you want me to be there?”

And, as well as any twelve year old can say that they are thankful for their mom, she smiled and replied, “Yeah.  I guess.”

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