1.  If your husband spends his Sunday morning running a marathon and you spend the same Sunday morning chasing him around the city, with two kids and you hold an eight year old on your shoulders for an hour, you will both be sore.

2.  If you’re driving to and from mile markers for hours, you will have to stop at Tim Horton’s for breakfast and Wendy’s for lunch.  You know, out of necessity.  Your husband, on the other hand, will run 26.2 miles on two bananas and some peanut butter crackers.

3.  When you spend 45 minutes creating a great sign that says things like, “Keep it up!” and “Be strong!”, don’t be surprised if your son sees your finished project and decides that your sign is the perfect paper on which to stamp a pink butterfly.

4.  Don’t be shocked when you walk nine blocks to your viewing spot and as soon as you arrive, your son tells you he has to poop.

5.  Which is why you should always store a training potty and kitty litter bags in the back of your SUV.

6.  Then you will count your blessings that your eight year old is still small enough to use it.

7.  Much in the same way that when you have been playing in the ocean, you can later close your eyes and still feel the waves…when you watch a marathon full of people go by, you will later close your eyes and see runners.

8.  When your husband approaches the finish line and your daughter sneaks through the fence to run the last stretch with him, you will feel so much pride that your heart might burst.

9.  Then you’ll watch your husband complete his race to the sound of applause and cheers of the crowd.

10.  And you will listen, then cringe, as the race announcer mispronounces his name.

Follow

Email

The other night we were visiting with a friend during dinner at his house, when my eight year old son jumped into the conversation and called our 39 year old friend by his first name.  It was something along the lines of, “Sure, Chad.”

Although we allow the kids to call our oldest friends by their first name, we have a rule that most people go by Mr. or Mrs. followed by their last name.  It keeps things easy and consistent.

My husband quickly corrected our boy and said, “You need to address adults as Mr. or Mrs., buddy.  It shows respect.”

And, as our son turned to leave the room he rolled his eyes at his dad, let out a big sigh and said, “Whatever, Mike.”

Follow

Email

Soon to be starring in the feature film Snakes on a Head.

I clearly recall, that a few hours later, we made the trip into the basement of the church. I sat down and made a declaration to everyone within earshot. “Things WILL go wrong today. If the ring bearer wants to break-dance down the aisle, fine. If someone passes out, we’ll deal with it. If my ex-boyfriend shows up and starts shooting people…well, that’s really going to suck.

And, you know what? Other than the snakes on my head, everything went beautifully. True perfection. I had the most wonderful time, had great conversations with old family and I spent the afternoon saying thanks to everyone who had helped deliver us our dream wedding.

I’m glad that our day started out a little strange, because it showed us what marriage would be like. Some days are dreamy and fun, but other days are Pop-Tarts and Medusa. Some days are both. You work with what you are given.

Happy Anniversary to the guy who has stayed by my side through all of these crazy years. Through sickness and health (mostly sickness), thick and thin (mostly thick), brown and blonde. I love you.

I wouldn’t want to share Pop-Tarts with anyone else.

Follow

Email

My husband made me cry last week. The kind of crying that makes your lip quiver and your heart hurt. The kind of crying that leaves you shaken.

In a totally good way.

We were enjoying a Pearl Jam concert when we heard the first few notes of the song, “Given to Fly”. I threw my fist into the air, as any good rocker would, and I smiled because it’s one of my favorites. Then my husband leaned into my back, laid his hands on my shoulders and put his mouth next to my ear before saying, “This song reminds me of our son.”

The tears were immediate.

See, if you haven’t known my boy from the day he was born, you don’t know how far he has come. People who meet him now don’t know that he barely made it through his first year. People who meet him now don’t know what a fighter he truly is.

They don’t know that when he makes me laugh, it is a hearty laugh because I never knew if I would hear him speak. Or, when he completes his math homework that I want to burst with pride because I didn’t know if he would ever be able to hold a pencil, let alone comprehend the problems.

They can’t look inside his chest and see his mangled heart or his stomach which often can’t hold its contents. They can’t look into his eyes and know that he could rarely open his right eye until it was repaired surgically. They see a little kid, but I see an amazing human being who is living proof that you can’t judge a book by its cover.

A wave came crashing like a fist to the jaw
Delivered him wings, “Hey, look at me now”
Arms wide open with the sea as his floor
Oh, power, oh
He’s…flying
Whole…

He floated back down ’cause he wanted to share
His key to the locks on the chains he saw everywhere
But first he was stripped and then he was stabbed
…well…he still stands

And sometimes is seen a strange spot in the sky
A human being that was given to fly

Today my son turns eight years old. Happy birthday, child. Fly high.

Follow

Email