R&R Part I: Getting There

Our fourth anniversary was approaching and we knew we could use a couple of days to rejuvenate. So we called up the rents and asked if they could stay the weekend. We headed to Kansas City for a three-day, two-night, baby-free adventure. It was full of ups and downs and many, many people dressed as pirates. But it was a weekend I won't forget any time soon.


Packing for a trip with two sick one-year-olds who don't understand why you aren't paying attention to them is a nightmare. They didn't want to go to Dad. They just wanted me. To sit down. Read a book. Listen to me play piano. Hold this doll. No, no, don't move. Just sit there and wait until I'm ready to play with you.

The moment I moved to start packing again, the tears came, the screams came -- they wanted my undivided attention.

After fighting that cycle for about an hour, I finally gave up packing. Which may explain why I only brought two shirts for a three-day stay and forgot deodorant.

We eventually got out of the house, said our (my) tearful goodbyes and hit the road. About half way there, we realized we didn't exactly know where we're going.

Thanks to a very helpful father in law and his iPhone, we got back on track.

We drove up and the hotel employee notified us that it will cost $15 to park. PER DAY. $20 if we wanted to spring for valet. Good golly, Miss Molly.

We checked in, handed over both an arm and a leg and hit the elevator.

After a steep 38-floor climb, this was our view.



Stress = dominated.

The Evolution of Marriage

So, my absence last week can easily be explained in six words.

Scott sick. Claire sick. Grace sick.

In that order. And definitely progressive, meaning Grace was the worst. She had a high fever for multiple days and was utterly inconsolable.

On top of that, work was busier than normal, so blogging fell by the wayside.

But in the midst of all that drama, I had my fourth wedding anniversary.



The great thing about anniversaries is that it makes you sit back and reflect on things. I was always one of those people who couldn't understand the point of Valentine's Day — why set aside one day to celebrate your love when you can do it all year long?

Then I had kids. And now I understand. Life tends to wrap you up in work and family and friends and sick kids and sick husbands and more work and dishes and laundry and cat puke that celebrating your love is put off with the thought "I'll get to that right after this."

I took a moment last week to think, "Hey, four years ago today, we were like totally in love."

This is why I loved him four years ago.

This is why I love him now.

I love the way you love the girls.

I love the way you tickle them and play peek-a-boo with them and chase them around telling them "I'm gonna get yooooou."

I love the way you grab a baby and dance when any Taylor Swift song comes on the radio.

I love the way you stroke my hair when we lay down to take a nap.

I love the way you way you let me veg after you know it has been a stressful day.

I love the way you put up with me when it has been a stressful day.

I love the way you forgive me when I snap at you after a stressful day.
(I'm starting to sense a theme.)

I love the way you can look at me and without a word, know exactly what I'm thinking.

I love the way you love me.

In the last four years, our love has evolved and adapted and changed in ways I never expected.

There are moments that are tense and angry and frustrated — moments that life seems too much to handle.

But at the end of the day, there is not one single other person I would rather experience life with — both good and bad. And I'm beginning to understand that maybe that's what marriage is all about. Living through the good and the bad and coming out on the other side knowing we did it together.

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P.S. Last week was also significant because the girls turned 17 months … 17 months!!! Dangerously close to 18 at which time I'm not really sure I can still count their age in months. Humph. Until then … happy 17 months to my itty bitties!!

Sad Thoughts

If you read this blog, you absolutely must read this story about a 16-month-old missing after the Joplin tornado. There are very few things I consider more frightening. If you have kids, hug 'em extra tight today. I'm sure this family would give the world to be able to do that.

Choosy Moms Choose Grilled Cheese

After last week's encounter with peanut butter, we scheduled an appointment to see an allergy specialist.

And it's official. No peanut butter for this kiddo.



The doctor said she has something called Oral Allergy Syndrome, which, from my interpretation, means she doesn't have the life-threatening kind of allergic reaction. Her reaction is limited to red blotches around her mouth. Not ideal, but definitely better than the alternative.

It's possible she may grow out of it, but not likely.

The doctor said even though it's not the most serious kind of reaction, Grace should still avoid peanuts. Which means Claire will be avoiding them, too.

Which also means Scott has to avoid them. That'll be the tough one.

Head, Shoulders, Knees & Toes

These are the rewards we are reaping from reading this book 164 times a day.

A Little Nutty

About a month or so ago, we tried giving the girls a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Like silly little parents, we tried it along side a couple of other new foods. We didn't think anything of it until the area around Grace's mouth started breaking out into red blotches.

We called the doctor, gave her the suggested benadryl and watched the red blotches disappear.

We weren't sure which of the foods caused the reaction, but we didn't want to chance it with the peanut butter again.

Until yesterday. I was feeling brave and knew we needed to find out if it was the PB. So, we tried it again, but this time, without any other new foods. And again, the blotches came back.



She had no wheezing or swollen tongue, like the doctor said is common of a nut allergy. Just the red areas.

So, I called the doctor again and they referred us to an allergy specialist. We'll see what they say next week.

Until then, I'm just crossing my fingers and hoping it isn't anything serious. You should do the same.

Johnny Jr.

My sister Carrie calls her a thrill seeker.

Scott calls her ornery.

My mom calls her a button pusher.

You call her Grace.

And I call her Johnny Jr.

My brother (Johnny) was, to put it lightly, a handful. When he was about 10 or so, my parents left us home to run some errands. While they were gone, he crawled on to the roof of the house and then jumped from it to the roof of our nearby shop -- about an eight-foot jump.

When he was a bit older, he would ride his bike all over town, including on the side of the highway (the only road you could take to get back to our house). One time, my dad, on his way to work, saw my brother laying in the median of the highway next to his bike. After nearly having a heart attack, he pulled over to find that my brother had just laid down for a nap. Naturally.

And I won't even get into what happened when my brother got a license. Let's just say, a need for speed doesn't even begin to describe it.

My poor parents tried their best with him. Their first two kiddos were such obedient, polite, rule-minding children that I think Johnny shocked their socks off. It all worked out in the end. He's grown into such a mature and loving father, I couldn't be more proud.

But back to what I was saying about Grace.

I gave birth to my brother. In the figurative, non-weird way.

If I even hint to her that I don't want her to do something, her desire to do it increases ten-fold. For example …

Me: Grace, you can get up there, but you need to sit down.
Grace: Ya, ok, Mom. No problem.



Me: Grace, I'm serious. It's dangerous to stand.
Grace: Uh, I know. You tell me ALL the time.



Me: Grace, what did I just say?
Grace: What? No one's getting hurt. NBD, Mom. Sheesh.



Me: Grace Madeline, sit down.
Grace: C'mon, Claire. It's fun! Let's just do what we want all the time! She's not really going to stop us.



Me: Wanna bet?
Grace: *crying*



I once asked my Mom for advice on how to deal with a "Johnny." She shrugged and told me to let her know if I figured it out.

Great.