"Rear Window" Romance

Disclaimer: Bradley reads all of my blogs before I post them.  He didn't like this title. He thought it should be "An Ode to Bradley and Dirty Panties."  He lost that battle. 

I didn't  plan this blog. The material for this one literally arrived on my doorstep a few days ago. 

I order a lot of stuff from Zulily. It's mostly stuff for EF, but recently I've been shopping for things for the new house. A while back I ordered some new drinking glasses and a few cute canister jars. We got a Zulily box on Monday. I assumed I knew what was inside so I didn't open it right away. 

Zoom to Tuesday afternoon. Emma is napping and I decide to pack some things. I open the Zulily box, intending to find my glasses and canisters. They were there, but so were these....

I have "censored" this photo...because gross. Oh wait...

...the "rear windows."

So, I immediately email Zulily to make sure I wasn't charged.  I wasn't. They apologize. And I don't have to worry about sending these back, I can just donate them to my favorite local charity.  These went in the trash.  You're welcome "local charities."

Bradley and I got a good laugh out of this. We needed a good laugh. But then I started wondering, "Is this romance today?" I'm going to be honest...even if/when I had the parts to appropriately fill out these "undergarments," I wouldn't have.  But when these came, I imagined my one-year-later-and-still-post-baby-body self attempting to strap these on. Nothing about that was romantic.  Nothing about that was sexy. 

I did not fall for my husband because of his ability to make grand, romantic gestures. He was romantic in his own way, but not overly so in that make-me-barf kind of way. 

Don't get me wrong. I love a good romance, but probably not the kind you'd think. Anything Nicholas Sparks is a little over-the-top for me (sorry my sweet Katie). I am more of a Breakfast at Tiffany's romantic. I do love a good fairy tale, but I learned a long time ago that waiting for Prince Charming to show up could take a while (30ish years) and Frogs and Beasts are everywhere you turn. 

Anyway, my Bradley was his own kind of romantic. Whatever it was that he had...er, has, it worked. We fell head over heels.  A year later we were engaged. A year after that we were married. Then about 10 months after that, we got our sweet Emma Faye. 

I doubt I am the only woman to realize that romance undergoes a serious transformation post-baby. Weekends away turn in to trips to the circus, the park, or the grandparents houses. Date nights are few, far-between and they end at 8:00. Nights away from the baby are agonizing, because you still wake up, wondering why the baby isn't waking you up. 

Bradley and I have settled in to our new romance.  It's not that Nicholas Sparks crap, but it's real, honest, "rub my swollen feet" romance. It's the 5:00 p.m., life-saving text message that says he will bring home dinner. It's the, "Hey, let's go fishing Friday night" date. 

So, to those girls who think that the "Crotchless-with-rear-Windows" romance is what you should strive for, I challenge you to wait it out. Wait for your "prince" who takes you for Thai food and a baseball game. Wait for the guy who makes fun of your love for Harry Potter, but still participates in your yearly movie marathon. Maybe he won't literally sweep you off your feet, but  he will always keep you grounded.  Maybe he won't take your breath away all the time, but he will remind you to breathe. Maybe he won't be your knight in shining armor, but he will be your best friend and fiercest supporter (in an old tshirt). Maybe he won't be Prince Charming, but he will be the love of your life. So wait for him.

One more photo:  Zulily Packing List (with JUST glasses and canisters) 

My sister-in-law noted my "excellent taste" when I told her about this debacle. 

"The" Birthday Party

You'll notice that I am nearly 2 months behind in posting the dreaded birthday blog. That is because I have yet to recover from the party. 

Do you remember your first birthday party? Good. I don't either. I do know (because of video evidence) that I fell out of my high chair while eating cake. After planning, throwing and surviving the 1st birthday of my own child, I now firmly believe I threw myself out of that high chair in an attempt to avoid birthday parties, mine and those of others, for the rest of my life. 

The earliest real birthday party memory I have is of my 8th birthday. Mom and dad splurged for "Happy the Clown" and a Muppet Babies cake. This was 1991 y'all. "Happy" was from Hillsville proper. She made balloon hats and pulled a bunny from a hat. It was the best birthday ever. 

Now, in 2016, I would venture to say that an 8-year-old girl would not be satisfied with Hillsville Happy and a Kermit cake.

A Cinderella-esque ball and a 3-tiered, diamond encrusted cake? Maybe. 

I never intended for "the birthday party" to be more than cake, ice cream and possibly a few balloons...with helium!  I didn't even start planning "the birthday party" until January. 

Several Pinterest searches later and "the birthday party" had turned into "THE" birthday party. It was a full-fledged production, complete with (yes) a 2-tiered cake, a photo booth, rainbow pretzels, rainbow cake pops, a sand art table, and about 2735 man hours of hard labor. 

We invited all of our nearest and dearest. They came clad with presents that we are still finding places for.  They took photos in the rainbow photo booth. They ate rainbow cake and took home rainbow cake pops. They oohed and aahed at the color of it all, probably silently thinking to themselves, "How in the world did she talk Bradley into paying for a rainbow party?" (The same way I talked him into a rainbow wedding, a rainbow nursery, and a year's worth of rainbow baby pictures. You can sign up for my "charm" seminar in a future blog..)

 But ya know what...they came. 

Our girl will never, ever remember that day. She won't remember the rainbows, the presents, or the cake. She won't remember how tired she was and how mommy had to open most of the presents. She won't even remember who was there. 

She will know what a special day it was because she will continue to be surrounded by these people who showed up to celebrate the first year of her life. She will know, because they will be there to celebrate her every birthday, accomplishment and celebration. They will also be there to lift her up in times that aren't celebratory, but maybe difficult and challenging. These people are her village. Our village. 

I am two months and a lifetime late to say thank you. It truly takes a village to raise a child. Our cup, and our village, most definitely runneth over. 

"Train up a child in the way he should go; even when he is old he will not depart from it." Proverbs 22:6