On the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month, we remember.
In the UK, they wear poppies to remember. And today, in the UK, 1 million poppies were dropped over the decks of the QE2.
Remember a vet today — remember a ship — just remember.
Dear Prince:
There are so many things I hate about you. Case in point is that at this point you are already rolling your eyes and saying something snide about how this is no way to beging a love note, or something about having seen that Julia Stiles movie more times than should be allowed by a woman my age. Seriously, stop it — I have a point here somewhere, if only I could find it.
Oh, yes, I was mentioning that I hate you. I think last year about this time I was threatening your life, so I think we ought to consider my hate for you a step in the right direction. Well, as long as you think hate is a good emotion for two people who live under the same roof. Nevermind. Back to that point I alluded to earlier.
I hate that you leave your socks in a pile, no where near the laundry bin. I also hate that this charming trait seems to be passing on to your son, who while he can track down his hamper for 90% of his clothes has the habit of leaving his socks exactly where he takes them off.
I hate that you are so completely male that you can not seem to be moved by even the sappiest of movies. I am thrown how you can roll your eyes at the improbableness of the average romantic comedy. I also hate how you are not capable of suspending your disbelief when it comes to any movie or TV show set in a town that you have lived or regards a subject you know actual facts about. I scream that you suck the fun out of movie and there are few truer words. (If anyone out there needs a fine example, at the end of the movie The Guardian, I have no idea what happened as Ashton Kutcher walks down the hall to the classroom because Prince had to examine the uniform — which is ALL wrong, doesn’t exist, and is *SO* over the top bad, I was able to point out the whole lack of pockets all on my own.)
I hate how you completely ignore what I tell you that I need most at that very moment, like a beer/dessert/a clean kitchen, and give me what I really need most, a hug or better permission to go close the door in our room for a bit. While I’m on this one, I hate that you seem to know when I’m completely at the end of my rope and can not handle one more thing and you sweep in and fix it. I hate how you relish in my sputering as I had wound myself up into a reaction that doesn’t fit with your action — more likely than not, that I was expecting you to be a jerk and you were sweet.
I hate how completely pesimestic you are. I said it this past weekend, but you have this horrible knack of having 1,000 good experiences can be colored by one bad one. The dog hasn’t thrown up in the car for years, and yet you worry about it every time we go out with him. Yet, I find it funny how you will stress over Duke’s and my comfort on twisty roads — hardly getting mad when I keep screaming that you are surely going to run into that rock over there. I also hate how mad it makes you that I use that passenger side brake pedal every time I think we come up behind a car too fast. (And yes, I realize that I’m in the only driver in our house that has had an accident.)
Finally, I hate that even after nine years with you, I don’t have you figured out yet. I hate that I’m pretty sure you have me figured out, thus I rarely throw you a curve ball, but you do it to me all the time. I’m certain that just as I think I have you figured out, you change just to keep me guessing. And this is something you delight in.
There are thousands of ways we are different, opposites in so many things. We both hate things about each other. Hate things that we’ve long accepted as the way things are and moved along. While I’d love it if you weren’t so cynical, literal, and maybe had fewer socks; I know that you wish I wasn’t so uptight, learn to keep my mouth shut, and perhaps washed your shirts weekly.
So, there you have it. I hate things about you. So many things frustrate and upset me. But then you do something amazing and make me realize I don’t hate you, I love you. You smile that odd little grin like you know some secret that I don’t. You worry about me being happy and when I’m upset you never try to just pat me on the head and placate me, because you know I’d hate that it wasn’t geniune. And you love me.
I put aside all the little things that I hate about you. I put that aside and I chose to love you. I chose to love the unlovable parts of you, the parts of you that are rough around the edges and not perfect. I chose to spend my life with someone who can hurt me with a word, but would bite his own tongue off if he knew that would protect me from pain. I love that you are s snarky as me and that you laugh. But more than anything, I love that you love me too — even with my rough edges and the things you hate about me.
Here’s to 9 more years of loving and hating,
Your Wife.
Today, today is the day of my husband’s birth. I could wax poetic about all the great things about him, but I won’t. First, that’s not my style (not the least bit snarky) and second, Prince wouldn’t appreciate it. Really that is one of the better things about him is sappy sweet things are lost on him (ok, in the effort to be completely honest — that lack of sappy sweet isn’t the greatest things when I’m all emotional and such — but this isn’t about me, it is about our Prince). So, this birthday message is as I think Prince would most appreciate it.
Stories that made us giggle about his birthday: (more…)
Today, my fair reader, is my EIGHTH anniversary. Yep, Prince and I have endured living under the same roof for 8 full years now.
So, I buy him this VERY sweet card. It was cavity inducing.
Then this conversation ensues:
Me: Happy 8th. I’m SO happy that we are past our 7th year.
Him: Why?
Me: 7 was a hard year. It was the closest I’ve ever gotten to feeding you rat poison.
Him: Oh how sweet, you were thinking of poisoning me?
Me: Well, only a little and only for short periods of time. It isn’t like I planned it and purchased rat poison or anything. YET. (I say with that warning face.)
Him: Could you get me a cup of coffee, without the rat poison, please.
In case you were wondering, there is no amount of explaining that you were NOT planning on poisoning your husband — but making a joke.
(And in case anyone was curious, we don’t OWN any rat poison. Nope, none. Yes, I checked.)
Oh my — things have been a whirl for the last 24 hours and I slept (in a house with heat and the windows closed) for 7 of those 24. I seriously have no idea where the time goes some days, but yesterday found me eating lunch at 3pm (though I thought it was 2pm because I hadn’t — still haven’t — changed the clocks in my car). So, since my to do list is longer than yesterday, I fear I must bring you snippets of the last 24 hours. (more…)
Today begins the new year — just in case you live in a cave without a calendar or Carson Daily screaming at you from the TV. Now, normal people are making resolutions to diet, be nicer, or you know, stuff. Normal people are recovering from hangovers because they actually went out last night and celebrated. But you see, the Royals are NOT normal people. Oh no. (more…)
It began just three little months ago — when *I*, the last of the royals took my turn at turning “3.” However, when the clock flipped over to midnight o’one, Prince has now ruined it. Yup — can you guess? Today, Prince turned 34. Seriously, I don’t think he was as thrilled to be a part of the “all of us are three” thing as me. But alas, he has gotten his wish — he is no longer 3.
Duke is sick. He came home from school with a low grade fever and a cough yesterday. We did what every normal set of parents do in this situation:
What? Oh, you know you would do the EXACT same thing.
Anyway, Prince and I were taking Duke to the bathroom in prep for bed and heard the most horrible coughing sound come from my child. It wasn’t HUMAN, I tell you. Horrible.
There’s this little thing running through blogland about celebrating love. Now, when I first looked at the photos and read some of the stories, I thought — Can we control the sap, please? But I think that was just my tiny little heart screaming for attention. I’m late to the game, but I’m finally throwing my hat into the ring of Love Thursday. To find out what it is all about go here.
Kindly disregard the whole pity party post. Look over there, there’s nothing to see here. Lest you think that nearly exactly 24 hours after being told my birthday was CANCELED, I gained perspective and found joy in my heart. Basically that I grew up, I did not. Stop worrying that I found some deep maturity regarding my birthday.