Charlotte...revisited

Do you remember this little beast?

Check out how long her hair was.

Notice that I said WAS??
She used to call it her princess hair.
Notice that I said USED TO??
Why do I use past tense you ask? Because our little terror decided to play like she was mommy and be a hairstylist. Unfortunately this hairstyling involved a pair of scissors in a three year old's hands. The outcome was not pretty. So ladies and gentlemen, I would like to reintroduce you to Charlie. I think she looks like a little 1930's French girl. She thinks she looks like a boy. Either way she's still cute!

Night Time Activities

I enjoy my slumber. If I don't get a full EIGHT hours of sleep, I'm a zombie all day. Graham is the same way. We're also both really ornery in the morning. While most people greet their significant other with a smile, or a "good morning," or an "I love you" upon wakening, Graham and I greet each other with a bad tempered scowl...almost as if we're blaming the other for the fact that the alarm clock is squealing. I get up first, and hop into the shower (okay hop is not a good word...more like "trudge" into the shower). Graham mopes in to brush his teeth. We then both dress in silence. Graham leaves first with a mumbled, "love you," and I respond in an equally lackluster way. It's not until about an hour after wakening (about the amount of time that it takes for both of us to wake up fully) that the sweet "good morning" and "I love you" texts begin. See...we're loving to each other, just not before 8:00 in the morning!

When something/someone interrupts my sleep, I'm not a happy camper. The husband, not surprisingly, is the same way. So why do we regularly interrupt each other's sleep with our weird nightly activities? Take these experiences for example:

While enjoying an amazingly satisfying dream the other night (not that I recall the dream, but I'm sure it was awesome), my subconscious made me aware of the fact that an annoying "tap tap tap" was taking place on my arm. I ignored it and continued sleeping. It persisted however..."tap tap tap." I continued to ignore it. The tapping however, became punching, and I grudgingly pulled myself out of sleep. Graham was PUNCHING me in the arm. I asked him why he was punching me.
He responded...
"Where's the ipad?"
Seriously?
So I responded...
"You really woke me up in the middle of the night to ask me where the ipad is?"
He paused...and I could tell that he had been "sleep punching," because my very direct question snapped him out of whatever sleep-hazed mission he had been on.
He mumbled...
"Never mind." and promptly fell back to sleep.
When I questioned him in the morning he laughed and said that he had been dreaming about the ipad, and his dream had obviously carried him into reality...at the expense of my previously peaceful slumber. While you might think this was a fluke...it was not. He talks in his sleep regularly. In fact he just woke me up last night by yelling about something that I can't remember this morning.

While I could easily end the post here and make it seem like my husband is the only one in this relationship that interrupts the other's sleep...I must take responsibility for my own sleep-interrupting, night time activities. Most nights, I sleep on my back, with my hands stacked on top of my chest or stomach. While in this position, I guess I sometimes tap on my chest in some sort morse code/drumming fashion. Not that I do it intentionally...I guess I just like to make music while I sleep. Iv'e woken up several nights with Graham looming over me holding onto my wrists.
He responds...
"Stop tapping on your chest...it's freaking me out!"
I think my husband should quit complaining and enjoy the rhythm!

So while we NEED our sleep, we keep waking each other up with our strange, and sometimes musical, nightly activities.

Anticipation vs. Reality

If you asked Graham the ONE thing that he would change about me if given the opportunity, he would say that he wished I didn't stress out so much. Graham is the most laid back, easy going person that I know. I, on the other hand, am a nervous, stressed out wreck. I just can't help it...I get it from my mama! This is why he and I fit together SO perfectly. He is the calm to my storm. And yes, I know that sounds cheesy, but it is so true. In any given situation, I always jump to the worst possible conclusion/outcome. To me, if something could go wrong...it WILL! But I have found, time after time, that anticipation is ALWAYS so much worse than reality.
Take my experience yesterday:
I HATE the dentist.
Loathe it with every cell within my body.
I have been quoted as saying that I would rather have open heart surgery than go to the dentist. And this is not an exaggeration. So, as such, I have avoided the dentist for the last SEVEN years!! I've known that I needed to go, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it.
Because I always jump to the worst possible conclusion, I have thought, for the past six of those seven years, that I have had major issues with my teeth. But, I decided that I would be brave this year, and in MARCH, I told myself that I would go to the dentist this summer. So, guess what has consumed my EVERY waking thought for the last four months? yep...the dreaded dentist. I was convinced that I needed multiple root canals, that I had receding gums, needed teeth pulled and implants put in. You name it, I thought that I had it.
The prognosis, you ask?
I have two old fillings that need to be replaced.
That's it?
I asked the dentist if he was sure. He assured me that he was.
Why do I ALWAYS have to make the anticipation so much worse than the reality?

G'pa

If you know my grandpa J, you should consider yourself lucky. He is my favorite person on the planet. I'm allowed to say this without fear of hurting Graham's feelings. He tells me that I'm his third favorite person all the time after his mom and his grandma. Sometimes I'm even lower on the list, like after the cashier at Souplantation who gave him a free bag of tangerine sours (although to be fair they were pretty delicious). When Graham and I got married, a part of me didn't want to leave home...because then I wouldn't be able to see my grandpa every day (he lives in a cute "grandpa flat" at my parent's house). So, he understands why I like my grandpa better than him, with no hard feelings involved. Why you ask? Oh let me count the ways!

1. My grandpa is 90, soon to be 91, and still has better dance moves than you
2. He has more faith in his right pinkie than most people do in their entire bodies
3. He's the most Christlike man I know
4. The love he showed to my Grandma was the most BEAUTIFUL thing to see (he calls her his "eternal sweetheart..." how precious is that?)
5. He still plays tee-doo-da-lee with his great-grandchildren
6. He has no filter...seriously...he says anything that pops into his head
7. He tells inappropriate jokes...it's pretty rad
8. He was into "natural" and "organic" diets before it was the trendy thing to do
9. He gives me lectures all the time on how I shouldn't be eating white flour...and then he steals my "Cheez Its" mid lecture
10. He tells me I'm beautiful
11. He will do ANYTHING for ANYONE
12. He has shown me what it means to be a hard worker (well, he AND my dad)
13. He teases the people he loves
14. He pronounces "Graham" "Grim"
...and so SO much more

My grandpa likes to garden. It is his baby, and it's pretty impressive. He spends HOURS EVERY day working in his garden, and provides all of us with some pretty delicious produce. I present to you...grandpa J's garden.

Espadrilles

Graham and I had to take a quick jaunt to Target the other day to pick up some essentials. While driving through the parking lot to find the perfect spot (Graham takes longer to park than ANYONE I know...it's a constant battle between us. I think he does it on purpose), I spied a cute little lady in an even cuter pair of espadrilles.

I love espadrilles. 

They do not, however, love me back.
Despite the fact that I am 5'10," they make my legs look stumpy (the curse of the dreaded Jesperson calves). So I made the comment...

"I love espadrilles...I wish I had nice legs so that I could wear them with shorts during the summer."

Why I thought to make a fashion comment to my husband is beyond me. I must have thought I was with one of my sisters. Graham, in typical Graham fashion, responded like this...

"Espadrilles? What the heck are espadrilles? It sounds like an STD...'I have the espadrilles.'"

Ha. Why does my husband have a clever and often ridiculous response to every word that comes out of my mouth? At least he's funny though!

The "Boys"

My dad is a strapping man.

 He stands at 6'2" and is still, at 55 years old, the strongest man I know. As a child, my mom could scream, rant, and rave and it never phased me. One stern look from my dad, however,  and I would become a sobbing, snotty, slobbering mess in two seconds flat. My dad fishes, hikes, paintballs, burps, screams at the t.v. during sports games and can't seem to understand why one must match their shirt to their shorts. He is, in every sense of the word...a MAN. And yet, despite this facade of incomparable manliness...my dad can be brought to tears by the sight of his boys in the early months of summer...a time of year that he looks forward to with great anticipation each year.

Meet...The "Boys"

Yes, my dad calls the hummingbirds that swarm his house each year the "boys"...HIS boys. He painstakingly cleans out their feeders, and fills them with his special concoction of one pitcher of water to 2 cups sugar EVERY day. Their feeders hang outside his window so that he can watch them come and go every morning. The first meeting between my dad and my husband went a little something like this:

Graham: Hi brother Ford, my name's Graham.

Dad: (after a long, intimidating pause [my dad is awesome at these awkward intervals] which involved an equally long, intimidating stare) Do you know anything about hummingbirds?

Graham: ummmm

While neither my dad, nor Graham remember this first meeting (it was a good seven years ago), I do...quite fondly in fact. And although my dad might look scary, just remember...if you happen to be on the receiving end of one of those long intimidating pauses/stares...the dude likes hummingbirds...how scary can he be?

As of Late...

As mentioned in a previous post, I received a rad birthday present from an equally rad husband this year. So, as promised, I thought I would share a few of the images that the man and I have captured as of late.

"You're so Naughty!"

This, ladies and gentlemen, is my niece, Charlotte... aka "Charlie."

Cute isn't she? Well, what a lot of people don't know is that behind that cherubic little face, is a terror. Don't get me wrong...I love the girl and find her destructive antics, more often than not, hilarious but...she's still a terror. I've had the pleasure of living with this little brute for the last several months and get to witness the destruction that she leaves in her wake on a daily basis.

Exhibit A: Charlotte decided that she wanted some bread 
The normal child would take the following steps:
1. undo twist tie
2. remove top piece of bread
3. replace twist tie
4. consume, enjoy

Charlie took these steps:
1. undo twist tie and throw it on the ground
2. take bag of bread into living room
3. dump entire contents of bread bag onto the couch
4. neither consume, nor enjoy

Exhibit B: Charlotte decided to remove all of the cushions/stuffing from the couch

I was helping Charlotte's sister, Sophia, with her homework, feeling pretty good about my role as an awesome babysitter/aunt/educator as I instilled knowledge and wisdom in my niece. I took my eyes off the little terror for FIVE minutes...and this is what she managed to do in that small amount of time.

Exhibit C: Charlotte decided to turn my couch into a beauty school experiment

Being the nice aunt that I am, I regularly let Charlie use my "chapstick" as she calls it. However, this is with the understanding that she uses it only under my direct supervision. But, being Charlotte, she never follows directions, and so she decided to give my couch a makeover. Unfortunately, this makeover was not done with chapstick, but my favorite shade of "true red" lipstick.

You would think it ended there right? Well you would think wrong.

Exhibit D: Charlotte decided to paint mom a picture

Unfortunately...that picture was painted directly on mommy's table and...Charlotte herself.

She's lucky I love her so much.        

On a side note...

In the time it took me to write this post Charlotte:

1. Unplugged my T.V.

2. Attempted to plug my iphone charger into the wall (the side that's supposed to go into the iphone!)

3. Decorated my couch with an assortment of stickers

4. Tried to climb out my window

5. Locked herself in her bedroom and refused to open the door for a good five minutes

6. Poked her sister with a push pin

Hobbies

A recent conversation between Graham and I went as follows:

Me: I'm not going to know what to do with myself when I finish school in December. I've been a student forever...I need something to fill my time. Like a hobby...or a baby.

Graham: I'll find you a hobby.

True to his word, he found me a hobby...or rather gave me a reason to revisit a lost hobby. On my 25th birthday (holy crap...I'm officially in my MID-twenties), I woke up to a grinning Graham. This is not a usual occurrence, as the husband resembles a bear most mornings (he grunts a lot...has no capacity for the English language...and will most likely bite if prodded). I had already received a birthday present a week earlier, a pair of shoes that I had been drooling over for quite some time, and so I was expecting nothing. However, the still grinning Graham leaned over and presented me with a beautifully wrapped present. This conversation went as follows:

Me: ummm...you weren't supposed to get me anything

Graham: I found you a hobby...but this hobby comes with some stipulations. First: you have to take good care of it and it has to go with you everywhere.

To my delight...I unwrapped this little beauty...

I have a pretty awesome husband. It's not a baby...but it will do! Thanks to my "new" hobby, this blog of mine will look pretty schnazzy! Pictures to come!

This time...

I like to write. This is a fact of life for me. Being a student for twenty years, and a college student for six of these, my hunger for writing has been assuaged through the countless papers that I have written (twenty page research papers on a regular basis will squelch even the most fervent of desires to write). When I graduated last year, I breathed a sigh of relief at the prospect of not having to write even ONE paper through the months of summer. I was entering grad school in the fall, and assumed that I would jump right back into the writing game. However, shifting from my undergrad as a social science major (where writing papers on a regular basis is the norm) into a credential program (where "writing" means constructing endless lesson plans), my writing urges were no longer met. So, what to do??

...enter stage left: THE BLOG.

The forum in which I hope to re-visit my love of writing and catalog the shenanigans of my lovely husband and myself. I've tried keeping a journal for the entirety of my life, but despite the countless journal entries that promise "this time...I will be successful at keeping a journal," I have failed...miserably. For someone who loves history, and spent my childhood reading the diaries of young girls who had come before me (Anne Frank ring a bell??), my journal-keeping attempts have never reached the level of success that I had hoped for.  So, today I pledge...

"This time I will be successful..."