Couple

Last night, Josh and I were fortunate to steal away a couple hours to ourselves.  After our girls went to bed and the babysitter arrived, we slipped out the door, eager to get some quiet time for just the two of us. It wasn't going to be anything super special.  In fact, we had finalized our plans for the night only a few hours prior.  We decided to go to an old date spot of ours, The Olde Ship, a cozy little English pub that is just blocks away.  Nothing extravagant...just a calm (on a Tuesday night, anyway) little dive with great fish and chips.

As we sat across from each other, we took a moment of exhaustion as we gazed into each others' eyes.  That is, sometimes on date night it takes a second to just SIT and BE with each other before you can get into a groove of actually being decent company.  It brings back memories of before I lived in California.  Back when I was living in Nashville and only texting and emailing and (dare I say it) "myspacing" this cute boy in California.  Then, when we finally got to see each other in person, it took some strange "warming up time" to match up my brain with my speech with my actions and feel comfortable.  To remember "Ah yes, I know you!  You ARE that same clever person with the cute emoticons and snappy comebacks.  Plus, you are so cute! Score!"  

So, this is what was running through my head as I stared aimlessly at my husband and order a pint of Smithwicks.  It was refreshing to take a deep breath with him.  It was cleansing to my soul to intentionally not be talking about our children.  And it hit me like a ton of bricks that for the first time in a long while, I had absolutely no agenda to task him with.

Agenda? You might be wondering.

You know.  Agenda.  That long list of things that pile up in our heads throughout the day that we've been meaning to talk to another adult about?  That stack of to-dos that cloud up our brains until we finally get him alone and all to ourselves and he is sitting there hoping to kiss you and all you can think about is whether to ask him if he could watch the girls for your chiropractor appointment next Thursday and did he get a chance to call the Discount Tire Center and has he heard from his friends who had their baby last week and would he rather have steak or pork chops for dinner a week from tomorrow?????? Oh, right.  Agenda.


And here I sat...agenda-less!  I finally spoke this to him, out loud.


I have nothing to say!  And it's wonderful!


So, I listened!  I totally forgot about my two sleeping daughters at home, I thoroughly enjoyed (and I mean - ate every single bite) of my drenched-in-malt-vinegar fish and chips, and sipped my Smithwicks as my husband and I engaged in real honest-to-goodness conversation.  Sports, tv, work, ideas, dreams, silly Hollywood gossip, this podcast he's listening to, that thing I saw on the Today show last week...whatever.  The point is - HE was interesting, I was interesting - we SHARED interests and just had a great time.

It isn't just important to get out of the house and look into each others eyes and talk about common interests...it's necessary.  And I don't think I've ever really felt that until last night.  I mean, sure, I've talked about date night in the past.  We know it is important to keep the marriage first.  But, amidst the daily life...in between baby feedings and laundry and asking him to take out the trash and getting off the phone with your mother and planning another meal and did he pick up the dry cleaning....well, we're all just too often exhausted to put much effort beyond curling our eye lashes and ordering an appetizer to engage in actual conversation with our spouse that is strictly entertaining!

Frankly, it's not an intentional kind of avoidance either!  Usually I will spend half my day thinking "I wish Josh was here to see this" or "Oh, I gotta remember to tell Josh that" and then he gets home and I "task" away on him and by the time the girls are in bed I just want to shut up and eat cookie dough and watch How I Met Your Mother.  It's not personal, it's just the business of parenthood.

And, so, who are we really becoming?

A couple of parents...or a couple that parents.


I hope it's the latter.  I'm so thankful to have a husband I find interesting.  I'm so thankful to have a fun and friendly fellow by my side.  I'm so thankful I'm married to a guy that gets excited with me when we realize we accidentally just walked out the door wearing matching yellow shoes (true story, see pic).  I'm thankful to even know a guy willing to wear yellow shoes!  HA!  I'm thankful to not only be completely in love with a guy I find irresistibly charming, but get the privilege of attacking the giant challenge that is parenthood alongside him.

And, that's more than just a couple of reasons I need to remember to sometimes just put away the tasks for a night, listen and stare at my husband, and take a refreshingly deep sigh in the awkward silence of our togetherness.  This couple is for keeps.

Planting Memories

I was only supposed to pick up a few herbs. That's it, just a little parsley and basil to replant into the tiny pots where my previous attempt had died a few months prior. You would think having grown up on a farm that I may have inherited a thumb as green as grass, but you would be acutely mistaken. The fact that my tomato plant is blooming and producing edible vegetation at all is a constant reminder that miracles happen.

I am the worst gardener I know. I will neglect my plants for days, forget to water them, let them burn in the sun, and then be shocked and disappointed that we can't make a salad out of our yard. I have perfectly delightful intentions! If intentions worked as well on plants as sun and water, then by all means I would have the Garden of Eden back there, I swear it. But, alas, my herbs have dried up and the ones that have made it this far are clearly the sturdiest of the bunch. I am hoping this summer will bring me a little more motivation to keep them growing...after all, I love to cook and I love to save money, so it seems the next logical step to grow something cheap and edible where I get to enjoy the best of both worlds!

So, the girls and I were off to Lowe's for a little "garden improvement". I had minimal funds and only the under-the-stroller compartment to contain what we needed, so I figured it was pretty safe to just go, get a few herbs, come home and make a mess of ourselves outside in the hot sun. A nice, relatively simple activity to take on with a 2-year-old and a 9-month-old (which is never actually "simple"). Josh was gone working all day, so it would be a nice Saturday surprise for him to return to.

I'm not sure when it hit me, probably somewhere between lugging a bag of soil (while pushing a stroller and making sure Matilda didn't run off into the lumberyard) and buying some flowers that were on sale...but, that moment of Lowe's-commercial-inspiration knocked me over the head. Color. That's what we needed! Color! And sure enough, not a moment later we are in the paint department going wild.

While Matilda starts yanking swatches down from the displays, "Mom-mom! Look! Brownie! Orangie! Bluuuuue! Purrrrrple!" (she was in a rainbow wonderland of imagination) I inquired with the strapping young lad behind the paint counter as to how one might go about painting a concrete birdbath. And, just like in the commercials (but with worse music and longer waiting time), the Lowe's lad hooked me up and we were on our way - turquoise paint and primer in tow.

Now...if you think that the idea of giving your backyard (albeit, only a few hundred square feet) a mini-makeover with a toddler and baby as your sidekicks sounds like a brilliant idea...you would be mistaken. (ha!) I know, I know, it was a totally spontaneous thought that developed into an entire day's activity...but, here I was with plants and dirt and paint and babies, sitting outside in the hot sun wondering why HGTV hasn't gotten me my own show yet. I mean, come on!

After many scoops of dirt, trimming of plants, yanking of weeds, a few snack breaks, many crying fits (mostly the babies), priming, painting, and hours of blood, sweat, and tears later...

Before................................and After

Tada! We did it. I still can't believe it! Both Matilda and I completely ruined our clothes. We were such a hot mess, that even after scrubbing in a hot shower we had remnants of paint and dirt still surfacing. It was actually a blast though, to throw caution (and Miracle Grow) into the wind and let our creative, inner-gardener out for the day. The beauty of planting something straight from the pot is that it is already lovely - already flowering and fruitful - and has no idea it is about to be planted into a home where many-a-plant previously met their doom. So...for the moment, we have a delightful little backyard: herbs, flowers, and an inviting birdbath that Matilda is counting on attracting "many tweet-tweets".

I'll be honest. I don't really know how long it will last. I am going to try to be better about tending this sweet little area, offering whatever TLC I can give in between the million other things on my daily to-do list. But, even if the weeds grow, or the herbs dry out, or the flowers die...I'll always have the memory of the day Matilda and I (Daphne, cheering us on from her highchair) got good and filthy and practically turned into Smurfs by painting our silly birdbath.

Three dirty girls and a turquoise birdbath. I'm sure HGTV will be calling any day now.

The Write Stuff

A word about writing. I've been doing an awful lot of writing lately, and I thought I'd just take a minute and let you in on my life as a writer. If you are reading this, then you are the reason I am so thankful this Thursday. I never thought I would be a writer with an audience, let alone have the potential to reach people I might not even know. So, thanks to you and thanks to the "interwebs", here we are. Hello.

I can't remember the first time I was really inspired to write. I remember in grade school that my best friend, Jessica, and I would make up stories and I would usually try to illustrate what she so giftedly wrote. We were going to grow up and be a writing/illustrating team, marry blonde handsome ski-instructor brothers, and live in log cabins that overlooked the Rocky Mountains in Colorado. This plan seemed ideal and totally plausible...until I hit fourth grade and realized that my illustration skills had already hit their peak and the likelihood of this collaboration started to lose its footing.

Then, in high school, I had a promising time passing an "English Comp I" class. I enjoyed the instructor and it was the first time I may have felt creative and good at something all at the same time. Still, my interest remained in the dramatics, and I set my sights on something "higher"...acting. (Okay, you can stop laughing now.)

Fast-forward to college. I came out to California at the ripe age of 17, jumping into student films wholeheartedly with both feet. While my intention grew toward acting, I couldn't help but allow my attention to be drawn towards writing. I had a couple very encouraging and influential professors who very candidly took me aside and essentially said "If you want a family someday, you should write." Acting wasn't going to allow me the lifestyle I truly desired. Writing, however, might. As a film student, at the time, this meant one thing: screenplays. And, so, I wrote screenplays. There is a little something you may or may not know about me...I've written about 7 screenplays in my life. Whew. Some interesting, some terrible, all of which are gathering dust and helping hold up books on a shelf in my dining room. Still, they have all helped get me here...just like each and every post I type. Practice, practice, practice.

Now, I'm writing the most regularly I've written since being in school. And it feels great. I am finding a niche. I am feeling out my audience (wink!). I am working hard to just keep the words coming and praying often about what you all might want to hear or read about next.

Writing feels like a workout to me. I have to do it to keep wanting to do it. I might drag myself to it beforehand, but then feel so refreshed and back in balance after it is over. I am my biggest critic and almost always feel insecure until I hit "publish" and just let it go. Then, when I'm free of it, I just feel better all around.

Writing is work. It is mentally taxing to search for the right words or analogies or phrases. It feels uncomfortable and familiar at the same time, like catching up with an old friend you haven't seen in person for years. I love it, I hate it, I need it. It's a strange gift that only God can motivate, and I'm thankful for that. I am thankful for people who ask me "Are you writing?" as if to nudge me to keep it up, even through the thick of it...that is, the years of muck that you have to write and have people read before you start to get a knack for it.

I hope I'm starting to get a knack for it. I hope you stick with me on this whole "writing a blog" journey until we are both sick of each other and our kids are grown and the internet is the most uncool thing you can pass time doing, yet you still click on "pardymama" just to see how this old kook is doing these days. I hope we weave a rich history that becomes an integration of exchanges - one post and one comment at a time.

Thanks, folks, for reading this silly little blog that has taken over the creative/vulnerable/needy part of my brain. Some days I will spew some blessings of genius that the Lord has put in my heart...and other days I will reflect the bottomless pit of hap-hazardous mayhem that is my life as a mother and wife. For the first time, maybe ever, I'm starting to feel like an actual "writer"...so, thanks for letting me have this little moment to self-indulge and offer up a post of gratitude just for you.

The pen...mightier than the sword and a lot less awkward than a side-hug. You can quote me on that. ;)

Gummy Bear

My Daphne baby will be 9 months this Friday. NINE months. Didn't I just announce that we were expecting her? Didn't we just find out she was a girl? And, weren't we debating names for her just yesterday? Oh me oh my, I can't even get a grip on it.

And now, we've had a month full of milestones for her to top it all off. It was only a few weeks ago that she started to really crawl. Not the belly-on-the-floor "army" crawl, but I mean really hands-and-knees start to get mobile (yikes!) Our days have become filled with shouts of "No Daphne!" and "No cords, baby! Let go!" as she inevitably seems to navigate her way straight to a power outage on each and every journey she embarks. Not only has she mastered crawling, but now she pulls herself up to standing - in her crib, at the couch, the ottoman, anything! And she has entered into the "I-think-I-can-walk-but-I-actually-can't-so-I-just-topple-and-hit-my-head-every-ten-minutes-instead" phase, which is really creating a peaceful environment for mommy (ha).

But, the change with the most impact occurring right now, is that this little lady is finally getting some teeth! Four at once, in fact. The whole top row seems to have just barely peeked through overnight, like a garden that has woken up to springtime. Tiny little teeth buds, making their debut to my daughter's smile, how sweet.

Babies go through so many insanely vast changes within the first year, it continues to boggle my mind. When they are first born, my husband and I lovingly refer to newborns as having "squishy face" syndrome. You know what I'm talking about - all new babies have that little face that is wrinkly and red and soft, so soft, that it truly is, in fact, squishy! Then, about six weeks or so later, they start to "get their face" so to speak. They are blinking and smiling at you. A bit of personality is chirping up between bouts of crying and sleeping. They react to you and know your voice and you can start to see which one of you she might actually resemble. Their skin has adjusted to the outside world and their eyes are huge with every little glance of something new. It's not long before more dominant features start to show definition. By 6 months, they are labeled "smiley" or "happy baby" or "chunky buns" or whatever might stick out to you when you look at them. They are real little people, growing and changing right before our eyes.

Daphne was plump and round right from the start (having been born a week late at a whopping 9 lb 5 oz!) and so we called her "little bear" from the get-go. She just looked like a little bear to me. And so, of course, as is Pardy-tradition around here, many more nicknames sprung up from "bear": "Daph-a-bear", "Mini-bear", "Bitty-bear", "Baby-bear", and when you look at that big, toothless smile, it's not hard to imagine where "Gummy-bear" got its start.

My little Gummy Bear is growing up, like it or not. And soon those little teeth will be filling her mouth and changing that little smile and giving her face an entirely new look altogether. It's so weird. Honestly, the whole "teething" bit just kind of freaks me out. Your sweet baby is going through their life, happy as a clam and then WHAM!

"Oh, sorry sweet one, that throbbing pain you are feeling in your mouth is just bits of bone trying to grow their way through your sensitive gum-line. Once it pierces through, after many sleepless nights of tears and anguish, you'll be able to enjoy new activities, like chewing food and biting your sister back."

I wish we could explain it to her. I wish she could understand that it was worth it or tell me what I could do to help her. And I wish I could make her understand how gosh darn cute she has been for the last eight months and how I have treasured her little gummy smiles. Matilda had four teeth by four months old, so the fact that Daphne is almost nine months has truly been a fun, much more manageable pace for me to appreciate this time around.

I know there are many milestones to come for this wee one. I am excited to see, at her own pace, how she grows into the little beauty she will become. Each little phase of babydom is precious, with its own triumphs and challenges along the way. I know I will fall in love with her toothy smile just as much (or more!) as I have with this gummy one; but, of course with each new chapter comes a bit of sadness and sentimentality for this mama. Still, there are three months left to this first year with my lil Daph-a-bear. And, no doubt, she will be bringing smiles to my face for many more to come.