How To Eat Waffles

According to my slightly goofy girls...this is the only way to eat waffles with whipped cream and strawberries.

And More Birthday Stuff

We had a fabulous birthday. We celebrated the day with some of our favorite things.

• A nice lunch at Olive Garden without kids, with friends, and with a gift certificate.
• A visit from a friend with this amazing gift...which will adorn my table for a long time.
• An entertaining movie without kids and without teenagers texting behind us.
• A visit from the UPS man with my incredible birthday present (thanks again, Ian).
• A "mailbox" of handmade paper craft gifts from our adorable little girls.

AND

• A trip with the kidlets to our local Chili's where we feasted on this:

When I say feasted, I mean FEASTED...(it was a good thing we ordered two):

And we only had a few moments of chasing the little beast around a public place.

All in all, it was a great day. I think we only had one birthday wish that didn't come true: We didn't get to sleep in. (Apparently Curtis just couldn't wait to extend birthday wishes and decided 6:00am was the perfect time to do it. What can you say about such a boy? He's cute even when he's driving us crazy.)

Until next year.

It's My Party...and I'll Share If I Want To

When Ian and I first met it was not love at first sight. Don't get me wrong...he was absolutely wonderful in every way, but if you had met him 12 years ago you might have had the same reaction I did: "Why is this teenager talking to me?"

Oh, it's true. He was one young-looking 25 year old. I mean, scary young. No...I mean, did-you-just-get-your-drivers-license young.

I think I might have choked on some Diet Coke when I found out we were the same age. And I mean LITERALLY THE SAME AGE. Same day. Same year. Same-same.

It might have been the same-birthday deal that made me take a second look. (Because if you're going to share a big day like a birthday with someone, it's nice to know what you're dealing with, right?) The more we talked, the more I realized we had tons in common. Not the obvious stuff...he flew airplanes, I worked a desk job. He's a little reserved, I tend to be slightly outspoken. He likes exercise, I like donuts...but underneath it all we found a reflection of my thoughts, hopes, opinions, and dreams. If I was ever one to be cheesy I'd say that I'd found the other half of myself...but since I don't do cheesy, we'll pretend I didn't say it (even if it's true). :)

Marriage to me (and a trio of hair-raising children) has aged him a little since that first day. And we've had the ups and downs that always accompany the joining of two different souls. But tonight, at the closing of the 37th anniversary of our birth days, I just have to say...I'm glad I have such a wonderful man to share it all with.

Happy Birthday, Ian! I love you.

The Queen of Tantrums: Post Edit

I started reading a book today. A parenting book. (I know...I swore I'd never do that. But, as it turns out, I'm not a natural at this whole mom thing. So...I'm reading a book.) And it suddenly occurred to me (because the author specifically pointed it out) that in most of my disciplining attempts I'm really the one throwing the temper tantrum.

It's true.

When things don't go my way I have a tendency to REACT. And YELL. (Yes, people I yell. I'm a champion yeller. If there were Olympic medals given for yelling I'd be a gold-medalist. If some natural disaster struck and disabled all forms of communication I would be able to compensate with my loud, booming voice. Do you see where I'm going with this?)

And sometimes I cry.

Oh, and sometimes I throw things. (Not my children...just things.)

You see? Tantrums.

Post Edit: Lest you think I'm worse off than I am...I'm only throwing things like stuffed animals. Legos. Cheerios. You know...SMALL things.

Irony At It's Best

I was sitting at my computer, minding my own business when...

Ellie burst in the room and, mustering all the indignation a four year-old can possibly summon, exclaimed, "Lindy called me a tattle-teller!"

I couldn't help but laugh.