6710 Grand

Yesterday Nick and I were talking about feeling guilty for not spending more time with our kids—particularly the fact that neither of us stay home and Ivy and Iris have gone to daycare more or less since infancy.  Nick and I both had brief stints at being a stay-at-home parent when Ivy was young and we both knew without a doubt that it wasn't the life for either of us.  I think he feels the guilt more than I do since he’s gone for days at a time and I’m home every night (more or less), but the girls have a hand in that as well.  They’re VERY good at giving him the puppy eyes and sulking around when he’d rather do something for himself or (GASP!) spend time with me than play with them.  I've had the occasional snide remark sent my way about how selfish I am for working or even how unfortunate I am for not being able to financially manage staying home with my kids.  I do my best not to engage or simply state that I am a better mom when I can go to work every ...

I love my birthday.  No, I mean really.  Like a five year old at Chuck E. Cheese.  It’s my favorite day of the entire year, second only to Christmas.  I LOVE IT!  It’s one day that’s only about me.  I get to be selfish.  I get to expect people to focus on ME.  When people forget my birthday, I get a little upset.  My husband, poor soul, learned this the hard way.  When we were dating, he forgot my birthday twice.  He had some lame excuse the first year, like being in intensive care at the hospital for mono.  And the second year, he thought having Lasik surgery and being in lots of pain was a good enough reason to let the day pass.  (Please!)  But by the third year, he finally understood and sneaked out of his room while serving in the Navy’s Officer Candidate School to use the phone to call me on my birthday.  (Yes, it was breaking a military rule and he took a big risk, but it was MY BIRTHDAY!) After th...