Dirty Socks

We always dream about our wedding day, don't we?

When I was a little girl I had a collection of bath salts. I'm not sure how I got them or who gave them to me, they were probably a hand-me-down. (Benefits of being the 4th of six kids.) Delicate, antique looking flowers were drawn on the labels with the corresponding scents tempting me to dump them in the bathtub all at once. There was lilac, daisy, etc. Then there was rose. Rose was special to me. Maybe it was because it was the prettiest smell, or the most vibrant picture, but I decided to save it for my wedding night. It was the most romantic thing my innocent little mind could come up with at the time. Rose stayed in my bathroom drawer while other toiletries came and went. From bows to nail polish, from hairspray to makeup, only rose remained.

The pretty wrapping started to brown and the fragrance that once tempted my patience was beginning to remind me of Grandma's perfume. Somewhere along the years I lost rose. It wasn't too devastating. By this time I knew what marriage was all about, and my future husband wouldn't want a silly bath salt, after all.

I began daydreaming about being a wife now, instead of just my wedding. Brad had put a sparkly rock on my finger and I couldn't stop staring at it as I checked out items as a cashier at the grocery store. Some day my prince would swoop in and rescue me from this part time job and take me away to our lake house where we would spend happily ever after boating until sunset every day. We would have four children, 2 boys and 2 girls, and they would be beautiful and smart and healthy and we would travel the world as a family. I would be the most perfect wife, of course. I would work out every day and make dinner every night.

Life was just waiting to start.

After 5 jobs between us, graduating nursing school, moving twice and getting pregnant I found myself smack dab in the middle of life. Doing laundry, of course.

There I was, 6 months pregnant and sitting cross-legged on our freshly washed white bed sheets, trying to sort the rest of the clothes and trying to sort how I ended up home alone, pregnant, and still living in the Midwest. I thought when you were pregnant you just watch Netflix, eat ice cream and watch your husband "ooh" and "ahh" over your growing belly.

But there I was..alone..pregnant...did I mention I was doing laundry? I was attempting to work around this bowling ball in my mid drift. Throw the darks over here, throw the lights over there. As I was unrolling Brad's dirty socks from the slightly soggy wads he likes to leave me (we're working on it),  enough sand to fill a playground sprays out all over me, and all over our freshly washed white sheets.

THAT'S IT! That was the straw that broke my aching pregnant back. I was going to call my husband and give him a piece of my mind. He needs to KNOW what I go through every day for him.

I groan as I reach for my phone to call him. Just wait until I'm finished with him, he'll NEVER leave me dirty, wadded up socks again! (Ya right...)

But I paused. Partly because my phone was just out of prego-reach, and partly because I thought about the absurdity of calling my husband to yell at him about his dirty socks. His dirty socks that are full of sand not because he's going to the lake without me, not because he's taking long walks on the beach with someone else, but because he's building me a house. Our dream house. Because he loves me.

My husband loves me so much that he gets up before the sun every day to provide for me and our baby. He juggles opening new businesses while working on the house and still manages to come to every doctor appointment. He may not spend hours ogling over my belly, but he falls asleep every night with his hand on my stomach and that's enough.

I finally reach my phone and it only rings a few times before he answers, he's good about that.

"Hello?" he says. His voice is a little raspy from one too many nights of not enough sleep.

"Hey." I say

"What's up?" He asks

I sigh. Here was my chance.

"I just wanted to tell you thank you for working so hard for us and I'm proud of you."

"Oh." He responds. "Thank you that's very sweet."

We finish up with our I love yous and goodbyes and I set down my phone, still covered in sand. I smile as I somewhat clumsily get out of bed, brush off my yoga pants, and grab the hand vacuum to clean off the sheets. Maybe I'll go buy some bath salts, too.

It's the least I can do.

Now that we're both moms: A letter to my mother

You always said I'll know just how much you love me once I have my own.

I'll never forget calling you about half a second after I peed on that plastic stick that changed my life forever. You already knew before I could say it, you could hear it in my voice. You always had a knack for that. Maybe it comes from learning my cries from the very beginning...I'm there right now.

I was nervous to tell you for some reason, maybe you wouldn't think I wasn't ready for this. I wasn't. It's true what they say. As much as I wanted to prove everyone wrong with all my "readiness", you're never ready for no sleep, to have your heart broken every day with love.

You were nothing but happy for me. Of course. My lifelong cheerleader. I can still hear your voice from the stands in my memories, "You can do it!" You were there from the first varsity game to the last, and everything in between. I see it now.

I see you getting up at all hours of the night to feed me. I see you tearing off the sheets for the 17th time that week because I ate too much and spit up on your bed. I see you smiling through the bags under your eyes, talking baby talk to me through your hoarse, sleep deprived voice because it's morning and I'm happy and cooing at you from the changing table. You're not gonna miss this.

I see you putting a brand new diaper on me, just to tear it off and put another brand new one on because I have impeccable poop-timing. Your house might be dirty, but my butt is clean. You make sure of that. That's why you give me a bath every night, even though your back aches and your knees hurt. You smile through the pain because I love baths and you're not gonna miss this.

Fast forward to November 24th 2015 at around 5am. I'm calling you from the toilet again, but this time it's because my water broke. You race out the door and make the 3 hour drive through the snow to my house because I need you and you're not gonna miss this.

You were there for my first steps, you were there when I lost my first tooth, you were there when my first boyfriend broke my heart, you were there when Brad put the pieces back together, and you were there for every minute of my 48 hour labor. I promise it was harder on you than it was on me. 

I see that now. Every time I accidentally bump Roman's head on something, or when I scratched his little nose trying to put his pacifier back in, it hurt me worse than it hurt him.

But something subtle, yet amazing happened through those 48 hours...I became a mother.

So here's a thank you that's about 26 years belated. Because I hope Roman tells me thank you some day.

Thank you for keeping me alive and clean and fed in the early days. Thank you for homeschooling me for 2 years. I know now it was you giving up the only free time you had to yourself during the day, so thank you. I needed that. I truly believe that set me on the path to success and gave me the tools and the confidence to finish nursing school all those years later.

Thank you for always being a phone call away. It's an incredible transition in our relationship to go from nurturer, to disciplinarian, to cheerleader, to my best friend. We're both moms now.

When Roman was born, you wrote me a card that ended with, "now you're beginning to know just how much I love you." What you never told me is just how much more I would love YOU. 

Roman James: The Name

I thought I would share the story of how we came up with our son's name. Not that you need some super-cheesy-deep reason behind your child's name, you can name them whatever you want, but a few people have asked so here it goes.

When Brad and I started dating and I knew I was going to marry him, (the first night we met, but that's a blog post for another day!) I whipped out my "list" of baby names I had been accumulating since junior high. He didn't run away for some reason, so I knew I had a keeper. One of the boy names on that list was Roman. I had first discovered that name between the pages of a book called Chataine's Guardian by Robin Hardy. I borrowed the book when I was about 13 or 14 years old, and fell in love with the character named Roman. The book is a fictional, christian based story about a soldier (Roman) who is assigned to be the guardian of the princess since he is the king's most trusted warrior. Spoiler alert! Roman wins over Princess Deirdre's wild heart with his daily, unconditional love and service to her. (Reminds me of my prince!) Just like Roman couldn't help but fall head over heels for the princess, I couldn't help but fall in love with this strong, yet gentle man. I held onto that name for many years and kept it close to my heart until it was time to give my heart away.

I remember the first time I told Brad I liked the name "Roman" for a boy. I was so afraid he was going to shut it down, to say he didn't like it, or it was too weird. He looked up at me with those baby blues and said softly, "That's my favorite book of the Bible." My heart swelled almost to the size of my growing belly, he liked it! "It's very manly", he added. Daddy approved. I was hesitant to name our baby before we saw him. What if he didn't LOOK like the name we picked? But I couldn't shake the feeling that this was meant to be the name of our child all along, as if we didn't pick it after all.

His middle name was a no-brainer, James is Brad's middle name, and if there's one person on earth I hope Roman can emulate, it's his daddy. Roman James it was. It flowed perfectly together, it was manly and unique, yet not too strange. It was easy to spell, pronounce, and had a cool story behind it. (Just don't call him RJ, haha!)

Roman, we love you so much. My prayer for you is that you will be selfless and loyal like the Roman of the book. That you will be a strong and trusted warrior for the Lord, and guard all that He blesses you with fiercely. I pray that you will have the patience and self-discipline of your father, that your eyes will stay blue like his, and your shared love for music will keep those little feet dancing forever.