the surprises continue...

So, just when I thought my birthday couldn't get any better, it hecka did.

I had a great breakfast with Sarah this morning, complete with the most delicious apricot-peach-pear smoothie I've ever had. Nevermind it's the only one I've ever had, but it was still amazing. Amazing enough to blog about, so you KNOW it was good.

Then I went to Moms Group and enjoyed a chance to chat with my gal pals. And I think I walked away with the silliest holiday socks from our sock exchange. Maybe they'll have to make a repeat appearance next year...

So after leaving Rebecca's, I came home to a smiling husband and smiling son. Always a good thing. Marty was all geared up to watch "The Today Show", since Candace had mentioned that she was standing in the audience behind where they were shooting in New York this morning. Sure enough, there was my best bud, wearing my scarf and gloves and holding a sign that said "Happy 24th Birthday, Becky!" So I was actually wished a happy birthday on national television. Not a lot of people can say that! I felt so special.

Spent the afternoon being lazy around the house with my boys, complete with family nap-time and a mailbox full of really fun birthday cards and Christmas pictures.

Then after enjoying dinner with my hubby at Red Robin (thanks, Emily, for watching little Marty), we stopped by Target so I could spend the gift card my mother-in-law sent. I picked out a gorgeous new winter coat that I've been needing. It's one that will actually keep me warm and look stylish all at the same time!

So new coat in hand, we drove to Brent VanAuken's house for what I thought was just a Christmas party with friends. When I walked in, there were balloons and cupcakes and presents and friends yelling, "SURPRISE!" Seriously, I nearly cried. I feel so blessed to be so loved. Thank you Rachel, Brent and Kristena for throwing together a great party, and thanks Meghan and Jeremy, Pearcia and Eric, Patrick and Bethany, Billy and Heather, Jamie and Matt, and Amy for being there to support and celebrate me.

And we ended the night with a precious card and gift from each of my boys. My Martys.

I really do think this ended up being the best birthday ever.

Happy Birthday to me...

Yes, today is my birthday. Good ol' December the 16th.

And like most of you, I've had my share of good birthday memories and bad. Poor Marty felt the pressure to make this year's day extra special, as it's been a rough past couple of months.

Well, it's only been my birthday for an hour, and I've already cried tears of joy at least three times. I feel loved and blessed and so appreciated for who I am--plain ol' me! Can you believe it?

See (story about to unfold, here), my best friend Candace is in New York City with hubby Bobby today, celebrating her own birthday. Since she knew she'd be gone on my big day, she gave me my present ahead of time and told me not to open it until my actual birthday. Curiosity nearly got the best of me several different times, but something told me to wait. To avoid trying to peek underneath the wrapper and just let myself open it when I was supposed to open it.

I'm glad I did. Marty and I stayed up past midnight watching "SNL", so we could be up to ring in the special day. Well not a couple minutes after twelve, Marty asked if I wanted to open my present from Candace. Duh!

In it was a DVD that simply said, "Watch me." It opened with one of my favorite songs, a worship song by Watermark, and the title, "Happy Birthday, Becky!" Then one by one, my close friends appeared on the screen, telling me what they loved about me. I cried through the whole thing. I guess I just never knew that I mattered so much to people, or that I was as special as they made me sound.

So thank you Candace, Sarah, Rachael, Pearcia, Bethany, Kristena, Heather, Billy, Bobby, Annette, and Marty. Your words spoke volumes, and my heart is so full right now. You've all made me feel worth something, and I haven't felt that in such a long time.

Man, oh man.

Later this morning Sarah is taking me to breakfast, then I have Moms Group with all my favorite gal pals, then Marty and I get to hang out all day and go somewhere fun for dinner. Then I still have a birthday celebration with my family to look forward to whenever we're all together next, and Bobby and Candace and Matt and Sarah and Marty and I are going to barbeque a couple steaks in the snow to celebrate even more, then Candace and I still have to throw ourselves the joint birthday party that we've been planning all year.

I think it's safe to say that this year's birthday is going to be one of the good birthdays.

whew...

I did it.

I've had this to-do task on my endless to-do list for ages. And I finally finished it. Mostly. The bulk of the work is done, and I'm happy as a clam, no matter how late I had to stay up to be able to put a big check-mark next to that one.

So, I designed another website. For a friend of Mimi's friend's mom. She's a part of this group that speaks at women's retreats and other events, and wanted me to design a website for their team. I think it turned out pretty well, if I do say so myself. And I DO say so myself.

Check it out: friendsoftheheart.us.

And to answer your question, YES, I am a total nerd and do enjoy sitting in front of my computer for hours on end. It's my one connection to the outside world--my one way to feel productive outside my home.

Doesn't hurt that I'm getting paid for it, either. Can't wait to wash the mountains of laundry I have piling up in my living room with the new washer and dryer I'm going to buy with my nerdy website money.

Typity type + nerdity nerd = no longer wearing the same outfit five days in a row. Marty's nostrils will thank me.

D'OH!!

Happiness is NOT...

...grabbing a quick latte from Dutch Bros, specifically asking for decaf, and winding up awake at 4:30am because for some odd reason you just can't sleep.

The rest of my family, cat included, is sleeping peacefully, thereby ensuring their contentedness in the morning. I, on the other hand, promise to be a pill when my alarm goes off in just a few short hours. I'll likely hit the snooze button nine times and have to show up at church with oily, pony-tailed hair again.

At least I made my insomniac-ish self useful. Our Christmas newsletter is written, pictures printed, witty quips giggled over. One project I can partially cross off my extensive to-do list.

Perhaps I should add "never go to Dutch Bros after 7pm, whether or not you order decaf" to that list.

one thing I'm thankful for...

My son now knows the word "tattoo".

I swear, it's the cutest thing. He got a little rub-on tattoo in his Happy Meal that Pops (his grandpa) bought for him during their outing together this week. So Daddy helped him put it on his fat little arm, and taught him to say "tattoo". Except he says "TAT-toooooooooo!!"

Funny--it's the first word that he's ever pronounced correctly. Everything else is "guck" or "pawk" or "la-bobt". I'm beginning to wonder if this whole tattoo fascination is a sign of things to come.

I can just picture him eighteen years from now, coming home, pointing to his arm and saying, "Look, Mom. I got a TAT-toooooooooo!!"

I think I'll curl into a ball and cry.

my little booger

My son just blew his nose into his hand.

Gross? Yeah.

Icky? Sure.

Absolutely freakin' hilarious? You betcha.

so almost a month later...

Blogging silence noted.

It's not that I haven't thought of a zillion things to blog about between October 3rd and now. It's not that I haven't had the time to sit down and post a little somethin'-somethin' for you bloggy-hungry fans. It's not that I haven't taken enough pictures of our last month of Moseley life. I swear, I have plenty of digital-camera-ish proof that we do still exist.

My excuse? Not really sure. And not really sure an excuse is important anyway.

Let's just say that I haven't been myself lately. And when you're not yourself, it's hard to try to pretend to be yourself so that no one will notice that you're not really yourself. Follow me?

My little funk this past month is hard to describe, so I won't bother going there. I'll just say that my life has changed in a thousand little ways over the last couple weeks, and I'm working on figuring out how to live with these adjustments. And I'm not quite back to myself yet, so it may take a while for me to start blogging again with as much regularity and hilarity as I have in the past.

I reached my breaking point this past Tuesday and it kind of woke me up to what's been going on. It scared me to realize that I didn't recognize even a small part of the girl I was that morning. She was a stranger to me, and I started to actually miss myself.

To be honest though, now that I've hit my lowest low, I feel comforted knowing I can only go up from here. I'm working through it all and trying really hard to rediscover the Becky in me that thinks burping is something to be proud of and that any white girl can dance like Beyonce if she tries hard enough. The Becky that doesn't have to be perfect, or have everything figured out.

So though this process may take a while, know that in the meantime, I'm probably in my living room shaking my little boo-tay and thinking I can at least be a pop star in my own head.

we have the worst luck...

So I got rear-ended on Tuesday.

I was on my way home from Moms Group, waiting for traffic to clear so I could merge onto one of the busy streets in town (yes, traffic DOES exist in our little po-dunk town). Out of nowhere, my truck lurched forward, and I realized I'd been hit.

Right away I felt sick to my stomach, and couldn't help but let the tears flow. I tried to keep my anger and raw emotion quiet, though, so I wouldn't upset the two babies in my back seat. I was sobbing but saying "it's okay, we're okay" over and over for the sake of keeping the kids as calm as possible.

The girl who hit me looked like she was starting to just drive off, but was actually pulling into a parking lot so we could chat and exchange information. I had to pray through what I was going to say to her, even though my blubbering still came out pretty harsh. I was reprimanding her and asking what happened and letting her know that I had kids in the car--it all came out so fast. But I guess she had thought that traffic was clear and assumed I had already merged, while looking over her shoulder and pressing on the gas pedal.

I was at a dead stop. And she came at me pretty fast. I mean, there's significant damage to my truck. My beast of a car--I swear that thing is a monster. So for her to cause the huge gash that she did means she hit me hard.

Four days later I'm still dealing with severe whiplash. My neck and upper back hurt no matter what way I try to move them, so going about my usual mom business has been more than difficult. Thanks to Miss Bram, I met with a chiropractor today who is going to adjust all three of my misaligned vertebrae tomorrow afternoon. Even my little Goob got a little adjustment this morning, since his neck was slightly off as well.

So I'm in the midst of insurance policy allowances and claims representatives and personal injury settlements and auto body shops and even new carseats. As if we needed one more thing on our already heaping plate.

But here's where we shake our heads and wonder why, oh why, we're being put through the ringer right now...

Marty was driving home tonight from seeing a movie with some buddies when the truck's back tire blew out. In the pouring rain. Without a spare, since we'd already used it last year. Mind you, the truck is our only method of transportation right now. Marty's bike is out of commission and we just sold our Durango to my dad.

So we're car-less and broke. No money to pay for a replacement tire, no money to rent a car to get Marty to and from work for the next couple days while they replace the tire, fix any damage to the rim, and do all the body work needed to patch up the area where I got rear-ended. So THIS is why people have savings to dip into. And THIS is why I'm hating that we have no savings to dip into because we're living paycheck to paycheck as it is.

The funny thing is, even though I should be stressed beyond belief, all I can do is just shake my head and wonder how on earth God is going to get us through this one. Our entire marriage has been one crazy adventure after another, and we've seen God step in on our behalf time and again, so we know we'll be okay. We just don't know what that's going to look like at this point.

Maybe we should just be thankful that our precious son is too young to understand all of this. He wasn't phased by the car accident at all, and doesn't know how tight things are for Mommy and Daddy right now.

He might miss the truck, though, while it's being worked on, since every morning he walks up to our front door, points outside, and says "GUCK!" It means he wants to take a ride in the car and go somewhere fun.

So, Baby, until our "guck" comes home, you and I will have to make our living room as fun as possible. Legos and squeaky books and pillow forts, oh my!

"What the..."

According to my calendar, today was International Talk Like a Pirate Day.

Arrrr. Shiver me timbers.

Madness #20--Mr. Personality

Pretty much since the day Marty and I first had our "we should make babies together someday" conversation, we've dreamt about what our children would be like.

Not just what they would look like, but what different personality traits of ours they might exhibit. Dramatic like Mommy? Funny like Dad? Smart and nerdy like Mommy? Able to grow some pretty cool facial hair like Dad? Unable to freakin' parallel park a huge truck even though she's been driving it for three years now like Mommy?

We seemed to think that the moment we first held child number one in our arms, we'd have our answer. Forgot to factor in the time it takes for a baby's real colors to show through. I mean, for the first couple months, all infants really do is eat, sleep, and poop. With the occasional smile thrown in to keep its parents entertained.

Well our little Mo has finally begun to take on some characteristics of his own. Little quirks that deem him weird enough to be our child, but just awesome enough to be our child, too. And since I'm fortunate enough to get to stay home with him, and spend all day learning new things about my special guy, I thought I'd share some of my favorites.

Quirk #1: Keeping all his ducks in a row.

The other day, I was doing some work on the computer while Marty played with a handful of pens. My back was to him, so I'd turn around occasionally to see what he was up to. One such turn-around revealed a very precise row of pens on the bed, nearly parallel and equidistant to one another. And when I complimented his fine work, he smiled at me, then removed each pen, one by one, placing them back in the drawer they came from. Someone seems to have inherited his mother's irrational need to have things "just-so" around the house. I may not be clean, but you can bet that the candle-holder in our guest bathroom will always be at the exact same angle every time you come over. I'm so proud to have someone else share in my lunacy.


Quirk #2: Fridge fascination.

Now that Marty can point at the things he wants, we've enjoyed a new level of communication between us. The amount of tension and frustration in our house has certainly lessened since he just shows us why he's upset instead of crying about it and letting us scramble to do the guess-work. One thing he's always pointing at is the fridge, and he's not happy until you've opened it and let him peek inside. At first we thought it was his way of telling us he was hungry, but we've come to realize he just likes to look at whatever happens to be growing on the shelves. His father does the same thing. Open fridge, survey contents, shut fridge door. A harmless, but quite frequent ritual at our house.

Quirk #3: Feeds off of a good reaction.

He's already got a flare for the dramatic. Whether he's dancing around the living room, elbows high in the air, or trying on Daddy's clothes, Marty loves to get a reaction out of you. Preferably a laugh or squeal, even more preferably in an octave only dogs can hear. And if something makes you smile, he'll repeat it until your smiles are so fake your teeth hurt. We like to humor the little guy. Who knows, maybe he'll be a theater buff like Mama. Or a comedian like Daddy. This one could go either way, but in the meantime, we're just enjoying watching him make a goober out of himself in an effort to keep us entertained.


Quirk #4: Not so big on the rides.

Unlike most kids, who beg their parents for a quarter so they can enjoy a 30-second horsie ride in front of the dollar store before heading home, our munchy munchkin hates the thought. We've tried horses, fire trucks, monster trucks, little seats that just move in a circle--he screams bloody murder. He's the most boring kid to take to Chuck E. Cheese. He'd rather just carry one of the red ski balls around than do anything else. Not sure where this trait came from, since both Mommy and Daddy love rides--loopy loops, upside-downers, and everything. We'll just have to work him into it. Man him up a bit before his friends make fun of him for chickening out.

Quirk #5: Already obsessed with Sesame Street.

What mom hasn't ever put her child in front of the television so she can have just a few moments to herself? Guilty. But my "clever plan" to keep him occupied so I can actually shower on a more regular basis has backfired. He's addicted to Sesame Street. When it's on, his eyes almost glass over, and no amount of distraction can keep him from his favorite show. Guess I'm just glad I get to control how often he watches it. Our tv system is pretty difficult to operate, so at least for now, Mommy decides when it's time for some dancing monsters and alphabet songs. Hmmm. Who else in our house gets obsessed with certain tv shows? And has their own version of the glass-eyes look? And will have the occasional drool stain on their shirt to show off just how tuned in they are?

Quirk #5: Our creature of habit.

When my mother-in-law watched Marty for a week, I was so worried that I'd forget to tell her about all the little rituals we do on a regular basis. We hit the wind chimes every time we walk up to the front door. We stroll down to the mailbox every afternoon, hand-in-hand. We sing songs during diaper changes, and call his cups "sippys". And my goodness, if I forget to carry out even one of these tiny habits we've formed, a certain little guy lets me know. He'll fuss until we go back out to the front porch and hit the chimes. He'll start singing and chatting when he's getting his diaper changed if I'm silent. What a good little reminder-er I have! But if we're still calling cups "sippys" in high school, our creature of habit might have to start breaking a few of them.

Quirk #6: Bookworm-status.

Marty and I have always loved to read. This year, we're even having a reading contest to see who can conquer more pages by December. So it's only fitting that our littlest family member be hooked on books too. He'll carry his pile of cardboard goodies around the house, then sit down and open them up. He'll move his eyes as though actually reading, and turn the pages when he feels he's given that spread a good pause or two. And the books that are more interactive, like the ones that have little squeakers in them or that have flaps you can lift to reveal things underneath are prized possessions to our reader. We're already arguing about whether to buy him the Harry Potter or Hardy Boys series first.

Quirk #7: A very manly shoe fetish.

Someone just loves to wear shoes. Maybe that's why he somehow managed to collect at least six pairs that fit him at the moment. Not counting his Elmo slippers. But he'll bring me his shoes, and hold them out to me until I put them on for him. I think he assumes it means I'll take him outside, but usually by the time his shoes are on, he's just so excited to be wearing them that he forgets about playing in the yard and happily toddles off. Where did this little fetish come from? I won't even tell you how many pairs of shoes his father has.

So that's our son in his own little nutty nutshell. Thanks for taking the time to get to know him better, as we continue to learn just how funny and quirky he's turning out to be.

We'll keep you posted if he starts belting out Broadway showtunes or eats Top Ramen breakfast-lunch-and-dinner. Monkey see, monkey do! Or is that Moseley see, Moseley do?

Either way, we're just fascinated. Is it wrong to just sit and stare at your child for hours on end? With the same ferver usually spent staring at the fridge contents or reading about Clifford the Big Red Dog?

coffee speak

I worked at Starbucks for about three years.

Three years of waking up at 4am and thinking it was normal. Three years of washing the same white polo and black pants almost daily. Three years of arranging and rearranging pastries in the pastry case, only to have someone come along and rearrange it to their own liking. Three years of green aprons and MUG awards and counting tips and grumpy morning people. Three years of correcting people when they tried to order a no-foam cappuchino. Such a thing doesn't exist.

I grew to be a bit of a Starbucks snob. You know, the baristas that give you a bit of attitude when you order something silly or ask for the wrong thing.

But I have to admit, before I got hired there, my coffee knowledge was limited to only knowing how to order the trendy caramel "frap", which I hated and thought had too much coffee in it. My friend and I used to ask for triple the syrup in our white mochas because they just weren't sweet enough. Our own "candy bar in a cup".

Now that I know how much sugar already goes into a white mocha, the idea of tripling that disgusts me. And I know better than to refer to anything as a "frap". And I can impress just about anyone when I go up to the counter and order my iced decaf single grande five-pump toffee nut breve light ice latte without skipping a beat.

But we all start somewhere, right? We all start out knowing just about nothing when it comes to the correct term for half whole, half non-fat milk. And that creme frappichinos don't have any coffee in them. And that decaf espresso shots still have just a smidgen of caffeine in them.

I've become that coffee illiterate customer once again. Now that I frequent Dutch Bros to visit Bobby and get myself a medium annihilator on the not-so-medium-heat days, I'm starting from scratch on my coffee speak. Breve now refers to a drink instead of just a type of milk. And blended drinks are actually blended. Different coffee company, entirely different coffee language.

I kind of like the challenge. I like asking questions and trying to figure things out and making connections in my head. Rather stimulating for someone whose usual daily conversations consist of more "ba"s and "dooka-dooka"s than anything else.

My dad always used to send us off to school saying, "Learn something new today!" Well, Dad, I'm doing you proud in my own little coffee way.

pimpin' it up...

My goodness. Tiny Marty and his girlfriends. Little do they realize that he's trying to date about fifteen women at the same time.

"The Day My Son Peed in My Mouth"

Eh-HEM.

So a certain friend of mine has been encouraging me to enter a certain writing contest. I finally gave in, figuring that I spend enough time writing blogs anyway. Why not name one an "essay" and see if I might win something for it?

I was instructed to write about the most important day of my life. And somewhere between my stressful day and lack of sleep, this is what I came up with:

The Day My Son Peed in My Mouth

In thinking about the most important day of my life, the day that most stands out in my memory as a key turning point, why is it that a little sprinkle of urine is what comes to mind? Shouldn't I be thinking of something more significant, like being diagnosed with my chronic illness, graduating from high school, getting married, giving birth to my son? Those moments are the moments we recount time and again, the moments we scrapbook about, minus the colonoscopy pictures taken to determine that I do indeed have Crohn's disease. But even those photos come out to play on the rare occasion--when a party's conversation lulls and I've gotten enough margaritas in me to feel comfortable passing around evidence of my inflamed inner-workings.

Clearly, I have never been one to adhere to any type of norm, so my most significant, life-altering moment isn't one you'll find documented, framed, and hung in my hallway next to the pictures of my husband and I trying to look cool doing our superhero poses. No, my moment took place on a day like any other. Without any big announcement or fanfare, or even the tiniest sprinkle of confetti. Really, the moment came and went in an instant. My son, during a routine diaper change, peed in my mouth.

Back up several years. Think the 80's in all its side-ponytail-glory. I was quite the dramatic child. The one that would beg for my dad's attention anytime he had the video camera out. I would prance and dance and wear crazy pants just so people would notice me. My life was a constant, never-ending performance. And that theatrical theme carried on into junior high. Then high school. I was honored with the leading lady roles in just about every single one of the plays our drama class put on. I would memorize my lines to perfection, and embrace my transformation into Anne of Green Gables, or Esther, Judy Garland's gal in "Meet Me in St. Louis". I was filling some big shoes, whether tap or jazz or stilettos, and loved every waking moment. The cheers of a crowd applauding just for you. A standing ovation on the night you were brave enough to attempt the highest high note without switching into your falsetto. Really, most audience members overlook any voice crack if you smile wide enough.

But the result of my Broadway-an aspirations was a life that almost seemed fake to me. I knew how to switch from role to role--daughter to sister to best friend to girlfriend to wife and now to mom. How many times did I walk into a room, crazy pants and all, and enter as merely a version of myself? Did anyone, does anyone, know the real me? I never lied about anything. I never pretended to be someone that I wasn't. I just kind of floated through the years playing all of my roles, but secretly and desperately wishing that I knew how to make that life my own. I knew it would require some kind of drastic change, a wake-up-call of sorts.

Why not wake up to a steady stream of warm urine trickling down my face? Amidst the whirlwind of dating then engagement then marriage then pregnancy then actually delivering a baby, I became a mother. A role I had sought my whole life, but couldn't really enjoy without feeling like I was actually the one playing it. Talk about your out-of-body experience. Try an out-of-body lifetime.

Until I failed to cover a flailing penis that chose to unload its pee-pee on me-me. The moment that salty sweetness hit my lips, I found myself rudely awakened to the fact that my life was different from the one it was when I fell asleep. I'm not sure what happened to the little side-pony-tailed, gap-toothed blonde whose entire existence was spent writing song lyrics in the shower, on the toilet, or wherever creativity chose to strike. In her place, I found a desperately tired mother whose stomach was still the size of a bowling ball, and had seemed to lose all sense of fashion the moment she took a certain little earthling home from the hospital. I can remember that moment as clearly as if it happened this morning, never mind that I got peed on during today's sunrise diaper change, too.

But at that particular moment, I knew I had a choice. I could choose to grab for the perfect performance version of myself, ever seeking to impress those around me no matter how tiring. Or I could embrace this older, foreign woman with breast milk stains and vomit on her wrinkly maternity shirt and let myself really laugh for once. I chose to laugh.

Over a year later, I'm laughing still, enjoying every waking moment of my hum-drum, but perfectly abnormal life. At least now I know it's my life to live. Poopy colonoscopy pictures and all.

our cruisey-cruise

Yes, it was fabulous. Just as we expected.

We came back tanner, awake-er, and in-love-er. Meaning we enjoyed the occasional afternoon nap stretched out in the sun by the pool. Meaning we took advantage of the baby-free opportunity to "just be us". Amazing the talks you can have without a child there distracting you with a runny nose or demand for more apple juice.

The highlights of our trip? I thought I'd list them for your easy-reading and not-as-boring-as-writing-out-every-detail pleasure. Pictures included where appropriate so those of you who don't particularly care to hear about our trip at least have something to look at.

--Day 1: Getting onboard. Probably our number one highlight because we weren't as lucky on the last cruise we tried to take. I seriously wasn't comfortable until we sailed away from the dock, thinking they would still somehow cancel it. But once we'd left the harbor, I felt okay. Loved exploring the ship in all its non-cancelled-cruise-glory.

--Day 1: Stuffing our faces at the open buffet. Pizza, hamburgers, diet Coke a-plenty. I swear, that first all-you-can-eat meal was ridiculous. I think we really did eat all we could eat. Then waddled to our room afterwards for a nap. As if sleeping off all that food would help. It didn't.

--Day 1: Our muster drill, during which we got to dress up as floating traffic cones and try to squeeze onto the outer ship deck with hundreds of other cone-ish sweaty people. A joy, really.

--Day 1: Winning a free back and neck massage. A true highlight. When we first walked onboard, this cute little Philippino woman took my face in her hands and told me I was beautiful. How's that for a welcome, huh? Then she gave me a couple raffle tickets for the drawing that would be held at the spa later that evening. I freakin' won. I never win anything, so it felt hecka good. The massage was pretty cool, too. I really did start relaxing almost the minute our trip began.

--Day 1: Getting all dressed up for dinner. Ordering our first margarita. Watching the little "Welcome Aboard" show with several sub-par but super-smiley singers and dancers. But the theater was just amazing. So many little lounge areas and waiters asking what you wanted to drink and different levels of red-velvet-covered seats, I nearly cried at the sight.

--Day 1: Watching the after-dinner magic and comedy show. Crazy what that guy did with a handful of little yellow balls.

--Day 2: Waking up an hour late. Why was this fun? Because it means we slept so well, we didn't hear our alarm ringing every five minutes for an entire hour. I swear that boat just rocks you to sleep.

--Day 2: The San Diego Zoo. Yeah, it's a ton of walking up and down extensive trails that make you wonder where the animals actually are, but it was super fun. For a giraffe junkie like myself, it was well-worth our splintered shins and burnt shoulders. Seriously, though, I'm an addict. A fellow long-neck. I was actually nicknamed "GG" (for Giraffe Girl) in highschool because I'd wear the giraffe shirt I made pretty regularly. The front said, "Tall blondes need help." The back? "Save the giraffes!" Oh my gosh. There was a giraffe song and everything.

--Day 2: Working on our tans. Watching people walk around wearing bathing suits they really shouldn't have been wearing. Wearing our OWN bathing suits that we shouldn't have been wearing. Actually, mine is kind of cute.

--Day 2: Our formal dinner, and getting to recycle one of Candace's old bridesmaid dresses. Yeah, I was going to wear an old prom dress, but the dress Candace lent me actually allowed me to breathe. So I went with that one. Naturally. Beautiful, ain't we?

--Day 3: Catalina Island's Lovers' Cove Snorkel Tour. I could see our ship from where we snorkeled. I could also see this really awkward guy who kept talking to me and calling me an angel but saying I made him nervous then asking me to zip up his wetsuit for him the minute Marty went over to the lockers. Guess the fish weren't the only things that freaked me out that afternoon.

--Day 3: Shopping along Catalina's little beachfront walkway. I bought a three-dollar magazine that one could find in just about any grocery store. I didn't buy a forty-dollar shirt that looked better on the hanger.

--Day 3: Attending an art auction based on the promise that we'd be served free champagne for warming a seat cushion. Didn't get the bubbly. We did, however, nearly warm our seats with pee, etc., when the auctioneer told Marty that because he scratched his nose at the wrong time, he was put down for a $48,000 bid on a Peter Max. Right. Because if we had $48,ooo, we'd totally be spending it on an ugly painting. Good thing he was joking. We should have gotten free champagne for getting picked on and laughed at.

--Day 3: Buying cheap crap just because we felt like it. We each picked out a new watch at the ten-dollar sale. Mine cost $20 because I had to get it re-sized. Poopy pants. Though it is nice to now realize how stupid I look when I ask for the time and someone points out that I'm wearing it on my wrist.

--Day 3: Our waiter dressing up like Batman to serenade us. Everyone else just balanced plates on their heads. We got the superhero! We probably needed the super-human help after the three appetizers, three entrees, and two desserts Marty ordered. Hey--free food, right?

--Day 3: A midnight chocolate buffet. Some serious desserty goodness. Some serious weight gain. But we had fun taking our treats back to our room and enjoying them while watching "Enchanted". Though according to Marty, we watched "Die Hard". He'd never see a movie with singing cartoon chipmunks and Patrick Dempsey in it.

--Day 4: Ensenada. A big Mexican flag. And a sun so bright, we were barely able to snap a picture before our eyes melted.

--Day 4: Rock-climbing on the ship's rock wall. Being the newer climber myself, I liked the idea of easy-to-grip holds and wearing a harness. Imagine my surprise when one of the guys running the ropes told me I should enter the Adult Speed-Climbing Competition. What the heck, right? So a couple people laugh at me. I was promised a free key-chain for participating. Marty signed up with me, and we both walked away with silver medals! I guess I was the second-fastest female climber on the ship, and Marty the second-fastest of the guys. We even got free t-shirts along with our key-chains. What what! Not that we're proud about it or anything.

--Day 4: Marty tripping while walking down the stairs to which I yelled, "What an IDIOT." It was hilarious. But what was funnier was Marty trying to return the favor when I did something embarrassing, and there being two little kids standing right there who looked horrified at him speaking to me so rudely. We laughed until we cried and had to pee.

--Day 4: Trying to share our own little "Titanic" moment, by watching the sun set at the front of the ship. Not quite as romantic as we planned, with sticky salty hair and flapping earrings. But the idea was just perfect, and the couple minutes we lasted were gems.

--Day 4: Comedy night with Troy Thirdgill. My favorite joke of his? "I've never understood why people refer to me as 'colored'. Who came up with that? Probably some white guy. How does he know he wasn't 'erased'?"

--Day 4: Hitting up the club for a couple drinks and the idea of dancing. But since there were only about three people on the dance floor, and a certain husband refused to groove with a certain wife, we sat there awkwardly, didn't finish our white russian and vodka shot, and left to go get what little sleep we still could before waking up at six the next morning.

--Day 5: So sleepy. Big breakfast. Goodbye ship. Goodbye thirty-three different foreign accents. Goodbye little towel animals and tiny stateroom. Goodbye best sleep we've ever gotten. Goodbye stingy-water shower. Goodbye adventure. Goodbye favorite vacation ever.

--Day 5: Seeing our little Goobs for the first time in about a week, and watching his face light up when he realized it was really his Mama and Daddy. That we hadn't forgotten about him, and came home after all. Poor thing would carry our picture around the house while we were gone, pointing to us and whining. It felt good to be missed. Felt good to come home to the runny nose and apple juice demands, knowing our son was ready to pick up where we left off.

Whew! So we're home and recooped and regrouped and rebooped. Meaning we feel good and the trip served its purpose. A great time was had by all.

Except maybe for the elephants in San Diego that didn't appreciate us capturing them at so rude an angle. What can I say? We're just our own little couple of elephant butts ourselves, so I thought it was appropriate. Maybe not.

Well from one rear end to another, hope you find yourself an equally wonderful vacation someday, awkward bathing suits, superhero waiters, burning eyeballs, and all.

third year's a charm...

Happy 3rd anniversary to us!

In typical Pecaut and Bram and Read fashion, I thought I'd take you on a little photo journey of the relationship that got Marty and I to where we are now, three moves, two new cars, and a baby later.

So let's take it back. Way back. Marty and I actually grew up together at church, so we've known each other for twenty-some years. Our families may have been in different social circles, but I always thought Marty was pretty smokin' fine. Even though he was my older brother's friend and I was six and a half years younger. A girl can dream, can't she? Regardless of how awkward it would be to end up with someone who your parents almost hired to babysit you for an evening?

Anyway, fast forward several lifetimes to my senior year of high school. Marty had just moved back to San Jose after attending the fire academy here in Redding. Our church's new worship pastor at the time was holding auditions for a vocal ensemble that would sing up front every week. My best friend Amanda encouraged me to try out, and boy was I glad I did. When Marty walked in, I nearly fainted. In the best way possible.

So began our friendship that quickly became more serious. Marty still claims that when he walked into the sanctuary that morning, he saw me and just knew that he was going to marry me. He didn't remember my name, and it took him a while to realize it was little ol' me, but he just knew I was his wifey-to-be. Took me a bit longer to come to that realization, but I made it.

We dated for two years, then Marty surprised me the morning after my twentieth birthday with a sunrise proposal in his parents' living room, complete with a pathway down the stairs covered in rose petals, candy canes (I'm a December baby), pictures of us, and little tea candles. I guess he had this elaborate speech planned but was too excited to deliver it. He just asked if I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him and I replied with a hearty, "Okay!" We spent the rest of the day in San Fran, where I was terrified someone was going to try to steal my gorgeous solitaire princess-cut single-carat engagement ring. I still don't have anything as valuable.

Anyway, we married nine months later on September 3rd, 2005 at the church we grew up in together. Pretty sentimental. We were joined by hundreds, and felt so so loved. We honeymooned in Texas after our Carribean cruise was canceled thanks to Hurricane Katrina, but despite the sudden change in plans, we were just thrilled to finally be married.

We moved to Fresno right away to chase a job opportunity for Marty, and I enjoyed picking up where I left off in my schooling, studying psychology at Fresno State, and working full time as a shift supervisor at Starbucks. We were busy little bees.

But thanks to Marty's job, we were still able to get out and about. We've been to Disneyland six times together as a couple. It's kind of our own little "Happiest Place on Earth".

We also enjoyed putting together a "Party Weekend" for our San Jose friends while we were down in Fresno. We had everyone stay with us for a weekend, watching movies, renting jet skiis and riding around on a local lake. A three hundred dollar grocery bill and thirteen dishwasher loads and fifteen sleeping bags spread out in our living room made for a great time. We loved being able to bless others with our little home.

Marty also surprised me with a trip to New York for my birthday to go see "Wicked" on Broadway. It was the trip of a lifetime for me, a musical theater buff, who had never seen the stage actor's "holy land". I was so excited about the show that I cried through most of it, mouthing the words to each song, and wishing I was onstage too. Central Park, the Rockefeller Center, shopping along 5th Avenue, dining at the prestigious "21 Club", Times Square, Ground Zero. My my my.

When our first anniversary rolled around, we decided to take off again and stayed at the same hotel we were in on our wedding night. Honeymoon suite and everything. We did some wine tasting at a local winery and just enjoyed being us.

Well, that night I "proposed" to Marty with a pacifier and asked if he would start a family with me. We got pregnant that night. Guess God was ready to have baby make three! What a miracle that was, since our health issues were supposed to keep us from being able to conceive very quickly. We really do think of little Mo as our precious surprise.

But despite our baby joy, we never really "clicked" in Fresno. It isn't exactly a family-friendly community, seeing as how people get shot in local mall parking lots pretty regularly. So when Marty got laid off in January of 2007 due to the falling mortgage industry, we were excited about exploring other options. Nevermind that we were five months pregnant at the time.

We took a little break from everything and went to visit my brother and his wife in Seattle--to clear our heads and pray over where God wanted us to go from there.

Enter Redding. A job offer came through and we practically jumped at the chance. I was into my eighth month by then and was the size of a cow, so it was pretty hard to get everything packed up and moved, but we made it somehow and settled into our little apartment.

About a month later, Marty number four joined our little family. That's another story in itself, but just know it really strengthened our marriage and drew us closer together, since neither of us had any idea what to do with the little booger. When we brought him home from the hospital, we literally set him down and said, "Okay, that was fun. Now what?"

That "now what" eventually blossomed into the life we just love to pieces. We have an adorable son that we thank God for even in the midst of the poopiest diapers, we're in a beautiful house whose constant need for upkeep just adds to its charm, we have the best friends a couple of nerds could ever ask for, and a church community that constantly reminds us of how good God really is.

Sure, in our time together, we've dealt with more than most people will in a lifetime, but we've managed to smile even through our tears. In the midst of our chronic illnesses flaring up, emergency hospital visits, being so broke we only ate rice for a week or two, both losing a grandmother, getting laid off twice, and completely uprooting our lives to chase a job more than once, we've embraced the opportunities to grow closer together and fight as one.

As a result, three years into our marriage we are happier than we have ever been. Which is hard to believe, since we've said the same thing almost every day since we first "met".

We look forward to seeing where the next however-many years will take our marriage. What a joy to know we have a lifetime of lessons to learn and love to give.

Bring it on! We'll be dancing and laughing our way in to year number three...