The Full Man Grown

I thought I'd introduce you all to my partner in crime--The Full Man Grown.  I would actually introduce you with pictures and such, but he doesn't really know that he wants his face on here (even with my so-far limited readers)  I respect that, but he didn't say anything about the rest of him.  Evil, I know.  In the pic below, he's wearing a pink shirt because all the guys we were camping with were--it's kind of an inside joke.  And that's one of his loyal sidekicks, our dog Sunny.

So there he is.  He's a pretty good-looking chunk of man-flesh, if I do say so myself.  We've been together for a long time--since high school--but he's one of those guys that gets more and more attractive with age.  He's losing his hair, but that's okay because I like his head shaved and bald better.  He has naturally straight teeth (one of the things I don't like him for) and the most amazing dimples.  His eyes are like chocolate and always have a twinkle in them because he's very seldom serious for long.  He's 6'2" and almost solid muscle from growing up on a farm and continuing to still work on the farm from time to time and have a career as a carpenter.  I don't think he's ever lifted weights to build up muscle or for the "sport" of it, but he has the naturally built muscle that's so much more attractive.   

Now, I don't want you to think that I'm all shallow and only into the FMG for his looks.  While I do enjoy looking at him, it's the last thing I really care about.  He's honestly the perfect guy for me.  He is the big tough guy who is sexy and a little scary at the same time, but inside he's the biggest marshmallow and sweetest man.  He cried at our wedding when he saw me coming down the aisle.  He cried so hard at Brainiac's birth that our family thought something was wrong (he cried for Picaso and Scrat, too).  He cried the first time he heard each of the girls sing in front of the church.   But he's incredibly strong.  He can take so much and is my solid rock whenever I need him.  He works hard so that I can stay home with our girls.  He gives me my time away to re-energize when I need it.  He's just as comfortable with a My Little Pony as he is with his hammer or tractor.  He has literally carried our family both physically and mentally for years.  He is who the song "Tough Little Boys" by Gary Allan was written about.

The Full Man Grown also has a crazy sense of humor that fits mine perfectly.  We laugh all the time about things most people would think ridiculous or just plain strange.  We are that couple that finishes each other's sentences, starts saying the same think at the same time, will think up the same plans without consulting with one another.  We honestly have mostly the same interests--we love being outside, we love time with family, we love sports, we love animals, we hunt, we camp, we fish.  He doesn't scrapbook, and I don't work on engines, but we talk with each other about these activities.  We make an effort to know.

We also fight.  Like the Kenny Chesney song, "I Lost It", says--No one can make me smile or drive me mad like (s)he does.  Oh, there are days I want to strangle him and I know he feels the same about me.  We have had some doozy fights and not talked for a day.  We struggle to sleep as far from one another in the bed as possible and we say as little as we can to each other until it blows up again and we settle it the next day.  We also have the same little squabbles that everyone does--I get mad because he didn't take out the garbage, he gets mad because I let it pile up.  We vent, we don't talk for an hour, and we get over it.  We are both far from perfect and we know it and sometimes we let each other know it, too.  But thankfully, these fights don't identify us.  

Even when I want to boot him in the butt, I couldn't imagine not having the Full Man Grown in my life.  He is my sun and my rain, my light and my dark.  He balances me perfectly, puts up with me, and makes me who I am.  I am a much better person with him in my life.  I hope that you all have that person that you want to simultaneously strangle, kiss and laugh with.  Will you tell me about that person in the comments? 

Red and Green

No, this post isn't revisiting Christmas.  I promise.  But I am going to talk about the two typical Christmas colors--red and green.  As a little side note, red is my favorite color, and green is Full Man Grown's favorite color.  But I'm not really going to talk about that either.

Today is Wear Red Day.  It's a day dedicated to wearing red to bring attention to women's heart health.  Heart disease in women is a major killer, but most people focus on illnesses like breast cancer or other cancers.  These causes are very important, don't get me wrong.  But heart disease tends to be a more silent and less discussed illness in women.  And it shouldn't be, not when it's the #1 killer of American women.

My grandmother died from a massive heart attack nine years ago, just days before 9/11.  I still remember getting the phone call, late in the evening, and just sitting there in shock.  Brainiac was not even a year old and she, as well as any future children we would have, would never know what an amazing woman my gramma was.  They wouldn't know her infectious giggle, her wonderful food, her funny songs and stories, at least not from the true source.  Ever since then, I've been more conscientious about what I put into my body and how I take care of myself.  I try to eat healthy and I try to be active so that I can carry on my gramma's legacy and pass on her stories.  So please, take care of your heart--eat healthy, exercise, get regular check-ups.  And every time you wear red, please think of those who have been lost to heart disease.

In a terrible transition, now I will talk about green and why I will probably have a heart attack this weekend.  My boys, the Green Bay Packers, are playing in the Super Bowl.  If that's the first you've heard that, you need to get out more.  But really, I take my football very seriously.  I grew up in a football loving family and I've always been a huge fan of the sport.  In high school I was a football cheerleader and when Full Man Grown and I started dating, I started him on the love of the sport.  I watch or listen to every Packer game, the whole family will be decked out in shirts and hats, and if the game is a close one, I'm usually hoarse by the end of it from yelling at the tv.  Yep, I love them.  And they're in the Super Bowl, Baby!  So please cheer for my boys this weekend.  We'd all appreciate it.

Improvisation

Sometimes, I think one of the best skills to possess in life--especially as a parent-- is the skill to improvise.  When we are parents, nothing goes the way it's supposed to all the time.  I'd even go so far as to say it never hardly ever goes the way it's supposed to, whether we're talking a meal or an art project or a vacation.  It's a simple fact of life.  Sometimes things go horribly wrong, sometimes the wrong is so tiny we're the only one that even realizes it.  But we must all be flexible and be willing to improvise when the time arises.

Like this morning, for example.  This is one of the small wrongs/improvisations that I think only a parent can really appreciate.  Scrat was upstairs getting dressed for the day.  She was singing along, picking out her clothes and having a grand time.  Then the singing stopped, I heard a few groans, and she came stomping down the stairs.

"Mommy, I need you to help me."  She was holding her pants in her hand, so I assumed she needed help with the button.

"What's up, kiddo?"  I was checking FaceBook and having some funny banter with a girlfriend on her status update.  This girlfriend is in Germany so I seldom get to actually "chat" with her.  It was important and stuff.

Scrat proceeded to pull down her underwear and throw them at me.  "That tag is all itchy.  Can you cut it off please?!"

Now, Scrat really dislikes when underwear have an actual tag instead of the screen-printed labelling.  Not only did this new pair (which I didn't buy her--I know better) have a real tag, but this tag is in the side seam.  For Scrat, this is a HUGE deal and one of her biggest issues when it comes to clothes.  She simply cannot stand the side-seam tags on her underwear and has even been known to throw them away if I don't cut off the tag in time. 

Here's another thing about parenting--nothing is ever in it's place when you need it.  I have a pair of scissors that are not to leave my desk drawer.  So I grabbed the underwear, opened the drawer and...Nada.  Nothing.  No scissors.  I moved everything around in the drawer and on my desktop.  Nope, no scissors.  Then I remembered that Picasso had asked to use them the night before and apparently she'd forgotten to put them back.  Well, she was now at school so I couldn't ask her where they were.  I could have gotten up and gone to the kitchen for another pair of scissors, or even a knife.  But honestly, I didn't want to.  I was pulling a lazy.  But I still got the tag off.  With what you ask?

The tape dispenser.  Oh yes I did.  I sawed at the tag with the cutting edge of the tape dispenser and in about 5 seconds it was gone.  I proudly handed over the Tinkerbell underwear, put the tape back in the drawer where it belongs for future use, and continued my FaceBook banter without a blink of the eye.  That, my friends, is Improvisation.