Top Ten Reasons I Love Husband Face

Us. Showered and shiny (very rare, take it in)


Sorry for the long hiatus. It has been hectic around my very small home. Between visiting my sister in the hospital(who is now home and doing well, fyi), preschool starting back up, work and the beginning of football season (Yes, I am including this in my "Reasons that I am busy rant," I spend an absurd amount of time thinking about/arguing about/watching football), oh and my children and husband and the eating and the bathing stuff, we are busy. Shortly after my last post I regretted writing it. I may seem bitter and and angry (in the post), but I am not. Really that fight lasted until the next morning and then was done. I have learned an important lesson: avoid blogging while angry (even though that is the fastest I have ever written). And sticking with the spirit of openness and honesty, as much as that post makes me cringe and feel like a crazy person, I am going to leave it up. This is me, good, bad and ugly. Enjoy.

In looking for atonement for my poor behavior towards Husband Face, I offer this post. As promised earlier, "The Top Ten Reasons I Love Husband Face."

1. He fixes my broken shit. Over the past several years Husband Face became handy. This was surprising, but awesome. While he will procrastinate and claims he cannot fix certain things (like my silver shiny piggy bank he destroyed in his clumsiness, which I nearly divorced him over) he somehow comes up with a reasonable solution (in the piggy bank situation the solution was copious amounts of glue).

2. Knows how to make me smile. That came out dirty. Clarifying: He entertains me. Whether it be his dry sarcasm or running around the house tackling babies, I am rarely bored when he is around. He is witty and smart with his humor. While I come from a background of loud talking smart asses, he does it (humor) in a much more subtle way, which probably explains why he is generally better liked than me.

3. According to Husband Face, he has superior genes. He claims that he cannot get sick. And while I have seen him sick before, it is rare. Unlike me, who gets sick if someone sneezes within a 50 yard radius of me. I am fragile. I am hoping the children get some of his super human anti-sick genes. This is also beneficial because he always takes care of me when I am sick. It is awesome. If being sick didn't blow so much, I would lick hospital floors to contract the swine flu. Matt lets me sleep all day and brings me toast with 7up and orange juice, while wrangling the grease monkeys. Perfection.


A couple of the children who benefit from the superior genes.

4. Unfortunately, after I get well he leaves, for a good job. I love that he is in a field where he will always have work. And while we can barely afford to support our family, here in America's Finest City (we would be living the good life pretty much anywhere else), he is employed. In a recession. With zero worries about getting fired. It is a major plus.

5. In addition to being employed, he is a genius. Please, don't tell him this. I like to make him think that I am the superior intellect in the relationship, but I am terrified to take any type of IQ test with him. I know he would win, but never want him to know that I think that, does that make sense? Sometimes (when I say "sometimes" I mean "most of the time") when he talks about what he is working on or a problem at work, I nod my head in understanding, but rarely fully comprehend. Lately, I just stopped listening and smile and nod like a goober. This is not an act of rudeness, but rather self-preservation, I NEED to think I am smarter. It is my thing. I am smart and witty, and he is lucky. Really I am hoping that I am the lucky one, I think of him as the next Bill Gates (who Husband Face recently explained to me IN DEPTH is really not that smart, but stole Windows from some other company, blah, blah, blah or was it Steve Jobs, damn it, I think it was, there goes that witty commentary).

6. When he is not being brilliant, he likes (or at least tolerates) snuggling with me. I am a not a needy girl, until I am. It is complex and hurts Husband Faces overly logical brain. I am independent and would rather die than have my husband speak for me in any situation, I am a control freak, I think chivalry is dead and I am happy about it, but I really like cuddling. There are many rules to the affection: not in public (unless I am drunk), he has to smell good, no half hugs (I must be able to bury my head in his chest like a small woodland animal), and I must initiate it. I hate being touched by pretty much anyone else, maybe my dad and children can hug me if I am having a really good or really bad day. But I have never been a hugger. My poor friends probably hate me for not using the acronyms BFF and Bestie often enough and have stopped trying to hug me years ago, but I am not affectionate, and kind of think it is ridiculous and sad (exception: if you are an adolescent, I realize your hormones are doing crazy things. Hugs not drugs, kids). Now that I am stressed out ALL day and have had a headache since 2006, I need snuggle time. And Husband Face always obliges me. He is like a big furry bear or Chewbacca (shout out to his nerd side). He hates snuggling and cannot go to sleep, conversely I cannot go to sleep without being cuddled. On most nights, he waits patiently for me to fall asleep and then gently sneaks over to his side of the bed. Dedication, people.

6. Along (and somewhat coinciding with) the hugging, he calls me pretty. While half the time I am have bodily fluid or condiments on my clothes, he says I look pretty. And when I was 7 months pregnant with twins and yelled at him for complimenting me he didn't take it back until I threatened to go into labor (and then he still said I look cute when I get feisty).

7. Husband Face, as much as he denies it and tries to avoid it, is a good dad. He can't help it. He loves those kids, and while he once yelled at our 2 week old daughter for screaming at 2am for four hours straight "for no foreseeable reason," he still sat there rocking her so I could get an hour of sleep. K-Dog is asks the same question 15 million times and Big J is generally attacking whatever Itty Bitty is playing with causing tears and screams, but every night he still comes home and plays with the mongrels and tries to help me contain the madness.


Nothing sexier than a man who knows his way around a double stroller.

8. Sometimes I am crazy. As previously mentioned, I was not hugged enough as a child (at least that is what I am blaming the crazy on). Somedays, for literally zero reason, I act crazy. I am a control freak and have serious issues. Husband Face makes sure to remind me that I am acting crazy and I need to check myself. Unlike previous boyfriends that tried to reign in the crazy, Husband Face has been the only successful one, the others have gone down in the crazy flames. I admire his persistence, and I am working on the crazy.

9. Along with my craziness, my need for constant compliments and affection (depending on my mood), I cannot cook (I know, I am quite the catch). Also, did I mention that I am the worlds pickiest eater (once again, blaming my childhood full of fast food and toast). If Husband Face is sick of the four meals I can cook well, he cooks for us and it is good. I am going to stop writing about this topic, because it makes me look like a horrible wife and makes Husband Face sound gay (he's not, by the way, case in point the three babies).

10. He is a good person. He is not mean-spirited and is gentle with his sarcasm (unlike some people he may or may not be married to). He is nice and genuine. I feel confident that he will never hurt me intentionally and that gives me peace. Also, "he would be good looking in Boston," (his words, not mine, so Husband Face, try to not fall in love with him).

If You Give A Mouse (or a Husband) a Cookie

Last Wednesday I decided to plan Husband Face a surprise vacation. He has been awesome helping me out since the twins were born, and I wanted him to know that he is loved and appreciated. I knew that our friends were going up to San Francisco for the weekend and thought it would be the perfect chance for him to get away from the chaos that we call home. I also knew that I would not be able to go since we have three children that need quasi-supervision, at least more than Google Video Chat can offer. I was bummed that I couldn't go, but was feeling like the best wife in history.

Not to be cocky or demeaning, but I am completely aware that Husband Face will never be able to surprise me as well as I did to him. He can hardly manage to get me a card on Valentines Day (this is not a joke, all I wanted for Valentines Day was a card, since we are supporting lots of mouths and they drain our souls and bank accounts, and he forgot. Knew it was Valentines Day, but forgot to get me a card. The last 3 birthdays he has either given me cash or a gift card, and he has never gotten me an anniversary present). All of that is fine with me. He makes the majority of the money in our household and he has never regulated my spending (partially because I am the thriftiest person in America, I get off on the Target Dollar Spot and partially because he trusts my judgement). I like giving presents. I know that sounds so corny and self-righteous, but it is true. I am a good person to get a gift from. I think it through and I am diligent. Over the past 5 years, I have bought Husband Face more "ram" and "video cards" (these are tech items that are little and generally silver that he freaks out about) because I listen and remember that he always says he needs more "ram," similar to how I mention I need a pedicure, but my toes are still neglected. I am feeling like this may sound like I am whining, I am not. I really do not care that I am not one of those pampered women. I have always been really independent and I think I would stress out if a Husband Face tried to lavish me with gifts.

That was entirely off point. Back to it. I pumped Husband Face up all week about his surprise. I did not give away any hints, he was completely clueless. I had him come home early on Friday and then blindfolded him and put him in the car. I drove through shopping centers and around the local college three times to confuse his sense of direction. It was perfect. We got to the airport (which he guessed because of the distinct geography we had to drive through and the roaring planes flying over head) and he was so excited to go. I had packed him a bag and his laptop, which included a long letter about how much I adore him and gushed about how lucky I was to have such a great life partner. It was ridiculous. A big ego booster for the Husband Face. Then our friends came over to the terminal and off he goes to San Fran.

The Surprise Unveiled:

Then I am alone. This is the first time in nearly 5 years that we have been apart for more than a day. Never have I spent a night alone. Friday night I couldn't fall asleep until 3am, because no one was snuggling me. Saturday night I was awake until 1:30am, and finally caved and let the dog sleep with me (wagging her tail in my face all night, she was stoked). The kids were actually really easy. I spent a lot of time going through bins of baby clothes. I went to the ICU to visit my sister a few times. My fabulous mother-in-law entertained K-Dog all weekend. I showered once. I remembered to lock 2 of the 3 locks in our home. I took out the trash once it started to reek. Overall I would consider me as a single parent a success. Not once did I talk to Husband Face sober, which is fine, I expected him to get belligerent. The night we video chatted he broke into a ballroom at the hotel in order to find free WiFi. He proceeded to tell me how much he loves me and the children for 20 minutes (it was drunk chatter ending in him dropping the laptop and nearly falling asleep). I am glad he didn't get arrested.

Sunday rolls around. I am thrilled that he is coming home. I spent the day back to school shopping for K-Dog, and cleaning the garage (one of the items on HIS list). I slowly realize around 6pm that I haven't heard from the crew all day. This worries me. They went on a Napa Valley wine tour and I can picture Husband Face and his buddies jumping off of the returning ferry. I know that much free wine is trouble for my lush husband. Husband Face is supposed to be at the airport by 8pm to make his 9pm flight. At 8pm one of the girlfriends calls me and sounds flustered:

Me: What's wrong? Is Husband Face at the airport?

My poor friend: No. He is wrestling in the pool with my boyfriend.

Me: WHAT THE FUCK?

My poor friend: I lost control 5 hours ago.

(I was right. The wine tour did him in. I can hear the them "playing" in the background. At this point I feel so bad for my friend. Not only does she have to deal with her boyfriend, my husband is just fueling the fire without a wife to contain him.)

Me: I am married to a teenager.

Over the next two hours there is a string of phone calls in which Husband Face blames ME for missing his flight (because I sent him on the amazing bay area vacation). I have K-Dog crying uncontrollably because he wants to see his Daddy, I am going through snuggle withdrawals and have been limited to talking with infants and small children all weekend so was desperately wanting adult interaction, even if he smelt like red wine and sweat. I am not mad that he missed his flight. That would be stupid. I am mad because he was to wasted and then missed his flight, neglected to call me, somehow blamed it on me and left me another snuggle-less night. Not okay. And when hormonal Italian women are mad we call our friends and cry...

I call College Barbie. And as I am describing what I would like in the divorce and how I never would be so selfish/careless and she basically says, "Bitch calm down, you love him" which I did, and I do. However, am still very much upset, but no longer wild and crazy upset. In lieu of a divorce, I am watching the new episodes of Mad Men and Entourage BY MYSELF and then DELETING them. Don't piss off your wife with access to the DVR, especially on a Sunday night.

My Gray Child

Husband Face and K-Dog playing in his room.

Side Bar:
Like the "sun shade" on his windows? K-Dog was waking up "with the sun," and I was getting cranky. I started looking for blackout window coverings and it was going to cost us $80 for ONE window. Solution: Black sheet, stapled to the framing, $4. Works like a charm. Looks perfect when it is down and keeps it cooler in there during summer, warmer in winter. I literally do an evil laugh every time I think about the suckers buying "blackout shades." Sue me if my home isn't Pottery Barn approved, actual living human children live here, we cannot afford style and class.

Over the past several weeks I have been spending my nights with my sister at ICU bed #1. Most nights I am able to put the babies to bed but K-Dog is left to fend for himself with Husband Face. I try to call him right before he goes to sleep to ask him how his night went (generally on summer nights he is allowed to do fun things like swim or bike or tackle our dog).

On this particular night he went night swimming with Husband Face:

K-Dog: Hi Mama. I went swimming and played with a boy. He let me play with a gun and I shot him.

Me: Wow. What a nice boy. What boy was it?

K-Dog: The brown boy.

Me: Ummm. Who?

K-Dog: The brown boy. He is my friend and he has a gun.

Me: Put your father on the phone.

(I can hear Husband Face laughing)

Husband Face: Hi.

Me: You cannot let K-Dog refer to people by the color of their skin. I am pretty sure we will get thrown out of preschool.

Husband Face: No, it's fine. I think it is funny.

Me: Of course you do. Please have a race relations talk with your 3 year old before bed tonight.

Husband Face: That does not sound fun. Do we have a book that can explain it?

Me: Deal with it. Welcome to parenthood, nice of you to show up.

The following is what Husband Face relayed to me when I got home that night:

Husband Face: K-Dog, you cannot call people by their color.

K-Dog: Why not? You are gray.

Husband Face: Really. What color are you?

K-Dog: Gray. So is Mama, Itty-Bitty and Big J. Leia (the dog) is brown. My teachers our brown.

Husband Face: Ok, interesting. But we call people by their names.

K-Dog: I forget names, a lot.

Husband Face: Good point.

Awesome. Now I have spent countless hours trying to dig into his tiny little mind. It is not like he is being a racist. I am almost positive his preschool curriculum hasn't covered slavery or the civil rights era. Although with Barack as President, K-Dog is very curious. Being a politically vocal and inquisitive individual over the past year we have had many discussions about race/civil rights in my home, as well as on the news (which is ALWAYS on in the background of my world).

K-Dog constantly asks me: Do you like Obama or Uncle Sam? (Not the national personification of the United States, my brothers name is Sam).

or

Who is better Beyoncé or Obama? I like Beyoncé she is a single lady. (This is not a joke, he really loves Beyoncé).

I think his little brain is now more aware of other people and not so self involved. I am going to chalk this little exploration into race as childhood curiosity and not me raising a bigot. While I am not entirely sure of how to raise a child, I am steering clear of racial slurs in his expanding vocab. For now, I am not going to dive into a huge discussion on the history of race in America. I am simply trying to work on the child's capacity to remember names, as to avoid any awkward public moments and continue on my raising open minded, hippie children.

Really you think your kids are cute? Have you seen K-Dogs' dimples?

Month 39 of MommyHood, Month 5 with the Duo

Me and all the kiddos at Sea World.

I was talking with one of my close friends and apparently my blog may portray that I am I miserable human being and generally unhappy. This is simply not true. In order to dispel any rumors and reassure concerned parties, once a month I will write a letter to my kids, and post it here. Not wanting to be a horrible parent, most of the content will include anecdotes that express how much I love them or me rambling on for 500 plus words about their sparkling blue eyes. It will be riveting.

In May, I took you to Disneyland all by yourself. You at tons of candy and got spoiled rotten. This is my attempt to buy your love and good behavior.

Us at Disney on the swings. We went on them 4 times. It was sickening.

Playing video games with pops.

K-Dog, do not tell the other children (or your father) but there is no way I can ever love anyone as much as you. When I was pregnant with the twins I would cry every night because I felt so bad for "ruining" your simple little world. While you don't get as much attention as you did pre-babies, you love your brother and sister so much. You are a fantastic older brother. You know who is crying without looking at them and you always remind me when it is time to feed them. I have never had to tell you to be gentle or careful around them (but I may start, you accidentally threw a bat at Itty Bitty the other day), you have always just known that they are fragile. You try so hard to be quiet when they take naps, but it is impossible for you to have any type of ""inside voice" and you feel bad when you wake them up, so I try not to be mad at you. It is the beginning of summer now and soon you are starting swim school. You love to swim/float. The previous two summers I have scrambled to make sure you don't jump in every body of water (including, but not limited to: pools, fountains, streams, the ocean, puddles), but now you patiently wait by the edge of the pool. I cannot wait to watch you swim the pool by yourself. You are getting so big now. I swear everyday you have ten new phrases. One day you came home from school answering all my questions with, "I don't know" and "whatever." I nearly lost my mind and told you those were bad words and the other day you told grandma not to say "whatever." You are simply adorable.

You and your father were matching and I had to document the moment. Sometimes I think you only got his DNA.

Swinging with your girl.

Big J, you are just easy to love. You are going to be exactly like your father. So easy going it is almost annoying. You are no longer a little infant that resembles an alien like creature. I cannot believe how big you have gotten. Seriously 5 months ago you were this tiny little guy with bug eyes, luckily you have grown into all of your features. I think it is impossible, or at least extremely unlikely, to have cuter children, which contributes to the easy loving part. I have a theory that ugly kids may be harder to love. If someone is throwing up and screaming all day at you AND they are ugly, my love would run thin. Anyway, you are far more active than Itty Bitty, and as much as I try not to compare you two, it is inevitable. While Itty Bitty wants to spend her time eating her hands and being held, you don't mind playing by yourself on the floor. You have mastered rolling over, and Itty Bitty hardly tries before she NEEDS to be picked up. But you love cuddling too. And my god, your laugh is the cutest thing ever. You giggle and coo anytime anyone looks at you. Today we were at McDonald's and I was trying to wrangle the crazy child to go and you started falling out of your stroller. Instead of telling me, a woman came and picked you up and you could not stop laughing and looking at her. While it was extremely awkward and inappropriate of her to hold my baby, you loved her, just like everyone else in the world.

You are even ladylike in your sleep.

Swinging with one of your boys.

Oh Itty Bitty. I predict that in 16 years your brothers are going to beat up a string of boyfriends, because you are drama and are going to be a looker. I could look at you for hours. And while 95% of the time you are covered in baby puke and have never smelt good, you are beautiful. The blue eyes and dark hair are trouble waiting to happen. From the moment you were born it has been so obvious that you are a little girl. And for the record you have your father wrapped around your finger. I would start asking him for a car ASAP. You are quite taken with him as well. I know I am old news, and only carried you in my body for 8 painful months, but it would be nice to get cute Itty Bitty smiles all the time. Truly I don't mind, I look at your poppa the same way and I am ecstatic to watch my husband and daughter hang out. Also, I ask Husband Face this all the time, could we be friends in 20 years? I see these mother/daughters shopping and laughing with each other, and I think they genuinely like each other. Can that be us? I will try not to be crazy and could you try not to be a brat? Deal. Aside from your killer good looks, you are a happy baby, now. The first 3 months of your life you were miserable. Since you were so tiny your little stomach and kidneys had not fully developed, so you had a reflux and other preemie issues. I felt so helpless when you would cry for hours for no reason, at time driving us crazy, I am relieved that you seem to be feeling better now. You are my precious baby girl who is happiest when being held and tickled. I am the same exact way, maybe we will be BFF in 2029.

Mothers Day 2009

K-Dogs Theatrical Debut

Last week K-Dog had his first recital. I was a hot mess. I was convinced one of two things was going to happen: 1)He sees me and leaps off of the stage and proceeds to be obnoxious and we leave the school mortified. 2) He cries the whole time and we leave the school mortified. Luckily, I completely underestimated his theatrical prowess.

When he first walked on the stage he nearly jumped off when he saw me (I know my boy). I yelled (not crazy angry yell, but polite urging please don't embarrass me in front off all these parents yell) at him from the audience to stay there with all his friends and get this, he LISTENED. I was amazed. For some reason his teachers, who are well aware of my childs' severe anxiety issues, put K-Dog front and center. When he was actually looking at the crowd (the majority of the time his back was facing the audience and he was singing to the kids behind him) he looked terrified. But that all changed when "Hot Potato" of Wiggles fame came on. K-Dog has never been more excited than in that moment. His big blue eyes lit up and he began jumping for 3 minutes! Words cannot express the joy that those four men in matching spandex bring my child. Here is the video to prove it:


While I have the Wiggles on my mind, let me say, what the hell? I will be the first to admit that Anthony is a hottie, a toddlers across the globe would agree with me. But the nation of mothers is sick of "Fruit Salad" and not impressed by the "Big Red Car," the Australian quarto is getting annoying. The todders however disagree, they are like the Beatles for them. K-Dog watches little TV now, but during the long hot days of being prego with twins last summer the Wiggles (along with Elmo and Nemo) practically raised him as I lay motionless on the couch. That summer, I ingested every Wiggle lyric and wondered how Anthony looked so good in spandex.

Husband Face hates the Wiggles. He is one of those guys that is constantly saying, "Why didn't I think of that." He is also mad at Google and any social networking site (he claims that he invented MySpace when he was 12). When I told Husband Face how much the Wiggles were worth, plus that all of the hot moms love them, he began hatching his own children's band in his head. Husband Face says that he has a far greater superior intellect and should have of been a dancing/singing fool, software engineers get no ladies. He rambles on about he can make much better children programing and then (while intoxicated) tries to convince other 24 year old males to sing and dance there way to riches. To date, I have not seen any demo reels of my husband dancing to classic kids tunes, but I would not be surprised if one were to surface.

Golfing in our Condo "Backyard"

This is the most white trash series of photos ever taken. As you can see K-Dog is not wearing any pants, but has a helmet on, crucial. Also, our backyard is littered with toys and various other junk, adding to the overall appeal. Amongst the chaos, let us observe my sons' excellent swing. These photos will be in the PGA Tour pamphlet one day.

Are you joking me? My 3 year old keeps his head down the whole time... Watch out Tiger.

Top Ten Reasons My Marriage Could Fail

There has never been and never will be anything cuter than my babies holding hands.

While I was watching the season premiere of Jon and Kate Plus 8, (at my dad's house, since we have no cable/DVR/any modern convenience, awesome) Kate was trying to get out of being a horrible wife by saying that the parents of multiples have a higher divorce rate. I have looked around (by "looking" I mean conducting a 2 minute google search) and cannot find any stats on that info, but I will take Kate's word for it. I think Kate was talking about higher order multiples, but I am going to apply it to my life. After further thought about the divorce issue I realized that Husband Face and I are prone to several of the common "marriage risk factors." I decided to make a list of the most likely causes that will do us in, in order to entertain, to reflect and possibly work on our flaws.


Top Ten Reasons My Marriage Could Fail

10. Infants suck. Kids suck. Multiple of these beings does nothing to cultivate a lovey-dovey relationship. Sure they are cute and I love them, but between the whining and grossness shooting from multiple holes, by the time Husband face gets home I am near tears and smell horrible.

9. We were/are young. I think I underestimated how much I wanted to be 20 when I first "settled down", and not a middle aged housewife. I glamorized the world of laundry and bottles and put my friends lives out of my mind in order to stay sane. It would be nice to have had my own life before kiddos came along, and not have to ask permission to have a night out or consult my bank account before I buy a new pair of jeans, but these are my choices. I am 110% sure Husband Face feels the same way, but he lived a rock star life before I came along, while I was the nicest girl in the world, fresh out of a strict private school. I also truly believe that I am the best thing that has ever happened to him. I will forever remind him that I filled out his college application for him, granted he is a genius and it would have been accepted anywhere so it was easy, but he was also high and would have never had the gumption to do it.

8. I am a bitch. If you cannot tell by #9, I have an inflated since of how much I really matter. I know that Husband Face loves me, but really how much abuse can one man take? And I work on it. I think I have gotten considerably better at taming my inner bitch. I rarely yell and try to stick to quieter passive aggressive tactics. However, the worst story in the world includes me becoming bitterly angry because Husband Face did not butter my rolls when they were hot out of the oven. Not my finest moment, in my defense I was hungry and pregnant with two people.

7. Husband Face has his moments. He is super easy going on certain life issues (bills, negative monies in our account, politics) but other things drive him nuts. He cannot tolerate crying babies. Literally there is ALWAYS a crying child in our home, so I feel like he should adapt. He however feels like yelling about the nonsensical nature of their crying is helpful. He also decided that he was "handy" when we bought our condo a year ago and since then has tackled (and completed, I should note) several projects that should have been dealt with by professionals (pipe issues, installing ceiling fans, baseboards, plumbing woes). While several of his "projects" have ended up with desperate calls to highly "skilled" workers, there is a lot of screaming at inanimate objects in the meantime.





6. Big J. He is our most easy going child, and I have very few qualms with his personality. However, his scream is comparable to nails on a chalkboard. It hurts my brain. Also, he only looks left. Which is currently causing me to spend hours getting him to look right and worry about his head being misshaped. Not to mention that physical therapy is an hour away and has a hefty price tag.



5. Itty Bitty. Since the day she left my womb she has been loud. She was sick for the first few months of her life, which broke my heart, but many days and long sleepless nights, she slowly drove me insane. Itty Bitty could cry for hours, she throws up all over her adorable outfits (one of the only reasons I ever wanted a girl), and has to be held constantly (forcing me to neglect her quieter well behaved counter part). Lately she is smiling more and does not seem to be in pain, but she still projectile vomits constantly.



4. K-Dog. The child is the love of my life. I cannot imagine my world without him, but some days I try to, it would be quieter but not as rewarding. He is stubborn, really stubborn, which can be traced directly to me. I have tried every "Super Nanny" tactic and child rearing book to chill him out, but with no success. I plan my world around situations that will not upset him, and everyday I fail. I should not have been a parent so young, and feel like my inadequacies are hindering him.

3. Husband Face and I are both from divorced homes. Husband Face actually had a somewhat "normal" divorce experience. He was young and had visiting days with his father. He was raised by mostly women, which has helped our relationship immensely. My parents divorce took a decade, mostly in my teen years. It was crazy and I often felt like I had to raise my brother and sister. Once I had my license, I pretty much took over as acting parent. I blame most of my issues on my parents, it makes for a good scapegoat.

2. Since my ovaries are hyper active and produced two eggs and we have poor foresight abilities and severely underestimated the high cost of feeding and diapering twins, I had to pick up a night job. This is good for feeding babies, bad for my marriage. As I previously mentioned, Husband Face does not enjoy crying babies and when I am gone he is the sole caretaker. By the time I get home he is cranky, a child is usually still awake and screaming, and I am mad that I can't just chill for 2 minutes. I am considering "playing" the lottery to alleviate our financial woes, hopefully resulting in reduced marital stress.

1. Dishes and laundry. If you have a maid, you have no excuse not to be happily married. I cannot live in a messy house and therefore spend all of my time (that isn't spent on work and child rearing) cleaning and not paying any attention to Husband Face. So if you feel so moved to save a marriage you can donate a maid to my household. Please give my kids the gift of married parents, their future is in your hands.


To all of you who are worried about the state of my relationship, I will post a "Ten Things I love about Marriage" soon. I am truly adore and love Husband Face and could not imagine going through my crazy life without him by my side. Also, Husband Face read this before I published it and would like everyone to know that I am joking when I ask for a maid, or so he thinks...

Three Kids, check. Husband, check. Mortgage, check. Graduating college, check check... I think I did it backwards.

I asked Husband Face how many other graduates he thought were thrown up on before the ceremony. It is SDSU, hangovers are not uncommon.

In September 2008 I was walking the proverbial halls of SDSU with two babies in my uterus. As a sat down for my first class of the semester I thought to myself, "I have been sitting in classes for nearly 6 years and have never failed one, why am I still here?" The class was "Writing for TV" and as the Professor spoke I realized that I already knew this information. When the class dismissed I made a beeline for my counselors office. After literally 45 emails between five different counselors/teachers/academia big wigs the remaining three classes I needed to graduate were suddenly "found" in my lengthy college history. While a normal student would be mad that she/he was graduating with 160 units, compared to the normal 120 (nearly a year and a half of additional education), I truly did not mind. Honestly the only reason I even went to the counselors office that day was because it was bloody hot outside and I knew she would have a nice cool beverage (a little water cup and drinking fountain) waiting. Also I had been to FIVE different colleges and was just asking for the powers at be to royally screw up. Did I mention that I genuinely enjoy school? Not only is it a day out of the house and away from children throwing up or throwing tantrums, I was among adults, well future adults. Without a doubt I was always amongst the most well spoken and studious students, which quite frankly isn't a huge accomplishment at an institution that periodically has syphilis outbreaks. But hell I like feeling smart amongst my peers and not just around small children. Me at SDSU is like being the tallest midget.

Long story short, I have been done with college courses for a year now but just "walked" this past weekend. I showed up to SDSU surprised at how weird it felt to be there. It was like running into an old friend that you hadn't seen in awhile. Unfortunately I had zero human friends there. Being away for a year did not bode well for my popularity. I ran into one person I took a class with a few years back with and was ecstatic to see someone I recognized which in turned scared the person away. The ceremony was fairly long which was fine by me. I sat alone in peace and quiet listening to the soothing sound of professors gripping over budget cuts (I think CA needs my tax guy, he can fix anything) and hundreds of names being called. When it was finally my turn to walk it was a genuine bittersweet moment. The lady reading my name was my favorite professor (which made me long to sit in one of her classes) and she read it with extra enthusiasm. I realize that furthering my education is not in my immediate future, and that saddens my soul. I am trying to be normal and not do 1,000 things with my life. School was difficult enough with just K-Dog and Husband Face to look after, the twins would experience significant neglect if I went back for my Masters. I would like if they did not have severe mental issues directly caused by me.

My 5 seconds of recognition.

Husband Face and I enjoying the kid free moments.

"Kiss me dammit, and make it look cute."

My "little" brother came with flowers. A few minutes after giving my the flowers he asked for them back and wanted to take several pictures of him giving me the flowers, to document his kindness. It looks like we are going to some type of strange prom.

After the ceremony we had family and friends over to "our" pool complex. I dressed the children in matching SDSU apparel, it was precious. Overall, a good day. However, after staying out to late with my girlfriends that night I got sick, as usual. If I do not treat my sleep deprived body very gently I immediately get sick. I had to work all day (the second day of a new job I don't really have the clout to call in sick yet) and then we had my sister-in-laws graduation party immediately after my shift. We march into the party (anywhere we go looks like an effin' parade) and after about a half hour of me infecting the masses with my germs I crash in her bed, for two hours. Awesome. Happy Graduation Steffers, we of course forgot to get you a present but I am going to go sleep in your bed, leaving my screaming children to fend for themselves. Enjoy.

Now all of the kids are varying from grouchy sick to deathly ill and Husband Face is in quite the mood after being stuck with the kids while I was working and dying of baby/sleep deprived flu all weekend. I told him I am "stuck" with children all the time and it is a wonder I am as personable and great as I am.

That would be my son playing by the pool unattended.

What? This isn't a bathing suit?

In the beginning...

K-Dog 2006, then K-Puppy

That title could be misleading. And while I have strong opinions about Genesis, let's save that for another day.
As I was looking through my college work, I stumbled across a paper I wrote while I was prego with K-Dog in 2006. I wrote it for a Journalism class I was taking, to my surprise I recieved an A. I figured why not post the paper on this medium, so I don't have to rewrite history? I was literally a month away from having K-Dog when I finished this paper and so unsure about what I was doing. Reading it now is surreal. First of all, my writing abilities have vastly improved. I am not sure if I was reading a draft, but apparently 2006 Rachel did not know how to punctuate. Also, my storytelling abilities lack a certain sarcasm that I thought was always present. Apparently 2009 Rachel is much more cynical than 2006 Rachel, not a huge surprise. It is jolty and needs a severe edit job, but I resisted. Aside from a few grammar issues and changing names, I left the article intact. I wish I could tell her (Rachel 2006) what life is like now. I would say,"In 2009 you have three kids, a college degree, a job, a yappy dog, a mortgage, a husband and no cable." She wouldn't believe me, Rachel 2006 loved TV. Hopefully this will entertain you.

Meet Rachel circa 2006:
Sitting on the bathroom floor on a hot summer night I studied the directions on the back of the pregnancy test. A horizontal line was good, a vertical line was bad. But, which way do you hold the stick? Obviously this test was wrong. After spending $105 on various pregnancy tests, convinced that my original Target brand test was “cheap,” I was at the end of my excuses, I was pregnant.

This is a story about love. Not a love story between a hormonal boy and girl. A clash in expectations and reality. A struggle between moral obligations and missing opportunities. It is a story about a father loving his daughter in spite of her fall from grace. An unlikely tale of two different people who end up with one another. Unexpectedly falling in love with an unborn baby, who has been kicking my ribs for the past 8 months. A story about family support, friends’ encouragement and learning life lessons by persevering through trials.

I didn’t know his middle name. I think he may have told me once, but I apparently didn’t find it interesting enough to file in long-term memory. This was the man, no let’s face it we are both kids, whom I would be, no matter what happened between us, attached to the rest of my life and I couldn’t remember his full name. My biggest fears had been realized. There was the very real possibility that I could end up one of those people in the trashy mall, with a baby on her hip, looking at tube tops, while yelling at her baby’s daddy to get a job.

I am not going to lie. I did not catch Boyfriend Face’s eye across a crowded room and the stars did not align the first time we spoke. There was nothing special about the way I met Boyfriend Face from any other guy I had dated. Boyfriend Face recalls the evening as “Ray talking about the importance of seeing ‘The Godfather’ and me trying to shut her up long enough to get another beer.” We met through a mutual friend over spring break. Our first kiss occurred in a cheap motel in the Arizona desert. His eyes were bloodshot from drinking and I had sunburn. Not exactly a Romeo and Juliet story. Which later on worked in our favor, no flame burned out. I always liked Boyfriend Face for himself, not because of some butterfly in my stomach, my butterfly (which is a nice way to say morning sickness) would come three months after that first magical meeting.

I was raised in an upper middle class family. My dad had sent me to a private Christian school since kindergarten. He wanted me to be taught good morals and proper behavior, along with all of the religious tenants a child could take in. And it worked. Throughout high school I never drank, smoke, had sex. I worked at a movie theatre and did well in classes. I respected my elders and never questioned what I was being taught. An ideal student and daughter.

The night I told Boyfriend Face, the soon to be father with the missing middle name, was the same night I made my little Target trip and sat for several hours in the tiny corner in my bathroom. I waited until 3 a.m. to tell him. Partially because I wanted him to sober up before I “rocked his world,” in the least sexual sense, but also in part because I was scared to death. As I sat him down, I thought how strange it was that a college boys’ room smells like dirty socks and stale air, while my room was like walking into Bath and Body Works. While I fought the urge to steer the impromptu meeting towards any other subject, I quietly said, “I’m pregnant.” Much to my surprise and fury he started laughing. Suspecting that he was still a bit tipsy, I asked him how much he had to drink, but he assured me that this was a conversation that he would not forget come sunrise. After his laughter subsided I told him that I had every intention of keeping the baby. He had no objections and assured me that he would never ask me to have an abortion. As we sat in silence for a few minutes, which dragged like hours, he broke the tension by suggesting we become more serious about our “us.” Boyfriend Face told me, with a slight grin, “Rachel Louise we are going to stay up all night and chat.” All I could think was, “Damn, we did exchange middle names.”

Abortion was never an option. The reason of my anti-abortion stance had little to do with the years of half dead babies I had been shown in church/school. I was not trying to make some statement by carrying my child full term. My pregnancy was not meant to be a slap in the face to anyone I had known. Honestly, I was way too scared to have an abortion. The thought made me queasy. I knew I would not be able to go through with it. I am not a big fan of hospitals or procedures. I was a chicken. A baby was not necessarily the problem, it was everything else about the situation.

Easing our way into the world of pregnancy, we told our friends first. Boyfriend Face’s friends slowly realized that he was not going to be around every other night to get high and drink a 30 pack with them. My old friends from Christian High School immediately suggested I should go through an adoption agency which was creepier to me than an abortion. I just disappear for 9 months and then come back with no child, a little too retro for my taste. Neither side was supportive, both parties had different ideas of what my life should look like. Eventually they would come to understand and be happy for me. But at that point it was hard to get excited about a baby when you feel that alone.

The next few weeks went by quickly. Knowing that telling our parents was going to be a difficult and delicate task, we made the executive decision to wait until we each had been introduced and acclimated with each others families before we shattered their dreams of their flawless first-born children.

In the coming months Boyfriend Face and I grew closer than I had imagined possible. Luckily we got along swimmingly and rarely argued, in spite of my constant bickering about the temperature or my jeans shrinking in the wash. Our first doctor appointment with the OBGYN was a very intrusive and uncomfortable process full of inappropriate probing. But as we looked to the screen and saw our baby and heard a heartbeat for the first time we knew that we had done the right thing for us. Now we just had to figure out the rest of our lives.

Being the intelligent people we are we decided that telling all of the parents in one day was going to be the easiest, you know the faster you rip off the Band-Aid theory. When we told the parental units of our first-born child, we were received with looks of horror and disbelief. His parents looked at me like I was the whore of Babylon and my dad could not look at me in the eyes. I cried before I even had a chance to get the “P” word out of my mouth. I knew how much this was going to ruin my dad’s perfect image of me. I was no longer the flawless daughter who excelled in anything she tried to do. My dad kept on saying, “I don’t know what to say to you.” Then he said the “D” word. The absolute worst thing to hear from your dad is that he is disappointed in you.

After that, it was a whirlwind of life altering decisions and milestone moments. I had already decided to stay in school as long as I was physically able and transfer to San Diego State University the semester after the baby was born. Boyfriend Face and I decided to move in together. This caused quite the commotion from the families. My dad said that, “I was living in sin, and should wait until we were married.” I did not remind him that I was going to be an unwed mother, why pour salt in the wound? I assumed people would be happy for us, moving towards marriage, but not being too hasty, I was horribly wrong. Holidays were the worst. Trying to sift through the endless questions of what our plan was and when we were getting married, when all I wanted was some turkey and mashed potatoes. All I wanted to say to these people, who were just showing concern for me was, “I am 20, unwed and pregnant, do you think I have a plan? Obviously planning does not work for me.”

Marriage is not in the immediate future for Boyfriend Face and I. Yes we do want to get married and we are raising this child together, but I am a girl who wants a big fancy wedding, not some thrown together ceremony in a banquet hall after a high school prom. We rushed into the whole raising a kid thing, we figured we could wait a while on the marriage deal. Plus, wedding pictures while being pregnant are too white trash for us.

When we moved in together I should have been warned. I knew that boys were messy and smelled funny, but that I just the tip of the iceberg. Boys sweat, itch and fart, a lot. And they are really hairy. I called my boyfriend “Kong” for three days after we saw the movie. At first he thought I was complimenting other body parts, but then I started to pet his chest hair and he caught on. My advice to anyone living with a boy is the glade automatic puffy thing. It releases good smells every five minutes. This ingenious invention has saved my relationship.

Overall I have had an easy pregnancy. The first three months I took more naps than an old man on Sunday and was nauseous all of the time. Apparently whoever coined the term morning sickness was a man, because I was sick all day. I was not one of those ladies who was online all day looking at nurseries. I was not even excited about the baby until I found out it was a boy. Once I could stop referring to my child as “it” and transition to “baby boy” the whole experience became more real. My second trimester, months four, five and six, for the pregnancy impaired, were a self-induced hell. I did not want to stop working until I had to, but I was a waitress at a busy restaurant so I forced myself to leave the glamor of the business. At first I was excited to be able to put all of my energy into school, then I became extremely bored. Which brought on the compulsive cleaning. Every square inch of our new apartment was organized. I was a crazed pregnant lady with a label maker, nothing escaped my fury. My closet was color coordinated and my sink never had a dish in it. My neighbors think I am a nut job because I sweep my porch everyday. During the third trimester moving was not as brisk or simple as it was in previous months. This helped with the “nesting,” but it has not completely disappeared.

When I ask Boyfriend Face about my pregnancy, he usually responds politely. If I complain that my jeans don’t fit he says, “You fit in your jeans fine baby, it’s just you and Kaeden don’t fit.” Other times he looks at the scale when I am on it in the mornings and make remarks such as, “Wow you still have a month to go and you have gained 35 pounds!”

The first trial in our relationship came when we discovered that we were having a boy. We were both excited. The next thing to do is name the child. Giving two opinionated kids the responsibility of naming a person should be illegal. They should have professionals for this type of thing. I would have paid good money to avoid child name discussions. We fought for weeks about names. Our friends gave us lists and my grandma bought us a book. We searched the Internet but we could not agree. He liked names with “weird letters.” If you were not inside my boyfriend’s head you would not know that he considered X, Y, Z, Q, K and several other letters weird. This child is still nameless, but I will not have a son named Wolverine, so the debate continues.

Love is confusing. While I know my family and friends love me I think that sometime failed expectations and moral standards cloud that love. Boyfriend Face is horrified that my water may break in our bed, I think that may cloud his love. I know that this child will put me through a world of hurt in a few weeks and the coming years may be difficult for us, but I do not think my love will ever be clouded. But that could be the hormones talking.

First time holding K-Puppy after 24hours of labor, 4 hours of pushing, and a vacuum attached to my vajayjay.

I was 20 here, not 14. I look/sound/act like a child.

Husband Face (then Boyfriend Face) changing his first diaper ever. I wish this picture had sound. I am yelling at the nurse to take a picture, Boyfriend Face is traumatized from just seeing childbirth and does not want his picture taken, I told him to suck it we are capturing memories.

Ok, Rachel 2009 here, a few things:
-Childbirth was WAY worse than I could have expected, I do still love K-Dog though.
-Those freinds and family ended up being the best support. I would be unable to function without them.
-Boyfriend Face is now Husband Face, had a huge wedding and wish now we went to Vegas and saved the cash.
-I wish I only gained 35 pounds, total on that pregnancy was 65 pounds.