It all hit me on Valentine’s Day. Husband took me to one of our favorite restaurants, Fleurie. It has a long history for us. Just under 10 years ago, Husband took me there on our first date. This Valentine’s Day date had us sitting at the same table. It was quite romantic. And, as soon as I sat down the first thing out of my mouth was, I hope Callum is going to be okay with us being gone at this hour. He’s not used to this. It’s probably messing with his routine.” 

In case you missed the introduction of Callum, now 4 months old, here he is.

Husband, not skipping a beat responded, he’ll be fine. This is why we are having an early dinner (5:30 seating). So, we can get back to him.

Yes, we were talking about our child our dog over dinner. Isn’t this what parents do? As soon as we were done, we raced home (Husband will not admit to this racing, but secretly he was wondering how he was, too.) Another thing parents do?

Also, our conversations of late have looked quite like the following. I come home, after leaving Husband with Puppy. Puppy is in his crate looking forlorn. I race over and see he is sitting on a soggy towel with kibble strewn everywhere.

I accuse: How long has been sitting in his dirty diaper pee in his crate?

Husband retorts: I checked his diaper took him out 3 times and he didn’t want to go. I didn’t see that he peed. He cries whines now when he wants to just get picked up go out and just play.

Under my breath I say: Typical. Can’t you tell the difference between I have a dirty diaper cry “I have to pee” whine and I’m scared pick me up cry “I want to play” whine?

I then reach in and cuddle him while shaking kibble off the dirty towel and fleece bedding and put them in the washer, all the while holding him in one arm while he licks my face and makes my clothes smell like pee. It’s amazing what I can do with one arm now – dishes, laundry, typing at work, while holding Callum in the other. Did I mention the pee? I am unfazed.

Let’s also talk about the fact I’d forgo buying new shoes to pay for his Royal Cuteness. I was in PetSmart the other day and didn’t blink an eyelash when I found a about a dozen few new toys to buy. The fact this dog has now cost me more than my first semester of college hasn’t deterred me from adding more to the pile. Because, you know, he doesn’t have enough toys now.

Yes, he really has surpassed the price of my first car, first college semester (at a state school, not Harvard or something), and probably my first set of Kate Spade shoes – combined. The recent oral surgery to remove baby canine teeth that were poking into his soft palette, put him over the edge from merely being a little expensive to true financial bondage. (This dog better never die. I’ve got a lot invested here.) But, I’d sell my car to keep him in treats.

Of course, when its play time, all he wants is Daddy. Appparently Daddy is more fun playing tug of war and tossing him around scrambling his little brains and potentially hurting him. He never does, but I have visions of him losing a tooth – at least one of the ones he has left until his grown up teeth move in. (Yes, I’ve been saving his baby teeth). Daddy also lets him help build fires in the fireplace and other fun things.

Daddy is cool. All mommy does is feed him, brush him, take him out at 3 effing o’clock in the morning to pee (but only on nights when mommy has to get up at 6 a.m. for Very Important Meetings) and look for poop to eat, and buy him more toys, and take him to the vet every.single.week. and basically worship his cute ass.

You’re going to hurt him, I yell, as Daddy does yet another cool, fun, rough-housing thing with him.

He’s fine.

Stop! Give me my baby.

See?  I’m a mommy. EEEEEEEK.

Say hello to the newest member of Chez Henry.

Hi, I’m [[insert name to be determined -- any ideas?]]. I am a Welsh Highland terrier. I am 9 weeks old and live to look cute.

Yes, that’s right. Shut up, pull up your drawers and smell the canine breath. Husband got moi a PUPPY. Walked right in the door with him last night like it was nothing. For 7 years I’ve been nagging begging pleading asking and VOILA. There he is. Merry Christmas to me.

Even bought the crate.
What is that thing, and you can forget it if you think I’m getting in it, he’s thinking.

Who are you people and what is with these bars? Yeah, he lasted all of 5 minutes in there, as I couldn’t stand it.

This is how I look about 2 minutes before I pee all over your hardwood floors. But, you’re replacing them soon anyway, right?

Gooood puppy. Go after Husband’s shoes. Not mine.

Yes, I am in heaven. And, mostly because I know Husband really loves me.

While I appreciate this keen insight into my youthful looks, I still take this as an insult.  Like I’m not a whole person because I haven’t procreated. This question also usually comes at a pool party  when there are children behind us in the water screaming their heads off or on the Charlottesville downtown mall when a mother is trying to hold on to her sanity as her two  year old refuses to be put into her stroller. So, I just don’t get it.

Besides the fact that only an act of God at this point would make it possible, why is it so important to people that Husband and I add more people to the planet? Are they hoping to “even out” their own children’s behavior with our naturally would-be perfect ones? (Would that be a bad comeback?)

Husband says that maybe I look too longingly at the cherubs. So, they are in reaction to my gooey-eyes. Well, they can be cute.

Really cute. And, I’m not going to lie to ya. Sometimes I want one. But, then the crying starts and I realize a puppy — provided I don’t stop feeding it — will never leave me. Of course, most babies won’t eat your Jimmy Choo’s either. But, I do understand they can slobber just as much.

Anyway, what would you say to these curious folk who seem deadly serious when they ask, have you ever thought about having kids?

A few days after celebrating her 70th birthday, my mother decided to start a blog, Life is a God Trip. She literally launched it on a train to New York City. (Check out the picture for proof.) Mom knows that only God knows where you’ll end up! Already a queen of SEO, if you goggle “Life is a God Trip” it takes the number one spot. Go Mom!

Of course, this is also true for my sister’s blog, The Power of Slow. Go ahead, google it. I’ll wait. See? She is helping us live with time versus against it.

And,  I’m not sure if my sister or my cousin was the first to blog in the family. But, cousin K’s blog, K’s 30 second blog, takes us on all manners of travel, bite-size. After all, if you are a busy international-travelling mother like K, who has more than 30 seconds?

I keep urging Husband to blog. (I’m not afraid of revenge, really.) That way he can tell his side of the story of what it’s like to marry an LBB. But, no. He says he has no need to tell all share.

Of course, the blogosphere is full of families — families of friends. Check out my blog roll and visit their blogs often. They are inspiring.

When I first got married, combining the holiday traditions was an interesting process. Getting married later in life ensures certain rituals and ways of celebrating are bound to bump heads. Whose house do we go to for Thanksgiving? Christmas? What level of present giving do we undergo? (My family is over the top, splurging on everyone en masse and more than once. Husband’s family pulls names.)

Husband’s German “bent” has Christmas Eve playing an important role. In Germany, they open presents that night. Growing up, Christmas Eve wasn’t as big of a deal in our house. I was convinced it was there to torture us youngin’s waiting for the morning to open presents, by then piled beneath the tree.

But, I also have other traditions that Husband finds, well, more amusing.

Mom and I spend one whole day together shopping sometime in mid-December. We like to go to some shopping meca like Tysons Corner, Virginia. If an item is manufactured and sold, you can find it in Tysons. So, we do out part for the GNP and shop til we drop. Husband does not understand the appeal of this activity.

Also, Mother buys Sisters and I matching PJs. For years (even as young adults), we wore them on Christmas Eve. Even the prairie dress-like gowns that we secretly hated. (For the record, mumsy was usually fabulous at picking out terrific PJ sets.) I have about 15 pairs of those Christmas pajama sets still. They aren’t exactly romance-inducing. (Picture boxy tops and billowy pants with cartoon reindeers all over them. Yeah. Like that.) But, on Christmas Eve, I pull out one of the sets and wear them in long-distance solidarity with Mom and Sisters who are off with their own families and their own traditions by now.

Another big ritual I undergo between Christmas and New Year’s involves an entire night and a bucket of silver polish.

When I was 12 years old, my Grammie told me I would inherit her silver tea set. I was thrilled. I didn’t know then that the weekly maid kept it shiny and polished. Now in my possession (and for the record, I’d rather have Grammie back), it is up to me to keep the shiny legacy alive. So, each year about this time, I haul out Grammie’s silver tea set for the holidays and go to work. How did I do this year?

There’s something really old fashioned about a silver tea set. It makes me want to sit properly. Like a lady. That is until I start to use it. This is because I have discovered all manners of elixers pour just fine from a tea pot. Like kahlua and hot chocolate. Mulled red wine also works. Then there is the egg nog. And, if you put silver in the refrigerator for 30 minutes, it’s gets really cold. This comes in handy when you are trying to keep the white wine you’ve poured in it, chilled. Not sure Grammie would have approved of my various uses of it. (But, then again, all she asked is that I keep it polished. Nothing was said about what was to go in it.)

Maybe next year I’ll don the Christmas PJs to rub off the tarnish. Two hits in one.

What are your traditions and rituals?

Note to thieves everywhere: Don’t bother. The tea set only “lives” here a few weeks a year. Otherwise, it’s under lock and key. Plus, we’re heavily armed. I will defend Grammie’s inheritance with my life. Just ask Sisters.