My Valentine

My husband James is far from perfect. He's rough with the kids without meaning to be, he's says things with an honest bluntness that's highly unpolished, and he's rebellious to the point of stupidity at times.

James doesn't know how to match his clothes and he doesn't care. He can't spell and he doesn't care. He also thinks social rules are ridiculous.

James doesn't look or behave like a "typical" Mormon guy. James wears earrings and has since he was 16. He has a goatee. He hates wearing suits. He never went on a mission (although he is looking forward to going on one with me when we're old).

In short, he's not the guy my mother would have picked for me to marry. She never would have chosen someone who's legally blind. Or someone who has a nasty habit of spitting (it is nasty!). Or someone who would want her daughter to live south of Atlanta in a place a lot more redneck than I grew up.

She would have chosen someone who had already graduated from college. Someone who says the right things and wears the right clothes. Someone who knows where he's going and how to get there.

But, my mom also would have chosen someone who loved me more than himself. Someone who would be willing to do anything to make me happy. Someone who was selfless in taking care of me and our children.

James is those things. Not the polished guy, but the other guy. The guy who makes me laugh, the guy who gently puts our kids to sleep with stories he downloads, listens to, and then recites because he can't see well enough to read them books. James is the guy who gives me foot rubs several times a week. He calls me several times a day to say "I love you". He tells me I'm beautiful. He thanks me for being a mother to our kids. He thanks me for everything I do for him.

James does know where he's going. He just sometimes takes the scenic route. Sometimes he needs help remembering how to stay on the right path to get where he wants to go. But I know that we were meant for each other. I don't believe in soul mates. Or in only one anyway. I think he and I could have been OK if we'd married other people. But I do think we're perfect for each other. We teach each other. We help each other. We love each other.

And although it's ironic that an artist would marry a blind guy, it works. I'm so thankful to be married to James. I wouldn't be the person I am without him.

When I say my kids pile up like puppies at night, I'm not kidding.


Bud is on top, Pickles underneath. Just disregard how the sheets don't match. Or, for that matter, Bud's top and bottoms of his pajamas. OR, that Pickles isn't wearing pajamas. OR that these used to be bunk beds till the boys broke the top bunk.

I was homesick a while back and really missing GA and most especially my friends and family. But you know what? I have some really great friends here too. And some really great friends that have moved away from here and whom I miss very much. I still talk to them, but I can't just stop by their house or call and invite them to IHOP at 10PM. And other friends who don't write blogs (yet). And some who do but I'm not sure if they'd appreciate a link. Does that cover everyone? But they are awesome. Midwest is pretty good sometimes. I must say that the education here is better than in the South. I'm sure you can tell by my writing - HA! And the corn is so good, I have dreams about it.

I'm really glad we moved our family here. We have really grown together as our own little unit. We needed to be somewhere on our own, even though my mom misses her babies. I'm sure you understand, and if you don't there's something wrong with you. Well sorry, somebody had to tell you. Also, your zipper is down.

Anyway, just from the 2 votes so far on my little poll up there on the right, I know what you really stopped by for.

So here ya go. More hilariosity from out here in corn-ville.

On the way out the door, Pickles was supposed to grab his piano books. In the car I asked him if he had his books. "Yeah, I got my books, but I ain't got no talent!" So I told him to go back into the house to get it...

Bud said he wanted to be a robot when he grew up. And go to the moon. I told him he could be whatever he wanted to be, but that being a robot meant he would have to wear metal undies. He said he'd have to think about that.

And this is a story that happened a while ago, but some of y'all haven't heard it. We were riding home from school when Bud wailed from the back seat, "Moooooooooommmm! I keep NOT brushing my teeth and they're still there. I want the tooth fairy to come!"

We're teaching Hamster to count, he gets to 11 and then gets caught in the 8, 9, 10, 11, 8, 9, 10, 11 loop that frequently catches wee ones. So he started being funny and whenever I say 1, he says 4. And then 2, he says 4. And 3, he says 4. And on and on. And then he gets to where he's laughing so hard, he can't say it anymore. I love him and all his curly mop-top fluffiness!