Let me count the ways ...

Since I've heard from more than one old lady, young lady and wisdom-imparter along the way to "always be thankful," I suppose that's what I'll do today.  And here is my list, all brought to my attention by my one and a half year-old:

I'm thankful for ...

1. knowing that whenever I need to find something, I have 2 places to look -- the toilet and the trash.  What an organized little boy I'm raising.
2. never being able to finish an entire meal, thanks to my mooch of a toddler.  Goodbye pregnancy weight, right??
3. having no need for an alarm clock.  They just waste space on your night stand anyway, plus sleep is apparently for the lazy.
4. my extensive knowledge of who was on Sesame Street this week ... this is now how I recognize celebrities.  Sorry US Weekly, we are no longer friends.

Consider this a foreshadowing of blog posts to come, as each of these points obviously has a story attached.  However, I'm off to bed (see point #3).  Goodnight!

A little help here!!

Soon after we were married, I had finished cooking a fabulous (ok, mediocre) dinner and was heading upstairs to tackle some laundry (ok, wax my eyebrows). As I walked through the living room, I asked my adoring husband to please do the dishes. He replied, "Of course, my love." (ok, he nodded.)

Call me crazy, but I figured that since we both worked full-time, were contributing members of society, and, most importantly, ADULTS, that it was a no-brainer that we would not only share in household chores, but understand what those chores were.

Clearly, I was mistaken.

When I returned to the kitchen about an hour later, it was still a mess. "Baaaabe? Umm, when were you thinking of cleaning up in here?" His response? "I already did!"

Long story (ok, fight) short, his defense to my completely justified frustration was ... drumroll please ... "You asked me to do the dishes, so that's what I did." And this was true ... every dish was cleaned. Not one pot or pan, not the floor or counter ... but yes, darling, every dish was cleaned.

And, later, when he asked me to wash his clothes for work? Every single one was washed. Not dried, not folded or put away ... but yes, darling, every single one was washed.

Allow me to explain

Have you ever noticed it before? Go to any wedding ceremony within the US, on any given day, and you will see a familiar sight: at least one old woman crying during the ceremony. Ever wonder why? As brides, we all just assume that they're so overjoyed to witness yet another beautiful union that it just brings them to tears ... and we would all be sadly mistaken.

They cry because they know what's coming: the good, the bad, and the first-thing-in-the-morning ugly. They cry at our complete, blissful ignorance of what's to come. They cry without words because they know not one of us would believe their stories. We're so tainted by seating arrangements, champagne toasts and puffy white dresses that we'd never listen.

Well, my seating arrangements have transformed into my far less organized budget, my champagne toasts have become apple juice sippy cups and seriously, don't even get me started on the storage nightmare that is my puffy white dress.

Sure, it's not all hair-ripping stress and chaos ... there are certainly moments of complete joy and excitement beyond words. And I swear to you it's those moments that make these old crows keep their mouths shut through the tears. They really do want us to experience the romance of our wedding day, the heart-melting adoration of our children, and (I'm assuming) the sweet vindication of being a grandparent. So they let us celebrate our day and wait patiently for the stories that will undoubtedly come ...

These are the stories they're waiting for.