Dear Mom

It’s Mothers day.

Wanna know what I want? I want to sleep. ALL. DAY. LONG.

No breakfast in bed. No flowers or handmade cards. Just me and my pillow.

Reality check, that’s not going to happen. Quinn’s Soccer game starts in an hour.

Oh who’s kidding who…I can’t wait to watch her play.

Even though I am a mother,  today is a day to be a daughter and honour my own mom. It will only be a simple phone call as they are enjoying retirement poolside down south. My mom always says if she had known how much fun grandkids were going to be, she would have had them first.

No shit Sherlock…I also think it would be way more fun to be able to spend a little quality time with the offspring, shove sugar down their gullets and then hop on a plane to the sun where no children need to fed and cleaned.  

Sign me up!

The first Mother’s day after the girls were born, I gave my mom a card with one simple sentence written inside.

“Mom, now I get it”

Now I get what it’s like to truly love someone unconditionally and worry about them NON STOP. I get what it means to say you would lay down your own life in a heartbeat for someone else’s safety and happiness.

And truly mean it.

I get what it is like to spend countless nights thinking of the “What if’s” and “What about’s”. To question every choice you make as a parent in charge of raising actual human beings. To wonder if you are really putting enough money in the therapy pot, what their future shrinks will think about you and what diagnosis will lay on your shoulders.

So today my post is a letter.

To my mom.

Perhaps it will give you insight into my own crazy, but I guarantee it will let you see how truly blessed I am.

It’s a long letter. You don’t have to read the whole thing. Except you mom, you need to read it through cuz I forgot to send you a card.

And then put a sticky note with my name on the big ring.

Dear Mom,

38 years ago you were celebrating the best mothers day of your life as you cradled the most perfect child in the world lovingly your arms. I can only imagine what you were thinking as you gazed into my beautiful eyes and breathed in my flawlessness.

No wait…not about me. Right. Lets try again.

Dear Mom,

Thank you.

Do those words express enough emotion for the woman who built and raised me? I really should buy you a steak dinner or something.

Don’t kid yourself mom, my own therapy pot ran dry a little while ago. But you did the best with what you knew.

I mean come on, look at me. Enough said.

Pat yourself on the back woman!! Gold star for you.

You took what you knew and changed what you needed. I will do the same and so will my own girls. I guess that’s how we keep getting better at this right? I figure by the time I am a great-great-great-great-great-great-grandma, our family line of mothers should have this all sorted out.

I want to honour you for the adversity you faced and the role you took to stand strong as our family journeyed its path. 35 years ago you and dad landed in Calgary with two little girls in tow after a company transfer across the country, only to learn all of our belongings had been lost in a transport fire. Guess what? I don’t remember and didn’t know how truly awful it was. You didn’t know a single human being in this city, yet you protected us from the tragedy and all I knew was that we were safe and our family is what mattered. I didn’t know it at the time, but at the tender age of three I had my very first lesson in treasuring the important things in life: my family.

You began to plant our roots with nothing tangible, yet you watered our family values and we grew strong.

FYI mom, I also know that this fire protected you from ever having to admit there were no minute-by-minute pictures of me as there was for my big sister.

The evidence, or lack thereof, had been destroyed.

Silver lining right?

I’ll admit it; your sacrifice to work outside of the home may have gone unnoticed and unappreciated. So today I want to notice it. And appreciate it. I would scrub stairs with my own toothbrush to be able to provide my girls with the extras. While you and dad struggled behind the scenes, we enjoyed private school and braces for a million dollar smile. You knew when it was important to buy the name brand jeans when in my teenage wisdom I felt that’s what I needed to fit in. But you made damn well sure my clothes did not define me and my self-worth was not extrinsically based.

Although I used to think that money just came out of the machine in the wall, because of you (ok, maybe more dad) I know the value of money. You made me get a job and earn what I wanted. But you also knew when it was time to open your wallet when I didn’t need a lesson. 

You house is hands-down the best value for groceries in the city.

Without a doubt my sense of humour comes from you.

 Ok, sometimes most times at the expense of you.

Thank you for your innocence and your ability to laugh at yourself. Because of you, I know how important that is.

Like when the attendant at the gas station asked what oil you use and you answered “Crisco”.

Or when on a tour at Universal Studios and everyone was asked what their favorite ‘Soap” was and you loudly piped up from the back…”TIDE!! It really does work the best on stains.”

Or my personal favorite, when at a high school parent-teacher interview with Mr. Grumpy Chemistry Pants and the underwire from your bra malfunctioned and ended up poking through your sweater. And you decided the best course of action was to pretend you were recording the interview and leaned forward as you asked the teacher with zero personality to “speak into the microphone”.

Located just under your boobs.

Or when you crashed into the garage for the fourth time or high centered your car on a parking block and bribed me with a chocolate bar not to tell daddy.

I still laugh when I think about the time our house was broken into and you were in hysterics as you described in perfect detail for the police report the diamond earrings that were stolen.

Only to have the officer ask you if they looked anything like the ones in your ears.

Yeah…those are the moments that I am talking about. They rock.

Thank you for carrying a wooden spoon in your purse. No, scratch that. I can only stir spaghetti with a spatula now. But I do know what respect and a healthy dose of fear are. Thank you for teaching me to think before I speak, especially with my own children. Again at your expense, but I learned that phrases such as “do you want to be grounded?" sound a wee bit silly as we all know the answer is probably NOT going to be an emphatic “Yes please mom! That sounds terrific. While you are at it can you take away my car keys?”

Thank you for passing on the tradition of cleaning up the dog shit to get out of grounding.

Best. Consequence. Ever.

I am sure in the middle of my teenage years you were not quite sure how you were going to make it through raising sweet little me. 

Thank you for not killing me when you busted me for sneaking out.

Or taking the car without a license at age 15.

Or having fake ID. How confusing it must have been to see me on government ID as ‘Jodi’.

Or not actually ‘staying’ at Angie’s house when Angie was ‘staying’ at at our house.

I learned creative parenting from you. I can only imagine your laughter as you took the pack of smokes I was ‘holding in my bag for someone else’ and while I slept, secretly poked 100 pin holes under each filter.

Well played Marg, well played.

Thank you for leaving work to hunt me down in the mall when the teacher called to ask when I would be ‘feeling better’ as I was missing a test that day. Although we could have done without you pulling me out of the shopping centre by my earlobe in front of my friends to drive me back to school.

Especially since school was over for the day.

If you had let me speak in the car…that’s what I was trying to tell you!

Calling dad for a ride home while the janitor waited with me was a bit awkward. Just to let you know, I feared for my life on those drives in the car with you when you were mad. That was scary shit man.

Mom you have many roles.

You are a wife of over 45 years. Because of you I know what the word ‘marriage’ means and that it is an action and not a feeling. Dylan and I are blessed to have such great role models. Packing up my toothbrush when the going gets tough is simply not an option.

You always say more is caught than is taught.

I caught it mom.

Although shocked when I introduced you to Dylan and then told you “oh by the way, congrats your gonna be a nana”, you have always shown Dylan and I nothing but respect and support. I can’t imagine how you must have felt as Dylan and I began our very uncertain path together. Having to adjust your own dreams and expectations for your child while you questioned your own parenting choices.

Quite simply mom, without you in our corner, things may have looked very differently.

You are a friend, a sister and an aunt. In all of those roles you know what love and work it is to keep a relationship going through moves and miles, distance or time. You have wisdom to discern when advice is needed or just a quite shoulder to cry on. You have a gift to help people see the funny or take them shopping when the only answer is a new pair of shoes. Or to know when your only solution for self-care is a new pair of shoes or a glass of wine.

Thank you Lord for giving me the same size feet as my shoe-aholic mother.

That’s one hell of an inheritance.

You are a Pastor. Even though you are recently and well deservingly retired, this role will always be a part of who you are. You have had the honour of welcoming new life into a hospital room in the wee hours of the morning. You have held hands in prayer as last breaths are taken, family tears are shed and life leaves this earth.  You have celebrated new couples commitments to one another, honored parent’s public declarations of faith for a new child and walked beside families as they mourn loss at a graveside.

You served through your faith at each step.

Mom, you were called into a role that I believe was chosen for you and you have made an impact on others in your humanness. And in your humanness you are loved.  You showed me when it was time to challenge my beliefs and admit when I was wrong.

And then fix it to make a difference.

I know that in my teenage years I didn’t make this job as spiritual leader very easy.  Although at times it did feel we lived in a fishbowl, I know people were watching you more…waiting for me to fall so they could pounce. You handled my short skirts, hidden tattoos and piercings with grace. You were my mom first. Thanks…and I am sorry.

As a woman in a man’s world, you taught me to push gender boundaries and that being a girl was to be celebrated, not hold me back or define my life path.

The world was mine because of you.

You are a grandmother. Quite frankly mom, I don’t think I could have made it through the girls first year without you. From the diaper and formula fairy arriving at my doorstep or calling you at 6:00am on a Friday to simply say “Ready” and know that you would be over within minutes to let me crawl back into bed while you filled my freezer with meals and kicked my laundries ass.

You have created a special relationship with each of the girls that spans their ages and stages. They love you with all of their heart and when people say it takes a village, well my girls got one hell of a village. Thanks for baking with them and allowing glitter at your house, it means less money for me to throw into the pot.

And you know what that means? More money for wine!!

Watching you be “nana” is awesome. You are happiest when all your ‘chicks are back in the nest’ and you are surrounded by those you love.

Don’t kid yourself; ‘Free-Food Fridays’ at moms house is my favourite day of the week.

But mom, to me you are simply my mom. The one who gave me life. Who raised me to know right from wrong.  To do good things in this world and love people without judgment. To dream big and then work hard to achieve it. To throw rocks at boys and know when ice cream is more important than being grounded.

You taught me how to tie my shoes and pee on a potty.

That’s been very beneficial, thank you.

You taught me when natural consequences were necessary even though it must have killed you to see me hurting while really only wanting to rescue me from myself. You showed me the meaning of firm loving boundaries balanced with the importance of a hug before anything else.

You taught me when to pick my battles or say ‘this too shall pass’.

Most of all, you showed me how to be a mom.

And for that mom, on this Mothers day, I am grateful.

Thank you.

I think we did ok.

I love you.

xo

Jecca

P.S. Don’t get too emotional and sappy…Shady Pines is still on speed-dial.

Sprinkled Chocolate Balls

I have what some may describe as an ‘addictive personality’. No need for any under-your-breath comments about my wine drinking here. I do try to keep things under control and have learned that anything beyond the 25 cent slots are not permissible for me in Vegas. Sweet Balls do I love Vegas. It’s an addictive personality gals heaven. It’s a good thing any card related gambling confuses the hell out of me. Too much math and remembering.

I digress.

I am NOT a ‘gamer’. I hate video games and it would annoy me beyond all belief when Dylan and I were first married to come home and find his sorry ass planted in front of the TV with a controller in hand. What a waste of time. Seriously, you could have been dusting decorative candles and collecting socks for the past 8 hours. Although I do have a very cute picture of two newborn babies sleeping on his chest as he reclined in a chair manipulating the controllers around small humans to steal and crash a pretend car on the big screen.

However, you may have noticed that I have not posted a blog in a while. We all know my life is crazy right now and although I am feeling somewhat in the spring sports rhythm, something else has taken over my life.

I am not proud.

But I need to say the words.

My name is Jessica Stilwell and I am a Candy Crush-oholic.

There. I said it.  Admitting the problem is the first step to recovery right?

I call bullshit. All I can think about is candy.  Red candy. Blue candy. Striped candy. Packaged candy. Falling candy.  Exploding candy. Don’t even get me started on matching two ‘specials’ together and oh Lord, I never knew how a sprinkled chocolate ball could make me squeal.

I find it all very odd, as I don’t even have a sweet tooth.

About two months ago I was all judgy and making fun of one of my friends for her Candy Crush addiction. She didn’t know I was judging her for wasting her life away at the time...but I guess the cat is out of the bag now as she religiously reads this blog. Well, my friend I am sorry and since you are at level 346, you are now officially my hero.

Wax on, wax off Mr. Miyagi. I am your young grasshopper. Please teach me your ways.

I am actually having Candy Crush dreams. In a perfect fantasy sequence, the candy stars align and I can close my eyes and see not one, but two sprinkle chocolate balls fall into place. Side by sweet candy side while a packaged and a striped candy lay beneath. It’s like Candy Crush wet dreams. 

Dylan appears annoyed that I am not all that focused on him as of late…I told him when his balls are chocolate and covered in sprinkles we can talk. Ohhhh! That would be two side-by-side chocolate sprinkle balls. Imagine that explosion. It would clear the entire screen.

The game is designed to hook you. Or perhaps that’s just how pitiful I am. It is dazzlingly created to draw you in and spend money to buy more lives, extra moves and powers. It taunts you with its tempting ways. Chanting “Just one more chance. Come on Jess, this time you will succeed. I promise. It’s your lucky day. Special price just for you. What can one little purchase hurt? Come on, everybody’s doing it. Don’t you want to be cool? Good girl. Go ahead, breath deeply and match those candies. Now doesn’t that feel better?”

Ok…so my credit card bill may look a little odd this month but whatever, I totally kicked level 87's ass with a mere 24 dollars. You see, up until recently I was playing on the down-low. I was hiding my newfound addiction like a dirty little crack secret until I found out you could link that shit up on Facebook and get lives and gifts from friends who also play the game. I was wary and cautious at first due to my embarrassment. After all, I have been very vocal about my hatred for updates and invites from those stupid Facebook games junking up my newsfeed.

Like really…who actually plays those??

Well, as it turns out there are hundreds of losers players JUST LIKE ME!! And now I can play continuously. ALL. DAY. LONG.  All because of the bonbon love from my Facebook friends. It’s like fricken’ Christmas morning when I see a friend has sent me a Candy Crush ‘Gift”. 

I’m feeling the love people. Feeling the love.

I am so pathetic that I flip back and forth from my iPhone to Facebook as I think I am brilliant enough as to have figured out a way to leave one game open so it doesn’t sync with the lives I have used on the other device. Boooya Candy Bitches. I own you.

No...not really. They totally own me.

My nights used to be a glass of wine, some favorite shows and a good conversation with my husband.

Then I started blogging and it was a glass of wine, some TV and my writing.Now it’s a glass of wine and my candies. 

Just me and my candies.

My job and my children are really getting in the way of my confectionaries and I’m pretty sure I will eventually have to do some laundry and go grocery shopping. Why do they have to eat all the time? Didn’t I just feed them yesterday? They are so high maintenance. Why can't they just eat candy? 

Maybe Dylan will hire someone to replace me when I am taken off to Candy Crush Rehab.

Who wants to be my roommate? We shall decorate our room with stripes and sprinkles. 

Ok…you may go ahead and judge me now. But when you are done judging if you could be ever so kind and send me some lives and extra moves?

Much appreciated.

I wish I could give photo credits…but it was just going around Facebook.

xo J

Word of Advice: If this post makes no sense to you…GOOD! Keep it that way. If you have no idea what I am talking about and do not play the game then DO NOT START. Not even one little level. Trust me, consider yourself warned and you are welcome!!

Whatever you do DO NOT click THIS LINK

But if you do…please send me a life?

(do it! do it! do it!)

Ok, that one came off as begging. I’m sorry. The effects of the addiction are not pretty. This disease affects everyone. I’m sure there is a Candy-Anon close to you. Support is important.

Yoga Pants Count as Real Clothes

Well, one basketball tournament down. Seven to go.

This past weekend I had the pleasure of driving from Calgary, Alberta to Saskatoon, Saskatchewan.

And I wanted to die. Or gouge my eyes out with a soup spoon.

Seriously, the GPS literally said “Turn Left in 493 kms”.

I shit you not. Those were the directions to the closest form of life in the province next door. On a single lane highway for six and a half hours. With nothing to see but farmers fields. I got excited when I saw a tree and almost peed my pants when there was a bump on the road that could pass for a hill. Weeeeeeee! And I saw cows. Jealous???

It was almost like Disneyland.

Next weekend is Lethbridge, Alberta.  Remember last October when I travelled to New York and then Hollywood on back-to-back weekends. This is so almost the same.

No. No it is not.

Needless to say I am more than grateful for my guest blogger Janessa from Getting to the Other Shore for "I Get A Day Off From Writing and Feeling Pressure to be Funny and Get to Laugh at Your Stories and Share Some Blog Love Monday". 

Her post reminds me of me…and I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. But it may be a wake-up call.

Janessa is a West Coast born and raised, working, bean counter mom of two little minions, long married wife, avocado addict, wine lover and recent prairie transplant who slices her way through life with an undying sense of humour and a determination to one day figure out how the heck to sell everything and sail around the world (as long as she never encounters bad weather, or pirates, or sharks)

 ____________________________________________________________

Socialize or Ostracize? What if I never go out again??

Let’s get one thing straight right off the bat….I love, love love, a good gab fest, wine drinkin’,  laugh out loud till you pee your pants, with incredible women type of get-out- of-your- pajamas-for-a-night kind of shin-dig (yes I just said shin-dig).  How many times have I partaken in such an event in the past year? Well, I don’t even need one hand to count….I’m not entirely sure I can go past two fingers actually.

This is why.

I’m lazy. 

No I’m totally serious; when it comes to maintaining friendships and getting out, I am perpetually slothful and negligent.  I come up with a variety of excuses, some quiet legitimate such as “Well I have to clean my toilet tomorrow so…..”  Or “Well, I’d love to but that would mean I’d have to wear pants past 8pm and…….well, meh”

I know, I’m completely lame but come one, somebody out there gets it right?

Sometimes the prospect of having fun sounds, well, not fun; it sounds exhausting and I’ve got enough exhausting going on right now, thank you very much.

I once read this book called something like “Working Mother’s A-Z Guide” and there was a chapter where the author talked about how one day, she was going to wake up and be 60 and have no friends, because every time she was invited out, she was “too tired” or “had to wash her hair,” and I was like, YES! I totally get it!

I constantly play that dangerous game of paper, rock, scissors between having a social life and crawling into bed.  Crawling into bed wins 99.9999% of the time (Social Life doesn’t even put up much of a fight; just keeps throwing the game by always showing up as paper)

Right now my children are on an extended vacation with their grandparents. My number one excuse/commitment is null and void and what did I do my first kid free weekend pray tell?

 My taxes.  WHOO HOO, PARTY TIME PEOPLE, TAXES, WHOO-HOO, YEAH!  *sigh*

Well later I did watch some movies on Netflicks whilst drinking wine and eating Cheezies and Kit Kats in bed.

Okay I admit, that made me sound even lamer.

My husband has been trying to encourage me by saying, “Do something irresponsible!” “Go out with the girls and get drunk!”   For starters honey (not that he’s listening) I know like, four people in town, and these are couples so it’s like actually knowing 2 people. Oh wait! I know one more couple…wow, three people. 

Yes, we’re still new to town, so I kind of get a Mulligan (golf-term-used-by-non-golfer).  I’m sure I’ll make friends one day (if I can ever tear myself away from Pinterest and watching Smash online *insert serious eye rolling here*)

Sadly, this is what happens when:

 1) You’re a working mom who doesn’t get to mingle at school drop off and pick up times or get together for yoga classes and book clubs and,

2) (Let’s face it, this is actually the heart of my problem) YOU MAKE NO EFFORT WHATSOEVER TO MEET PEOPLE!!!!!!!!!  

Between work, commuting, making play dough from scratch, putting Band-Aids on boo-boos, intervening to stop the war of the worlds from erupting between the children, paying bills, mopping up apple juice every 30 seconds, emptying litter boxes, trying to figure out what “toro” written on the calendar means, playing the sock match game, shaving the cat, and discovering my life’s purpose…….

When faced with Option A: fall face first on bed and drool till morning, or Option B: make the effort to make a plan that deviates from the no-plan plan, I invariably pick Option A.

But you know what ends up happening if you are forever picking Option A?  When the mood strikes and you suddenly realize GOOD LORD I AM HERMIT AND I NEED TO CONVERSE WITH A LIFE FORM OTHER THAN THE DOG!!!!!!!.................. it might just be too late.

Is there like a help-group for self- proclaimed hermits?

Is there somewhere I can go and stand up in front of a room full of strangers and say,

 “Hello, my name is Jenessa and I haven’t been social in 5 months,”

And then instead of clapping everybody will boo and cry and pat me on the back and hug me and say,

“We understand, we stay home with a great Malbec and to watch Chris Hemsworth movies too it’s okay!”

That would be awesome; that would be a good place to start.

So, on that note, I must take my leave to go Google “Malbec-Drinking-Chris-Hemsworth-Movie-Watching-Antisocial-Support-Groups-For-Working-Mothers-Who-Don’t –Like-Wearing-Pants-Past-8pm”

_____________________________________________

Like I said above, I was away this weekend and had to interact with grown-ups the entire time. And I had to wear pants. The entire time.

Janessa…I get it. As I type this, I am wearing my jammies. It’s only 4:19pm.

Let’s start an online self help group…that way we never need to get out of our comfy pants and we can drink wine “together” and not worry about driving and I won’t judge you that you are in bed before 9:00pm. And in my books that totally counts as having a social life!!

XO J

I Married the Most Amazing Woman in the World

Whatever. Here it is. Dylan's guest post for "I Get A Day Off From Writing and Feeling Pressure to be Funny and Get to Laugh at Your Stories and Share Some Blog Love Monday".

Like I have said before, don't believe everything you read online. Please.

----------------------------------------------

I always wanted to get married.  I just never knew what I was in for.

I have two great role models that made me always want to take the plunge. Thanks Mom and Dad for your example of marriage for over four decades.  Over the years I had one or two girlfriends, but for various reasons it didn’t work out.  When I met Jessica I knew she was the one.  We met in a bar. Not like ‘bumped into each other at a nightclub doing the Harlem Shake met at a bar’. We were both working at the neighbourhood pub.

Truth is, I was bartending and supervising so technically I was her boss. Point for me.

She was a feisty and sarcastic brunette. Perfect!! Unlike the other waitresses who had to face an initiation of bartender ‘assholeness’ upon hire to test their breaking point for tears, Jessica dished it right back. And then some. She scared me a little bit

I charmed her with my handsome green eyes and witty personality. She didn’t stand a chance with my boyish good looks. Stop laughing. I had hair then.

When we started dating I discovered a few things about dear Jessica:

• She kept two large piles of laundry on her bedroom floor. One pile heading to the wash, the other having made it back from the wash, never to be put away. Her room was a giant clothing obstacle course.
• Her car was filthy.  Her passenger seat and floor had nothing but garbage, as once she was done with something she just tossed it into the abyss.  Seriously, when riding as a passenger in her car, your knees were up to your chest as you balanced your feet on the mountain of trash and adjusted a Big Mac container from your ass.

So when I knocked her up asked her to marry me, I knew pretty much what I was in for. Or so I thought.  We lived the same way and had so much in common. There was nothing but a whole lotta ‘wins’ in my future. 

Wins: I get to be married. I get to be married to a woman who is laid back and relaxed (messy) just like me. I get to live with a woman and she might get naked at any given time.

Well folks, when they say marriage changes you, it was like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Freaking Hyde.

Here I was moving in with Jessica and things started to look different.  We enjoyed buying a lot of new things to set up our new house and life together.  Then came ‘the rules’ as we entered into our fist year of marital bliss.

Rules you ask?

Do not light the candles. They are decorative only.

Do not use the hand towels in the bathroom. They are decorative only.

Do not use the pillows on the bed or the couch. They are decorative only.

Do not leave the toaster on the counter. The counter is for decorative pieces only.

Ummm. Excuse me?  Decorative? I was confused to say the least. I come from a family of three boys, what the hell is a decorative anything? Where are the dirty laundry piles and messy car you fooled me with you crafty woman?

Let me get this straight. I can’t light a candle in case of emergency, dry my wet hands or face, rest my weary head or make a piece of toast at my convenience?

One can’t help but think Jessica was robbing these objects from their sole purpose of existence?

Poor unused wick wishing for a small spark. Poor towels longing for a drop of moisture to absorb. Poor toaster hiding in shame under the counter. Poor down-filled pillow yearning for a head to cradle into a shared sweet dreamland.

I had married a decorative monster. A monster that actually spent time dusting these unusable items like a crazy person. All while I could only sit back and stare helplessly, with the fear of God I would be punished to the full extent of the ornamental law, dare I think about matches or wet hands.

As time passed I got use to the fact that my dear Jessica had a very type A personality and was very competitive. Turns out I am her polar opposite. Because of her personality I find it easy to enjoy the little things that drive her nuts or will push her into a state of competition. 

My favorite thing is to walk into the house and take off my socks. And leave them strategically placed. Never in the middle of the floor, but always just within sight and slightly inconvenient for a Type A.  Jessica will pick them up and grumble every time and then get very angry.  I am winning the sock game because after 14 years of marriage I am still leaving them around and she is still picking them up. My ‘wins’ used to include a chance of nakedness…now it’s about dirty socks.

I feel so alive.

We used to play ‘Gin rummy’ cards together and while the basic idea of the game is to lay down cards in groups and your opponent plays off the cards for points, I always kept the cards in my hand and then placed them down in one swift move for the win.  This was never about beating Jessica, but more to annoy her.

I know she has told you all about my infamous arm flapping. What you don’t know about is Jessica’s ‘Angry Chicken’. When she gets worked up and talks with her hands; she magically transforms into an angry pecking chicken, squawking about and picking up imaginary bird feed with her hands.

Needless to say we don’t play cards anymore, the Angry Chicken isn’t a very good sport.

Wanna know something super fun to try just to see Jessica squirm? Simply turn one row of the blinds over so it doesn’t match the direction of the rest. Then sit back and time her to see how long it takes her to notice and how long she can try not to fix it.

Same idea for moving a 'decorative' candle out of place.

Her current response record is 1.4 seconds.  Her current 'try not to let it bother me before I go fix it'  time is 2.7 seconds.

But I must warn you; the Angry Chicken is guaranteed to make an appearance during this game. It is not for the faint of heart.

There are times though, that the competition is what makes our relationship stronger. And fun. One example is our rhyming game. Not like hip hop or rap rhyming, that would be cheesy. And we are not that cool anymore. But anytime, anywhere, a simple word at the end of a sentence turns into a race for the gauntlet for who can come up with the next rhyme.  And have it make sense. With no repeats.

Me: Thank you dear.

Jess: Come over here.

Me: Do you want a beer?

Jess: Why are you so near?

Me: To bring you cheer. 

The game ends when the losing opponent cannot come up with word in a timely manner. It’s usually Jessica. Her attempts throughout the day to try and gain back the win via text are cute.

Jess: Now I have a tear.

Me: Stop trying, you are not in the clear.

Jess: Screw you.

Me: Ok! When?

Everyday goes by and I thank my lucky stars that I found Jessica. Although the competitive side in her will say she found me. Either way, our marriage is a giant win.

We counter balance each other very well. If you ever meet us you can tell. So to this I say farewell, from the first and last blog from Dylan Stilwell.

-------------------------------------------------------------

She is an amazing wife, mother and my best friend. Her outer beauty is only surpassed by the inner.  I should buy her diamonds in little blue boxes every day.

(Ok, maybe I wrote that part…and maybe the blog title too)

And by the way Dylan, you used ‘well’ in three out of your four rhymes.

Not so swell.

You lose.

xo J

PS…Next time I pick up your dirty socks, you will not be laughing at your little 'game' when I shove them up your ass.

I win. Cluck. Cluck.