holy crap my daughter’s Christmas list is longer than a CVS receipt*

I LOVE Christmas. I love it so much that I’m probably one of the few people who doesn’t get bothered to see Christmas decorations right next to the Halloween ones in early October. I personally welcome anything that will make this holiday season stretch as much as it can, even if it means buying a pumpkin and a mistletoe at the same time.

My love for Christmas is obvious. So obvious, that I made my own Christmas list way before my daughters, and if you still haven’t read it just click here and enjoy.

Did you read it? No? Ok, one last chance, click here and enjoy.

Did you read it now? Great!

Anyway, if you thought that list was ambitious you should check out what my daughter is asking for.

Wish me luck because this is a long one.

Behold my 4-year-old’s Christmas list:

as dictated

As carefully dictated

  • Frozen dolls –  Pfffft! One step ahead of you kid! I bought these way before all the Elsa dolls in the world went out of stock. Just kidding. I just bought one for three times as much because all those f*cking dolls are out of stock.
  • Baby doll – number 18 to add to the pile.
  • American Girl – ay ay ay $$$
  • Romy’s sister – Who the hell is Romy?!? Note to self: find out who Romy is, then find out if she even has a sister. And are we even sure it’s her biological sister? What if she’s the product of an extramarital affair and they’ve been living a lie all these years? OMG Focus! Focus!
  • The doggie – Apparently, this dog is a big deal judging by the use of the word “the”. Must binge watch commercials and see which one is “the doggie” and it better not be a high maintenance one that requires those big ass square batteries or an app.
  • My own phone – Uhhh No.
  • Games – Hope educational games are alright with you.
  • New game – How did you know I’m getting you an educational game? I’m also thinking you are NOT alright with it.
  • Play Doh machine – They have machines now? In my time you would use a fork, an ice-cream scooper and whatever other kitchen utensil you could sneak out of the kitchen. So that’s what you’ll be using.
  • New dolly – Is this in addition to the baby doll, Romy’s “sister” AND the reason I’m going bankrupt American Girl doll???
  • New purse – To keep your new imaginary phone in, I suppose.
  • New clothes and shoes – Maybe Mrs. Claus can pick out an outfit or two. I’m pretty sure she already knows you change your outfit at least 7 times a day (this is a fact).
  • New stickers – Cheap and small. Check!
  • Hair ties – I fully support anything that will let me sit down and make beautiful creations to your pretty, bouncy hair.
  • One peluca (wig) red, short, with straight hair – hmmm…..not really sure what to make of this.
  • New scarf for winter –  You like to accessorize, yet you want to keep yourself warm. Smart and cute.
  • Colores (colors) – You run through a box of crayons like I run through a box of chocolates. So yes, you will be getting a couple of boxes…and so will I.
  • New heels – Didn’t you JUST ask for new clothes and shoes? But you’re right, a girl can never have enough shoes.
  • A pretty dress with lots and lots of flowers – Again, you JUST asked for new clothes and shoes!
  • A new cremita (lotion) “for my face doesn’t tan” – I’m so glad you’re embracing your paleness porcelain like skin.
  • My own tablet – Hahahahahahahaha NO.
  • More food – Geez! Santa’s going to think we’re starving you. You DO know your dad’s a chef right?
  • My own book – Wait. WHAT?? Santa’s a publisher too? I’m totally sending him a manuscript!!
  • A whole lot of candy – A whole lot!! That sounds like mountains and mountains of candy, which I’m sure is exactly what you have in mind. You can eat the ginger bread house on Christmas morning. You’re welcome.

Do you think it’s too much? I do, because I have TWO daughters, so I get TWO separate lists.

And this is what my oldest wants:

  • AMERICAN GIRL EVERYTHING – You know what? Just take all my money. Here, just take it!

Such efficiency

Not only did she write in detail what she wanted, but she circled each item from the catalog so that Santa wouldn’t even have a chance of missing anything. She then thought it would be a good idea for Santa to actually take the catalog with him, you know as a precaution, but not before making him a sign asking him to please bring it back.

 

 

 

*For those of you who don’t know what a CVS receipt looks like, here you go:

This is an actual receipt for the purchase of ONE pack of gum.

This person probably just purchased a pack of gum and got stuck with all this unnecessary paper, much like my daughter’s 18th doll.

 

14 days ’til Christmas. I better hustle!

Advertisements

Dear Santa…

Dear Santa,

First of all, I just want to tell you how proud I am of you. Not only do you survive this crazy holiday every year, but you hand deliver every single toy to all the believers out there. I know it must be hard to keep up with the demand and all these new complicated video games and tablets. It must have taken you forever to learn how to assemble all these games with the chips and the 3-D and the gigas and the bytes. Whatever happened to the good old wooden rocking horse? I know. I feel the same way. I must say, you’ve adapted wonderfully and all while rocking the same red suit. Kudos to you!

Anyway, you must be confused as to why a grown ass (OMG! I’m soooo sorry for cursing) woman is sending you a letter. Well, the truth is, I have lost all hope and was hoping you could restore it for me. You see, the other day I asked my husband what he wanted for Christmas and he said he didn’t want anything (bless his heart). However, I think he was expecting the same answer from me. That didn’t happen of course, because I want lots of things. Now, don’t think I’m being selfish or anything; I’m actually the complete opposite of that. I always put everyone’s needs before mine and only expect to get rewarded at the end of the year. Never mind, that does sound really selfish. Let me rephrase that. I think I deserve to get everything on my list because I take care of my family without asking for anything back except hugs, kisses and the occasional compliment here and there.  So when I showed my husband the list, he laughed uncontrollably and walked away. And this is when all my hope went down the drain.

So this is where you come in, Santa. I’m sending you this list in hopes I wake up on Christmas morning and find that not only my daughters’ wishes came true, but also mine.

santa

It’s not that long Santa, just wait until you see my daughters’.

1 – Endless supply of toilet paper – Santa, do you know that I am buying a 24-pack of toilet paper on a weekly basis? I mean, I know there are more girls than boys in the house and that we have more…err…”stuff” to keep clean, but come on!! I’m starting to believe my daughters are trading toilet paper rolls for candy. It’s no coincidence that I keep finding more candy and less toilet paper around the house. So if you give me an endless supply of TP it would mean fewer trips to the store, which means I would have to drive less, which means less pollution to the environment. So really, it’s a win-win situation.

Actually, while you’re at it, can you add a couple of nanny cams? I’m going to catch the little suckers!

2 – 30 hour days – Not to get more done. No. I need 30 hour days in order to squeeze in a few more hours of sleep. Don’t you just feel like punching people that only need 4 or 5 hours of sleep and yet they still wake up radiant and full of energy? Probably not, ’cause you’re Santa and you’re perfect and fluffy. But I do! Sorry about all the aggressiveness, it’s the lack of sleep. If I get more hours of sleep, I’ll probably wake up singing “It’s a beautiful morning” and make pancakes for the whole building. Again, a win-win situation.

3 – The ability to cook – I’ll just get straight to the point. I have tried to learn and have failed miserably. So this is why I need you.  I need to be able to make a grilled cheese sandwich without this happening:

IMG_9300

Who feeds their children plastic? Me.

 

 

 

 

 

Or cook a simple pasta dish without burning it like this:

IMG_9301

I seriously give up.

 

 

 

 

 

 

This is pathetic and I need you to fix it please.

4 – The power to transform into Martha Stewart or at least suck all the talent out of her: I for once would like to be able to sew my daughter’s Girl Scout badges on her vest and not run like a little girl to my mom asking her for help. Anything that requires sewing, I will staple. Anything that asks for frosting, I will buy pre-made. Anything that involves paint will end up on the carpet and up my nose. All I want is to be skillful enough to redecorate my living room by only using a wooden crate, paint and tape. I’m sure Martha can do it.

5 – 24 hour concierge service: I know some buildings do have it, but I’m neither rich nor live in NYC.  So what if sometimes I crave ice-cream at 2 in the morning? Or forget to buy more juice boxes for my daughter’s lunch box. I don’t want to leave the house at 6 pm. That’s so late for this old body. I need someone to go fetch me stuff at a moments notice and my husband has already said no.

6 – Healthy junk food – Santa please, I beg of you!! Not everything healthy has to be boring. I need junk food in my life but I need it to be healthy because I hate the gym and I can’t stop eating cheeseburgers from the mall and my waist is paying for it. Also candy and carbs. No matter how much I eat them, I need you to make all this stuff super extra healthy because I have no plans of stopping.

That’s it Santa, I only want these 6 things. After all, my parents taught me not to be greedy.

Sincerely,

Me :)

 

I’m on Top Mommy Blogs! Just click on the TMB Banner! That’s it! One click = one vote!

because I complain a lot! 11 things I’m grateful for

The other day I found myself complaining about how tired I was of having to carry the groceries up the stairs in my building. Then, I complained about all the toys that were blocking my way in. Then I complained about how long it took for the water to get warm while my daughter stood freezing next to me. After that, I complained about how foggy the mirror was and I couldn’t see myself clearly (No, I did not complain about that because I keep all my  mirrors spotless so I can always look at my beautiful face). And then it hit me: I complain about everything! I complain about this and I complain about that, without even realizing that I have everything I need. I have money to buy food, stairs that take me up to my heated home, water that magically appears with just the turn of the knob.

All this complaining is making me grumpier than what I usually am. So I decided then and there that every time I complain about something (because who am I kidding, I’ll probably never stop), I’m going to think about at least one thing to be grateful for, like dry shampoo for example, because no one really has time to wash their hair that often.

I ran to tell my husband all about it, but I had to run back to the bathroom and wrap my daughter up in a towel so she wouldn’t freeze. So then I ran back, but then ran back to the bathroom to turn off the running water, seriously people, let’s not waste it. I ran back one more time, but then ran back to the bathroom because my daughter kept screaming that I had wrapped her too tight, fallen on the floor and was wiggling like a worm.

When I finally got to him (sweating and out of breath because clearly I don’t work out at all) and shared with him this life changing epiphany, he looks up and says, “REALLY???” Sarcasm. He owns it.

So I have made myself this list of things to be grateful for that I will be putting up on my refrigerator door to look at every time I lose my sh*t. I was going to wait until November to post this, because you know, Thanksgiving and stuff, but why wait? I’ll just beat everyone to the punch and post this in October.

11 Things I’m Grateful For

My daughters – Not only they’re the sweetest, smartest, best smelling little girls I know (yes, I smell them and they smell like marshmallows and puffy clouds mixed together. No you may not smell them), but they are the source of my never-ending mood swings. I appreciate that because every time they make me angry, they also make me infinitely happy. They make me yell, but they also make me laugh uncontrollably.  They make me question my intelligence every time they ask a question like, “what is a mammal and what’s the difference between them and reptiles?” To what I answer “welllll…..mammals have hairs….I think….oh look, your show is on!” But they also make me smarter because I’ve never googled so much crap as I’ve done in the past 7 years.

My husband – Because I am a moody bitch that never uses the corresponding face with the corresponding emotion and some how he still loves me.

Coffee – The reason I am not currently serving time for murder.  Ok, so maybe I won’t kill you if you talk to me before the caffeine takes over my body, but I will probably attack you.  Thank you coffee for keeping alive all the people I love.

Friends –   Because my husband will never give me an honest answer when I ask him what he thinks about an outfit, or if I still look pretty with these few extra pounds. I don’t know if he’s being sweet or just plain scared. Either way, he’s no good. So that’s when your friends step in. To tell you that outfit looks hideous and that you’re better off just burning it instead of not wearing it.

Chocolate – No need to explain myself. Chocolate.

24 hour healthcare – You know that if your child is going to get sick, it’s going to be in the middle of the night. No way for them to start throwing up a storm, say, I don’t know, 10 a.m.? 2 p.m.?  Any time between 8 a.m. and 5 p.m. would be great kids. Please and thank you.  Nobody wants to leave the house at 2 in the morning when it’s 25 degrees outside (oh yes, it has happened), especially your Caribbean born parents. So thank you, 24 hour urgent care places. We’re all too familiar with you and we hope not to visit you again this winter.

Ancient Persian Riders – Who are they you might ask? They are the geniuses behind high heel shoes, or so says Wikipedia, and of course I trust the Wiki people because they are highly reliable. Having an impressive height of 5-ft tall, you can usually see me wearing high heels, wedges and anything that can lift me off the floor at least one inch, because I am damn tired of having to climb over anything (and that includes people) in order to reach the adult cereal boxes at the store.

Carbs –   Even though there’s an evil hidden in all of them, they are my faithful companion during the long, cold winter days; during my grumpy days; and pretty much during any other day of the year.  Forget ice cream pints or shots of tequila. Nothing makes me feel better than a bowl of white rice (yes, I said white, calm down) or any bread, potato, or anything starchy for that matter. One time a guy broke up with me (the nerve!) and instead of drowning my sorrows in a bottle of vodka, I ate a whole pot of rice.

Razors – No one wants a grizzly bear walking around, and shaving my legs with my husband’s internationally acclaimed, super expensive, extra shiny, professional chef’s knife is a big no-no, and also gross.

‘N Sync – Greatest boy band ever. Do not discuss with me, in my mind they’re still together. Remember that time that guy broke up with me and I cried over a pot of white rice? I was listening to Bye Bye Bye because I don’t wanna be a fool for you, just another player in your game for two…

And finally, let us join our hands together and be grateful for David Beckham’s existence.

 

image via etsy.com

image via etsy.com

What are you grateful for?  If you say sour gummy worms I will love you forever.

I’m on Top Mommy Blog! Please vote for me, just click on the TMB banner on the top right! One click = one vote. Easy Peasy!

what I really wanted to say was…

If you’re on the have a baby, they said blog bandwagon, you’re awesome and also hopefully read my last post on the eternal road trip I had to endure to get to my brother’s wedding in Indiana.  If you’re not on said bandwagon, I’m not going to judge you, but seriously, get on it. And if you’d rather read the newspaper, a book, or the back of a cereal box for that matter than to read my endless, pointless rants, well then you my friend, are one smart cookie.

Anyway, my brother and his wife decided to celebrate their elopement by throwing a pretty amazing party at her parent’s house, which by the way, it’s the most beautiful house I’ve ever seen and Scarlett O’Hara would be totally jealous.

When I got a call from him a couple of months ago telling me about the celebration, my big mouth asked him if he wanted me to say something at the party. He was VERY excited. I would do that for him any day of the week, don’t get me wrong, but the fact that I don’t get drunk anymore (because I’m lame) and would have to do it sober in front of 150 people was giving me panic attacks.

How could I get out of it? I couldn’t, he’s my brother and I had promised him, and then he would not teach my daughter how to swim like I was planning.  Damn it. The sacrifices you make for your children.

Of course, two months pass by and I didn’t write a word because procrastination runs my life. Actually, scratch that, I did write down a few ideas of what I wanted to talk about, but never really got around to putting together a coherent paragraph, not even a sentence. In my mind though, I had the perfect speech, people would fall off their seats laughing and the bride’s parents would fall in love with me, adopt me and offer me a room in their Gone with the Wind house.

I planned on writing it when I got to the hotel the night before, but after an 11 ½ hour road trip, 8 of which were spent watching 2 of my kid’s movies on repeat, I was beat, I couldn’t feel my legs and my brain was fried. So the morning after was my last chance, but then I realized I had left both my daughter’s sweaters at home and hello target! 2 hours later I was back at the hotel getting ready to write and procrastination happened…again.

Fast forward to that night and the bride’s dad gave the best speech ever. In Spanish! I don’t even think he speaks Spanish, he even had his own personal translator (my brother).  People laughed, people cried, how could I ever top that? At least I looked pretty (I hope).

Time for my speech, I was handed the microphone in what seemed to be slow motion, I take it and say:

“I’m not drunk enough to do this.”

Those were the words I chose to introduce myself to my brother’s new family. Not good evening, not Hello, my name is Linda and I’m the groom’s not alcoholic sister. Nothing.

I start to ramble, of course, and then both my daughters decide to stand by me while I disgraced my family join me and mid speech literally grab the microphone from me and start to display their multiple talents, which completely threw me off my train of thought, not that I had one to begin with. I don’t remember much of what I said after that, but it must have been amazing because ONE person laughed.

When it was finally over (again, I would do it over and over. I know you’re reading. I love you.), I sat down and realized I didn’t say what I really wanted to say. I really just wanted to give them both some marriage advice, because being married 9 years obviously makes me an expert.

I wanted to tell her that as soon as they say I DO, men develop a serious case of Selective Hearing. Even when they say they heard you, they didn’t. Whatever it is you want or need, you better get it in writing.

I wanted to tell him that no matter how many times we say nothing is wrong, something is wrong. And you better figure it out and fix it. Fast.

I wanted to tell her that you should praise him every time he completes a chore, like doing laundry or cooking (yes, for some of us, cooking becomes a tedious chore). Give him a kiss or a high-five, whatever you choose. Kinda like giving a puppy a snack when you’re training them.  Get what I’m trying to say here?

I wanted to tell him that he better think twice before asking her if she really needs another pair of shoes.  We ALWAYS need another pair of shoes, as well as boots, jeans or any other item of clothing. Just don’t ever go there.

I wanted to tell her to run as fast as she can every time he gets sick. Because a sick man is like having 6 sick toddlers and 8 teething babies together at the same time. Hire a nurse or call his mother, just run. I’m just kidding, please take care of my brother.

I wanted to tell them both to choose their battles carefully.  Sometimes the dumbest things can start a massive outrage. Remember what happened when The War of the Worlds was narrated on the radio way back when? Same thing can happen if you leave the toilet seat up or you forget to put the leftovers in the fridge (I forget all the time, no worries).

And finally, I wanted to tell you both that you are now part of an equal relationship, neither of you should wear the pants in your marriage. Seriously, no one should wear pants, its way more fun that way, until you have kids of course, then it would just be weird. Put some pants on!

that one time I had dinner with 35 foodies

I’ve said it a million times, and I’ll say it again: I am a disaster when it comes to anything that involves making food. I love to eat, don’t get me wrong, maybe a little too much actually, the problem is I can’t cook, I get annoyed reading food labels, I don’t know if 500 calories for a bagel is ridiculous or not, I can’t tell the difference between parsley and cilantro and I’m not entirely sure what a Rutabaga is, and I had to Google the correct spelling for it. I’m not proud of this trust me, I’m still working on it.  The fact that I married a chef is a huge deal for me, because I went from eating Ramen Noodles to eating fresh homemade pasta. Score.

After 10 years of being married to this guy, I’ve learned a thing or two in the kitchen, that doesn’t mean I like it now, it just means that I won’t starve to death when he’s not around. So when my husband told me that we were invited to one of his friend’s house for dinner, along with around 35 other chefs and foodies my heart immediately stopped.  Putting aside the fact that I didn’t know ANYONE at this dinner, I knew the only topic of conversation was going to be about food, something I know nothing about, except how to eat it.

I tried binge watching the Food Network Channel a few days before to see if maybe I could learn some of the lingo and not look like a complete idiot, but I couldn’t do it. I got so anxious watching these people trying to make a gourmet entrée using only a tub of peanut butter, an orange peel and a potato.  I also tried reading some of my husband’s books, I fell asleep. I tried getting him to give me a quick crash course, but it wasn’t quick, it involved charts and homework, so I told him I had to do the neighbor’s laundry and ran away.

My only hope was that maybe another lost wife was going to be there too,  maybe we would bond over our culinary ignorance, maybe we would talk about kids, maybe we would talk about shoes, maybe we would become bff’s. I was getting excited about meeting my new imaginary best friend and so was my husband, he had noticed me having all these pretend adult conversations with myself and frankly, I was starting to look like a mental person.

We got there and were received by 30 something people. I knew no one. I clenched my husband’s hand, but of course, he soon exchanged it for a glass of wine.  I looked around and did not see another lost wife like me, everyone knew each other.

After what seemed hours of following my husband around like a lost puppy mingling, we sat down and waited for the first course, in the meantime, everyone was talking about food, and ingredients, and techniques, and foam, and liquid nitrogen*(apparently, the super cool use it to cook) and that chef that was the underdog and now is super famous. All gibberish to me.

I had nothing to say.

First course came out, everyone whipped out their cameras and started snapping pictures, I followed. I don’t even know why, but everyone was doing it. One hour later we were on our fourth course. I kept thinking about my daughters, hoping  the little one would start crying so much that my father in-law would have no other option but to call me. No calls. 5th course…no calls.

Me: “So dessert is next? This is our 5th plate of food, I don’t think I can eat anymore.”

Husband: “It’s fifteen courses, desserts (as in more than one) come after.”

Fifteen courses. FIFTEEN.

I wasn’t sure I was going to make it all the way to the last course, but everything was so good I just kept eating and eating. With so much food around me and my non-stop eating, there was no time to join in the conversation even if I tried. They will ever know how much I don’t know.

I hear ya!

I hear ya!

We made it to the 9th course before my father in-law really called in a panic. The baby had woken up and wouldn’t stop crying. We had to leave early and I asked my husband if it was too tacky to ask for take out. He rolled his eyes and we left.

Next time I’ll be sure to be well prepared, I’ll study the charts and do the homework, learn the lingo and even practice some recipes of my own. I promise.

P.S.  Thank you to all the chefs and cooks out there (specially my hubby and his friends), who dedicate their days cooking AMAZING dishes. Thank you for sharing your passion and art.

* I had actually written dry ice but my husband had a mini heart attack and quickly corrected me.

#becausefútbol

photo

I feel like everyone and their mother has something to say about soccer fútbol these days, so of course, I’m not going to be the only one not saying anything!

I’ve never  been a soccer fan, I don’t know the rules or the names of most of the players, all I know is that the team that scores the most goals wins, so obviously I’m not confident enough to carry on a conversation with anyone that knows more than me, basically I can only talk about it with my daughters, and most of the time I’m just making stuff up because they have no idea either and believe everything I say.  But when my country (GO COLOMBIA!!!) is rocking  the World Cup after 16 years of not qualifying, emotions are bound to take over my body and I turn into their #1 fan, that, and I suddenly start developing a serious case of Tourette’s. I don’t think I’ve ever cursed so much and so loud since the last time I went on a roller coaster and my shoulder got dislocated. While my mom  is (decently) calming her nerves by praying to every single saint out there, with every single rosary she owns and every single cross she has (and of course she has to cross ALL her fingers because if not we will lose), I on the other hand am cursing like a sailor in front of my kids and don’t even care.  Do you know what HIJUEPUTA means? It means SON OF A B…and I’ve been screaming it at the top of my lungs for the past 40 minutes because why the hell haven’t we scored yet? Not my proudest moment as a parent. My 6 year old covers her ears because “oh my gosh you’re so loud and you’re not making any sense!”, at least I don’t think she understands what my perfectly pronounced spanish curse words mean and as long as she doesn’t repeat them in front of my husband I should be fine. As much as I try to control my emotions, I just can’t control my language. I don’t know where these words are coming from! I swear my parents raised me right. It’s like the spirit of profanity possesses me or something. And after the games are over I look at my innocent daughters and think oh lord what have I done? They’re going to grow up to be trucker princesses.

She watched the whole game like this. Also, please notice how she's wearing a rosary on her wrist AND around her neck.

She watched the whole game like this. Lets all appreciate how she’s wearing a rosary on her wrist AND around her neck. Cuteness overload.

I don’t know how my heart has managed so much stress lately too. It works over time on every game, I think it’s getting all the cardio its been missing for the past  months, add to that sweaty palms, panic attacks, pulling my hair, nervous tics, anxiety…all of it. Apparently I growl too. Also, my kids have been taking care of themselves, making their own lunches and snacks, I almost let my oldest one drive her sister to the park the other day. She’s 6. No time to be a responsible parent, Colombia needs all of my attention and good vibes.

Pray I don’t have a heart attack or completly neglect my daughters on our next game, which by the way is on the 4th of July, so I will be either celebrating Colombia’s victory and our Independence Day or I will be crying and celebrating our Independence Day because hello USA rocks too!

Let’s hope my mom doesn’t forget to cross ALL her fingers.

can-stock-photo_csp10769064

Can someone please make this flag for me?

 

 

 

I hate/I love

My husband and I recently celebrated our 9th wedding anniversary. I forgot, he forgot, we all forgot, so it wasn’t much of a celebration anyway, but I did do a little happy dance the morning after when I actually remembered, because we have made it 9 plus years (if you count 200 years of dating) through a lot of ups and downs, mostly up….4 flights of stairs in our elevator-less building. There are a lot of things he does that I hate and love, yes, I know hate is a strong word, but if you seriously tell me that there is nothing your husband or wife does that you don’t hate then you’re straight up lying. And I know I drive him crazy too but we’re not talking about me…

I hate that you “accidentally” gave away 2!!!! of my favorite boots because you thought they were for donation just because they were sitting in my trunk for 4 months. I WAS going to get them resoled eventually.

I love that thanks to you, hopefully a very well deserved woman (or two) is walking around with a very stylish pair of boots.

I hate that you threw my favorite black bra in the washer and it came out in 2 pieces. That mesh bag is not ON TOP of the washer for decoration purposes…just an FYI.

I love that you actually did laundry without even having to ask you. Bonus: I love that you now have to see me in my other favorite bra…no, not the pretty lace ones, the nude colored one. Not that sexy huh??

I hate that you left your VERY WELL paid, AMAZING hours as an office manager to go to culinary school.

I love that you dared to follow your dreams and that I now have a professional chef cook for me…for free ;)

I hate that you leave at 4:30 am and I don’t get to see you in the mornings anymore.

I love that you don’t care that its 4:30 am, because you’re ecstatic to go cook for the next 14 hours. Bonus: I love that since you don’t see me dressed for work, I can sneak in new clothes without you knowing I went shopping ;)

I hate that even though you leave before the roosters even wake up you still come home past 8 pm.

I love that you rush home every night just to try to catch your daughters awake.

I hate that sometimes you come home past 8 pm and the girls are already sleeping.

I love that sometimes you come home past 8 pm and the girls are already sleeping….and we get at least 20 minutes of silence, just the two of us…before I obviously pass out.

I hate that you’re not at all afraid of my death stare when I’m mad at you.

I love that you’re not at all afraid of my death stare when I’m mad at you.

I hate that you turn yourself into a 6 year old boy when you’re playing with the girls and jump on the bed with them while I panic and try to catch them every time they fall. Also when you wrestle. They are NOT made of rubber!

I love that you play with them as if they were boys, because not everything can be princesses and glitter, especially when I keep finding it up their noses. Bonus: I love that you know all the names of their My Little Ponies and that you make girly voices when you’re playing barbies.

I hate that you’re not honest when I ask you if the 5 extra pounds I have gained make me look ugly.

I love that you pretend not to notice my weight gain. Probably because you know it will make me cry, laugh and scream all at the same time. And I already know you avoid me like the plague every time I get my period and cry, laugh and scream for no apparent reason.

Sorry I forgot our anniversary, that’s why I’m writing you this post. I’m sure you’re sorry you forgot too and that’s why you’re taking me shopping.

photo

preach