Happy Father's Day

Dear Chris,

First off, can I just apologize to you that I couldn't think of a single gift that would cost .20 cents?  I don't even think that gets you a Fun Size candy bar.  I almost stole some money from the kid's college fund money (you know, the one full of pennies), but I again am stealing internet from the neighbors to write this, so I felt another sin was too much to bear.  Unfortunately, this is my gift to you.  And if it's the thought that counts, then hopefully you will consider this letter the equivalent to a trip to Hawaii. 
Or tickets to a Mariner game. 
Or just a couple of freakin kid-free minutes to watch an entire Mariner game on HDTV. 
Or maybe just a cold beer to drink while the kids are screaming. 
Wow, the bar really isn't that high these days, is it? 

WARNING-  I'm about to get emotional all over your ass buns.

I think I had an idea of how great of a dad you would be on our first date nearly 10 years ago.  You took me to a baseball field late at night and stood on second base.  The way that you looked around the field....I think I loved you that exact moment.  I can't explain why that was the moment, but maybe I understand it now.  Could it have been that the love you felt for the game of baseball was just a glimpse of how much passion you would bring to my boys?  I think about that moment a lot.  Every time Justin comes tearing around the corner yelling "Dad! Dad! Will you teach me baseball?  Can we play catch in the front yard?", my heart explodes with joy.  Because you are the kind of dad where I know with certainty that the dreams of my boys are going to come true.  Justin and Chase are going to get a resounding "For sure, little man" every single time.  Not only will you show up, but you will love every single moment.  And when that those little boys comes inside, they will know that you loved every moment too. 

There are other moments too.  When you come home, you have no idea how the children respond.  They stop everything they are doing, shout "Daddy's home! Daddy's home!" and sprint for the door.  Adelai is always last, but it most certainly is not for lack of glee.  Much to my delight, she has become a Daddy's Girl, through and through. You light up her life.  Her biggest smiles come from the mere glimpse of you, and I can't help but love you all over again. 

Watching you be a dad has added so many layers to my affection for you.  And maybe the most simplest way to explain it comes from my knowledge of your integrity.  I look at my babies and I know to the depth of my core that you will never leave them.  I know that my daughter will never know what it's like to miss her daddy.  I know that my sons will grow up with the knowledge that a man stays, regardless of circumstance.  I don't know what circumstances lie ahead, but I know you. My bet is on you. You will stay, because you are you, and that's what you do. 

That was all really nice to say, but here is what I really want to express to you on this Father's Day. 

I'm so desperately glad that you are the father of my children because I know that as they continue to figure out who God is, the revelation of God the Father will be a reassurance to them, and not a hindrance.  They will understand that God is patient, and God is loving.  He is steadfast and desires above all to provide for His beloved.  He is a protector and will fight for them.  He is a shield and He will sacrifice with joy for them.  And it is from a heart of passionate love. 

Roughly 10 years ago, I loved you a lot.  But now, as I have the privilege to share a family with you, I can't really even express it in words anymore.  You are more than I ever could have hoped for, and I'm so proud to be your wife. 

Happy Father's Day.
Love you. 

She's Not that Innocent

This blog title is two-fold.

1) I just stole internet from my neighbor to write this blog.  That's a first for me.  I'm a criminal...but let's face it.  It was a long time coming.  They have these two small dogs that bark in tandem so that the result is one continuous bark that makes me want to go over there and pound on the door one of these times.  SERIOUSLY?  Who wants two small dogs anyway?  And if you want them so bad, let them out of the garage.  We want our giant dog Ringer to be quiet so bad that we let him sleep on our bed, under the covers.  Get desperate, people.  So I stole your internet.  Sorry 'bout that.

2) We are also talking about our gorgeous girl with the crooked teeth smile and the double dimples that make you want to give her knives and other sharp objects just because she looked at them fondly.  Oh, really?  You want to take out every single silverware out of the dishwasher and throw them all over the kitchen? Okay. 




Adelai is almost 14 months old, and she's recently developed a mental illness.  It's no use denying it, since I have the degree to prove it.  Adelai has PICA.  I'm not sure that all letters should be capitalized, but when you are eating completely strange things on a repeated basis for a substantial amount of time, I think the name of the disorder is probably worthy of all caps.   
So.  In the last week, Adelai has ingested

•  a significant portion of several (at least 4?) Nerf balls
• 3+ crayons
• a portion of a plastic fork

Now, if you have never housed 2 young boys for a significant amount of time, you are probably wondering why Chris and I didn't just remove all of the Nerf balls in the house.  That's an excellent question.  One worthy of explanation to you, as well as the DHS caseworker that is no doubt headed my way since I disclosed above that I'm a criminal and that my child is totally out of control. 

The answer is actually quite simple.  If you had come to my door 2 weeks ago and asked to borrow a Nerf ball, I would have looked a bit puzzled and stated "I'm not sure if we have one.  Let me look around.  Probably not though."

But Adie has found at least five.  FIVE.  TO EAT.  LIKE A CRAZY PERSON. 
Of course I grabbed all the balls out of her hand.  But she kept finding more.  It's like the boys have a stockpile of stuff that I probably don't even realize.  And Chris and I are out-numbered.

Then I had this really ridiculous thought the next day.  I didn't want to throw away these perfectly good balls (except for the significant chunks of missing foam stuff out the side), because it was probably just a fluke, right?

Wrong.  I saw her in the playroom the very next day.  She spotted the ball from across the room.  Romantic music began to play and everything became slow motion as she gleefully charged the ball and immediately took a big bite out of it.  The following day, Chris told me that Adelai came walking up to him with puffed out cheeks; when he pushed on her cheeks, chunks of Nerf ball fell out and she laughed hysterically. 

So the Garlands can no longer own Nerf balls, thanks to crazy Adie and her addiction to eating foam.  Makes me want to pull her aside and whisper "Adelai.  We already have a crazy person in the house.  Please stop competing.  Justin will not lose, baby girl."

And a quick note about the eating of the plastic fork.  This also sounds like remarkably poor parenting on my part.  For the record, she was sitting on my lap and I was talking with several adult women.  Not a single person noticed that she was eating a fork until a lovely girl pointed out that part of the fork was missing.  And yes, in fact, one of the prongs was missing and never was to be seen again.  Can this really be my responsibility?  I've never had to instruct my children that forks are not part of the meal.  Who saw that coming?

So back to the Nerf ball.  She ate chunks out of all those balls on the same day that she ate at least two crayons.  So naturally I thought she was probably going to die and called the doctor's office.  The nurse put me on hold three times.  Obviously they have not received this particular concern  very often.  She said, super slow..."Okay....so..your 13 month old...ate...how many Nerf balls again?" She then went directly to the doctor (a first for the Garland home with a triage nurse) and told us to call poison control. 

And hey, guess what?  I have that number memorized.  So depressing. 

So I called poison control, and the lady BURST OUT LAUGHING FOR AT LEAST TWO MINUTES. 
Not joking. 
She was actually really nice, but seriously. She calmed herself, apologized and said  "She's going to be just fine.  Neither are toxic and both will come out exactly how they came in, so you're in for some interesting diapers, sweetheart."
Then she seemed remarkably careful to ask for my zip code, reassuring me that none of the calls get reported.  Clearly she thought I was no longer in the running for Mother of 2011 Award. 
"Oh, and Jess?  You should memorize this number because I'm sure we'll be talking again."
"Actually, I already have your number memorized because I have a wild three year old who is trying to make me crazy, one day at a time."
"Oh sweetie.  Now you have two."

Crap.