Happy Father's Day!

I spent the better part of last week home on the couch, resting my eyes after Lasek surgery. (More on the later, but the good news is I can sort of see to type this blog post.)

Anyway, all my favorite friends from the Today Show were running a special series called "Modern Dads" in advance of Father's Day. It was all very cool and hip--with Willie, Al, Carson and Matt going fishing and drinking beers, talking all mushy about their dads, what they've done differently and what it's like to be a "Modern Dad."

They reminisced about how their fathers did not change diapers. Or clean. Or do dishes. Or show affection. Or pretty much do ANYTHING other than work and "be the man" of the household.

Let me just say right here and now that I hope this "Modern Dad" thing is a trend and that all women can experience the awesomeness that is a true and equal partner in every sense of the word. I can promise you that if Joe didn't change diapers Harper would be sitting in a lot of pee. And if he didn't do dishes we'd use paper plates. And if he didn't hug and kiss our children, they would not be the happy little clams that they are.

In every sense of the word. Joe is the glue that holds my shit together. That is very real, and although I'm probably not very great at showing it all the time, it is my truth...and I cherish him for it.

I have what some consider that rare gem of a "Modern Dad." He cooks. He cleans. He changes diapers. He romances me. He cuddles our babies. Basically, he does All The Things. In stark contrast, I order pizza, pay someone else to clean and 90% of the time lovingly convince him it's "his turn" for the poopy diapers. I'm chaotic, moody, messy and a little bit crazy, but he doesn't seem to mind.

What I'm trying to say ever so eloquently is that today is Joey Day. He's a wonderful father and husband who is "in it to win it" with me. In every sense of the word, we are partners and I'm so thankful.

I'd also be remiss today to not mention the wonderful man that is my OWN father. In an era where the "Modern Dad" was probably not as prevalent, I had the privilege having a Dad who didn't flinch when I asked him to carry a tampon in his coat jacket for me, or to hug and kiss me goodbye as I went off to school. To this day, he's very much the bar I hold all other men to...and that's a relatively high achievement for anyone!

So, cheers to you, Modern Dads everywhere! Thanks for rolling into the 20th Century. We appreciate you!

Dear Dad:

Thanks for the premature greys. Not.

Dear Harper: Please don't arrive prior to Saturday (aka hair appointment day). Momma doesn't want to look a mess in the hospital.

P.S. - Isn't my cell cover the cutest?!?

A sentimental journey.

My mom was taking a walk down memory lane (see also: probably a hot mess on her living room floor) the other day and started texting me pictures of pictures of the day I was born. A little unorthodox, sure...and crazy to think Alex & Harper will just have to look at Shutterfly, Facebook or my Instagram feed to see their lives from the very beginning, while I have to haul out 75 lbs. of peel-and-stick, 3 ring, leather-bound old school photo albums.

Anyway, the pics were too cute NOT to share, and it'll be fun to see how much Harper looks like me.

Mom on Dec.7, 1982.

Welcome to the world, self.

"Oh, hey dere."

Kelli holding me.

ABOUT my Dad's tracksuit. And glasses. And beard. #sexy

Cousins, reunited.

The Turners were in town for a whirlwind weekend that included a family wedding and a *surprise* sprinkle for Miss Harper - more on that awesomeness later.

In the meantime while I get caught up on the 436,823,003,665 pictures on my camera and phone, here are a few sweet shots of the boys for you to swoon over.

Hump day, bump day (& an anniversary)!

bV is the size of a grapefruit!
At about 10.5 to 11.8 inches and about 12.7 to 20.8 ounces, baby's not just getting bigger, she's getting even cuter.

bV at 23 weeks: 
She's forming little nipples (yeah, really!) Her face is fully formed now -- she just needs a little extra fat to fill it out. She's listening to your voice and your heartbeat -- and even to loud sounds like cars honking and dogs barking. (& her brother telling her stories - more on that tomorrow!)
via thebump.com

In semi-related news, today is my Mom and Dad's 37th wedding anniversary. Listen, 37 years is a long ass time. I don't even know that I will like myself in 37 years. What I'm saying is that they're awesome -- a genuinely amazing example of love, marriage and all the hard work (and fun!) it takes to make it on this crazy adventure we call marriage.

And for the record? They're still as weirdly perfect together as ever. Dad's hair has gotten significantly (ahem) lighter and Mom's is significantly (ahem) chemically enhanced...but they're still the same lovebirds! Just with a few more years behind them, a few more grandbabies to brag about, and lots more adventures to still have!

The khaki one's connected to the....yellow one?

I often take to this blog to mock my Father--for whom I have great respect and admiration, mind you. He's just an easy target.

So imagine my gleeful delight when, on my last trip home, I found this little gem adhered to the dresser in what is now the guest room & formerly Kyle's room where he was fondly known to wipe his boogers on the wall as a youth. (Dad isn't my only target, people.)

Otherwise known as blog fodder GOLD, this is a real life "how to get dressed and match your clothes together" cheat sheet handwritten by my Mother for my 59 year old Father. I assure you this is all very real and I'm not making a minute of it up. My life practically writes itself.

My personal favorite is that between the two of them, they lovingly refer to it as his "Grammi-mals" sheet. Get it? Like Garanimals + Grammi (my Mom's Grandma name)? It's like they don't even need me for this stuff anymore.

The Grammi-mals paper literally lists all of his dress pants by color and the corresponding shade of shirts AND tie patterns that can and cannot be worn with each pant. If memory serves it also lists proper footwear and belt color, as well. I...I...I...I don't even know where else to go with this.

It is my new favorite of all time, and I have asked that it be willed to me upon their passing. Honestly, it's all I want.

Happy birthday, Poppi!

Note: this was scheduled to post on March 13, but blogger done screwed it up. So, it's nearly a week late, but happy FIFTY NINTH birthday, Poppi!

Moments.

Like anyone else, my days are made up of little moments all strung together to make a bigger picture. Sometimes, I think we all look past the little and ordinary things, expecting greatness to come only from the biggest, loudest moments.

Lately, I've been trying really hard to quietly be more appreciative of the little things. More specifically, how they collectively fit into the bigger picture and shape my life, my moments, my memories. Like these:

"Here, Poppi. I will help you with your zippers."

I've become quite the Mommy expert in GeoTrax building, thankyouverymuch.

"Two dudes, doin' dude teeth brushing."

Evening snuggles are the best!

He was telling Aunt Jane about pudding on Monday, so on the way home he asked if we could make some that night. How do you tell this face no? So of COURSE we made pudding and it was YUM.

Sledding fun!

This weekend we had a little winter fun with Grammi, Poppi and Uncle Kyle.

In related news, I was almost beheaded by a fence, Mom has a bruise on her hip that looks like the state of Texas, and Uncle Kyle had to visit the chiropractor yesterday. We're a mess.

And also? Poppi is a sex machine in his Carharts and subtle orange hat. The safety glasses clearly complete the look.

See also: I'm officially out of the will.

Father/daughter bonding.

In a rather unconventional twist, Dad and I had a little date last weekend. We didn't go to a Daddy/daughter dance. We didn't go to shoot pool, or even shopping.

We shot guns.

First, let me say that this was MY idea. It was part of his Father's Day gift, it just took us forever to actually go do it. Partially because we are busy people, and partially because I was legitimately scared shitless. I hate guns. I'd never held one, shot one, or even HEARD one shot in real life from "up close." And for the record? It's nothing like the movies.

We got the world's fastest lesson and safety update from the folks at the range. It's the largest (and safest) in Michigan, so I figured we'd get more than "Here's how to load it. Don't aim it at people. Wear these goggles and ear protection. And have a nice day." But legitimately, that's what we got.

Terrified, we headed into lane 2 and got our inner badasses on. We were totally out of our element and surrounded by people who clearly knew we didn't belong. But this was a lesson on empowerment and bravery, and I wanted to conquer my fears. So, like any good actress slash drama queen, I pretended like I owned the place.

However, I'm not exaggerating when I say that it took me probably 45 seconds holding the 9mm handgun in the air, pointed at the fake robber target just 25 feet away, finger trembling on the trigger, to actually fire the thing.

But then I did.

And you know what? It wasn't scary. It was actually very....impressive. To know your own strength, and the power of something so small, but so capable of changing the world in an instant, is something very powerful.

I'm still not a fan of guns. But I am a fan of my own power and willingness to embrace a fear and learn something new.

Oh, and bonding with the ol' man was a definite perk.

Happy birthday, Poppi!

Today my Dad is approximately 8 trillion years old. Or something like that.

I'd like to think that I keep him young, but judging from his own wedding picture to mine, I'd say I've contributed to exactly the opposite..

1976

2007

In other news, aren't his chops the BOMB? And how about that white suit, eh? Hot to trot, that's what I say! Also? I look exactly like my mother, and I love that.

And for the obligatory birthday song, sung by a very sleepy almost 3-year-old at about 7 this morning (And yes, that's Joey brushing his toofers in the background. We multitask at our house.):



Happy birthday, Dad! I love you!

Every day I'm shovelin'...

This weekend we went "up north" to stay with Grammi and Poppi. Alex took the opportunity to be super helpful and assist Poppi with shoveling the snow. It should be noted that my Dad does not, in fact, shovel this entire driveway. Snowblowers abound!

They went for a sled ride...

And made snow angels for Grammi...

Alas, I think this marks the last snow of the season, but I'm not complaining! That just means we're one step closer to breaking ground on the new house. In related news, our basement is starting to look like an episode of furniture hoarders. Which is fiiiiiine.

Born In A Barn.

Joey was on a fishing trip with his Fraternity Brothers this weekend, so Alex and I spent the weekend with Poppi, Uncle Kyle and Aunt Jill. (Grammi is currently in Connecticut with Kelli and David.)

Anyway, we had a super-dee-duper time. Oh, and when I say I grew up in the middle of a cornfield, I'm not kidding -- and Alex got a little taste of Momma's roots over the weekend.

Walking down the driveway.
Yep! That's where I grew up!

He's a farm boy at heart.
Couldn't get enough of the tractor rides.

Look closely - you'll see an Alex and an Uncle
Kyle walking to a playground by Great Grandpa's
house. Fun fact - that big church in the background is
where my Mom and Dad were married.

We also went to the twilight balloon fest in Midland.
SO freakin' cool.

This was my favorite balloon.

Poppi and Alex watching the balloons.
Poppi also may or may not have fed Alex
most of an elephant ear. I'm just sayin'...

In related news, Alex received his Mensa certification over the weekend. When you ask him, "Alex, what does a turkey say?" He will reply clear as day with a "Gobble, gobble." And when asked about a cow, you'll get a "Mmmmoooo" in response. I die every. single. time. Videos soon, promise.

Poppi: The Awake Version.

I received a vewwy interesting phone call from my Dad yesterday. It seemed his course of action was to file a formal complaint with the PR folks 'round here regarding the manner in which he's been portrayed on this little bliggity blog.

Apparently, he's sleeping in every picture I've ever posted. Here's his formal rebuttal:

And you wonder where I get my writing skills?

Upon looking back through the archives, it would appear he is correct. So, in an effort to remedy the situation and prove to you all that my Dad, in fact, spends most of his days as an awake, alive and functioning member of society, I give you this:

Dad and Gramps chillin' at a Loons game. AWAKE.

Dad and Kyle at a Tigers game. Also AWAKE.

With yours truly at my wedding. AWAKE and dancing!

Attempting a racing victory @ Alex's first birthday party.

Notably, AWAKE and driving.
Kelli pictured at left attempting to save Alex's little life.

With my Mom, somewhere. I wish I had his blue eyes...

which are AWAKE in this picture.

Again, with the Momma. And AWAKE.

And lookin' fine, if I do say so mah-self.

So there you have it. My Dad does not sleep all the time. And when he does? He snores. Probably wasn't authorized to tell you that. I should buckle up for another phone call, I suppose.

Oh, and for what it's worth, his middle name isn't really "Dentist." It's Dennis. For most of my childhood (read: until I was 14) I honestly thought it was Dentist, and will never live it down.

Windy City Shenanigans.

Hi, childrens! Didya miss me? Didn't even notice I was gone? Hmmphhh.

Anyway, Joey and I have been away on a lovecation in le Windy City, celebrating three years of awesomeness.

It was glorious. Just the escape we needed. I shall review all of our adventures soon (hold onto your seats for the one about meeting Art Smith and me subsequently spewing spiked southern tea all over myself). In the meantime, please die over this adorable picture of Alex snoozing away with his Poppi, aka my Dad, for the new kids.

Like Mother, Like Son.

I love sleeping. It is far and away my favorite pasttime, and it's something I do rather well if I do say so myself.

So it should come as no surprise that my spawn is also a gold medalist in sleeping. 2 points for the current event reference. Here are some recent shots of him doing what he does best:

Cashed out in Daddy's chair with his favorite fishie.

Al bundy pose courtesy of Joe, who was certain

it was the funniest thing, ever.

Zonked on the floor. Rear in the air = favorite pose.

Sleeping peacefully in his crib. Yes, he sleeps with blankets AND there is a bumper in his crib. *gasp* If you look carefully you will also see Mr. WIPpo and his glow worm. Don't judge.

Seriously. This is how Joe found him on Saturday morning.

It doesn't look comfortable, but to each his own, right?

And finally, resting peacfully with Poppi during the Super Bowl.