Tuesday, September 16, 2014


It's a neat feeling to be able to remember the day your brother-in-law was born. It's an even better feeling to be able to remember the days your brothers-in-law were born. With Johnny, I remember sitting in my French Literature class with my cell phone on my desk hidden behind the top of the back of the chair in front of me. Le Chevelier au lion this, Lancelot that (I despise that story though ...), je ne sais pas this, WHY ISN'T MY PHONE LIGHTING UP WITH A TEXT?? that. With Ciaran, we were all in San Diego winding down after a 46 person (with only four families) Boxing Day dinner. I was crocheting a scarf for my sister-in-law when I got a text from my mother-in-law that the baby was going to be born that day. Oh happy day! The rest of the day was a bit chaotic and is a tale for another time, but this happened:
Brother/godfather Chris, nephew Ryan, Uncle Ciaran
I love that now both Geena and Becca are Harrington wives!

and one more was joyfully squeezed into this family.

People are normally very surprised when I share that Ryan has an uncle who is younger than he is. Some are kind of frightened at the thought, but for most, the surprise is a good one. A question I get pretty often is, "So ... what's it like since your mother-in-law has both children and grandchildren the same age?"
First grandchild's first trip to the beach and your twelfth child in your belly.
Well, I wouldn't have it any other way. She has given my children playmates. Playmates! Uncles your age are worth a hefty amount of don't-tell-your-parents-its-between-us ice cream cones and candy. My generous parents give our kids plenty of doting and spoiling. 

I've done a lot of reflecting on the abundant familial setting we are blessed to be in since we did just spend three out of four weeks together so I'll delve deeper than the obvious uncles as best friends gift. 
Conor, Johnny, Ciaran and Ryan

Johnny and Ryan

Ciaran and Ryan

How has my mother-in-law spoiled her grandsons while having little ones herself besides buying a tub of cream cheese just for Ryan and hiding it in the fridge for him? 

She has given our boys an infinitely more confident and comfortable mother in me by being my first mom friend. 

When I was pregnant with Ryan, I knew one person my age who was also expecting, and she lived states away. No one that I was personally close with had been pregnant recently. I had no one to turn to but the internet and all of its cRaZy forums to lurk.  Eventually I found a different forum that used capitalization and spelled correctly, but it kind of made me feel discouraged that I wouldn't find parents to relate to. Someone posted, "I would love to roast a turkey tomorrow for Thanksgiving, but we don't have childcare tomorrow." OooooOoooO went my eyes. I hadn't found the blogs that are great instant shots of parenting espresso and solidarity yet. And as wonderful Chris is at listening to my rambling, he ain't ever gonna know what it's like to be pregnant.

It would have been a very isolating time if I didn't have my mother-in-law to text and call to chat her ear off. She had just been pregnant! Johnny was not even two yet. And she had given birth eleven times in every possible scenario. I just remembered that she called me before Christmas asking if I wanted her to have David spend Christmas with us so we could have some family close and so my one-week-from-my-due-date self wouldn't have to cook anything. Gosh, I'm crying just thinking about that now that I have Ryan and Conor because I can recognize the sacrifice! She was going to send her son to be with us. I'm going to bawl my eyes out when I don't get to spend Christmas with my sons, but she was willing to sacrifice a Christmas with him for our sake. (I refused to let it happen though :) We had chili for Christmas, ha!).

The best part is that with all of the experience and knowledge from parenting twelve different souls, you would think that she would at least some of the time act like she knows everything. No. She waits to be asked for advice. I've come to know this even more as we went from parenting in the womb to parenting stubborn boys.  She is never high and mighty. She is the most humble and most real friend that you could ever have, and she gives just what a new mom needs and craves, a steaming hot cup of solidarity and understanding. I wish we could sit down for a cup of coffee together, but let's be honest - it would last two minutes and later in the day we would find our room temperature mugs long forgotten in the microwave. 
Johnny's Baptism. I was flipping out on the inside because they asked me to be in the photo, and we weren't even engaged yet!

With baby Johnny and toddler Molly

She let me see raw motherhood with a newborn. When Ciaran was born, I went out to help for a week. Now, when Johnny was born, Chris, David and I went to visit and "help" for a week, but I was completely clueless as to how much a mother needs. This time, I was ready to make all the meals! Chauffeur all the kids! Check all the homework! Bake all the lactation cookies! Fill all the glasses with wine! I was a mom now! I was going to be helpful!

I was floored by how much my mothering was helped a thousandfold. Didn't I have this down? It was humbling to see that I still had (have) so much to learn. My mother-in-law was nursing around the clock because she had trouble with her supply since she was twenty-sevens years into this whole nursing business. She was so overjoyed that nursing so much had allowed her to have more than enough milk that she actually let down, unlike her most recent pregnancies. The house was crazy and full of young and LOUD life, the baby was crying, her shirt was soaked and and yet she answered the door when someone rang the doorbell. I was stunned. My new mother self was still embarrassed if I had to nurse Ryan, and here she was just going about daily life, soaked shirt and all.  It really is perhaps the most beautiful memory I'll have of her.  She was just mothering, and she was my friend enough to let me witness that.

The person my sons call Oma not only gives them playmates, she has given their mom a friend from the start and thus, a whole lot more sanity and a whole lot more direction in this crazy vocation. I cringe at myself so much throughout the day, but I can't imagine what I would be like for my children without her wisdom, love and hearing her say, "Okay, Katrina, they're climbing up my legs!"

Love you, Mom. Sorry for embarrassing you with this post. You can send your kids to me. 

Monday, September 15, 2014

Bathtubs and Little Hands

A few months ago, well I really can't remember when exactly, Chris and I watched The Tree of Life. Chris knew it was a Terrance Malick film, but I can barely remember movie titles let alone director names so the meaning of that escaped me. My friend, Kathryn, wrote a beautiful post about the movie here. I could never compose anything that compares to her writing so go ahead and click on over there to read about the movie if you care to have a better description than: it was very thought provoking, and it had gorgeous imagery. I may have the capacity to check a few boxes to set up a blog, but a movie critic, I am not!

Part of the beginning of the story is told through scenes of the mother's memories of her children. The image that has perhaps moved me the most came from a short scene of the first born son taking a bath as a toddler. There is a close-up of his little hands grabbing the side of the bathtub. I was struck with tears, which doesn't normally make a scene noteworthy by my standards, but its steadfast hold in the forefront of my mind makes it just that.

The everyday quality of that image, little hands grabbing the side of the bathtub, grabbed my heart. I knew memories of my little boys' hands splashing could so easily slip through the cracks between the easily remembered first days of school, graduations and weddings. It was a challenge of sorts. Hey, Katrina! Look past your view of bath time as the long awaited gateway to bedtime! Remember those short, stubby fingers!

It was a much needed challenge, reminder, whatever I'll call it. I'm going to try to write more about the ordinary moments. The ones where things are not necessarily a struggle or fantastic. The ones that are easy to forget. The ones that are, at times, so boring it's a little sweet. After all, this blog's name does come from St. Thérèse of Lisieux's quote, "The sun shines equally on both the cedars and on every tiny flower." I'm don't want to sugarcoat them, although it's me so flowery descriptions will inevitably find ways to sprout up. Sorry! But really, I don't want to make the ordinary extraordinary. I just want to see the glory in the ordinary, if that makes sense. I just want to be able to look back and read about those terribly normal moments. 

So here is my first whack at it. This past Saturday morning was greatly ordinary.
Saturday, September 13, 2014

The morning did start out a little rough with cries coming from the baby awoken by his brother that so desperately needs sleep, but who inconveniently so detests sleep. For once, my phone wasn't within arms reach and like the millenial that I am, our bedroom lacks a working clock. Judging from the light starting to seep through the slits of the blinds and into our room, I knew that soon enough the clock in their room would turn green, and Ryan would burst out of that room like a whole barrel of marshmallows lay on the other side. Hot chocolate and marshmallows have replaced popsicles as the bribe of the day to get us home after our daily walks to campus. But really, being awake at a wee hour is a barrel of marshmallows for that kid. I suppose he was born at 4:58am.

I decided to hop to it and made my tally for being out of bed before the kids woke me up two and a half for the week - a record as of late. Today I only get a half because Conor was the rooster's crow this morning, and I fervently hope that one day I'll have the discipline to not have my children be alarm clocks. I think if I squint I can see that day on the horizon, but there seems to be mountain blocking my path, a mountain called Must Go to Bed at a Decent Hour. Brushing my teeth was the only thing I was able to check off my list before Ryan came bounding out of their room, "MOM! The c-wock is green!"  All of his energy was channeled into a squeezer of a hug around my legs. I plucked the babe out of his pack 'n' play, slid my hand into Ryan's, and walked to the kitchen to scrounge up some breakfast.

A few blinks later, both boys were perched in front of cereal, which really is just a means to let the hungry clamor dull a bit until second breakfast. One boy's eyes almost crisscross as he concentrates on not letting the milk drip-drop from his spoon; the other deftly and delicately becomes a lobster and one by one, his thumb and first finger play feed the baby. I hired breakfast to be the babysitter and got all swept up shooing dust bunnies from under the couch with my too-often-neglected broom. Sorry, Broom. At least you have Mr. Dustpan to keep you company? This music was playing

Conor kept giving me his latest look of ever so slightly pursed lips and mischievous eyes. (See above photo). Ryan had ditched the last bits of breakfast and was proclaiming that he was going to throw my poor-attempt-at-decorating-and-thrifted faux eucalyptus branches into my also thrifted faux tree. I ignored him and started cleaning out the fridge, and then set up shop to chop peppers as prep for future chili. Ryan held up a jalapeño, "Mom. What's dis called? It's a jalapeño?" Soon Conor made it known that he was ready to get down from his chair. I sweep again. I realized that getting up even a minute before the boys makes me weirdly productive at tending to our nest. Conor started playing his favorite instrument - the door stop. Boing, boing, boing. Chop, chop, chop. "Mom. What's dis called? A jalapeño?"  Chop, chop, chop. Boing, boing, boing. Both were in diapers by this point.

Time sped up as Chris walked in, Conor went down for a morning nap and second breakfast was upon us. I tried out a new-to-me waffle recipe, and I guarded the stiff egg whites that the Ryan insisted were whipped cream. Waffles well under way, the baby woke up, and I nursed him while finishing up cooking. Then waffles were plopped onto plates, Conor plopped into the high chair, and the Pioneer Woman was lauded again. 

The morning was finished off with hunting for clean clothes in a dirty laundry jungle , singing along to "Say My Name" and accepting Ryan's offer to dance once he was impressed with my Destiny Child lyrical knowledge. "Let's dance on the carpet, Mom!" We clasped hands and hopped around while nodding our heads off-beat.

You were a good one, Saturday morning. You were a dimpled hand grabbing a bathtub.

Thursday, September 11, 2014

Kat in the Kitchen: The Best Chili Ever

When Chris was a sprightly twenty-two year-old man about to turn twenty-three, I fretted over what to do for his birthday. This was the first birthday of our young relationship so the pressure was on. I decided to make a surprise dinner of the spiciest chili I could find. This was a huge concession for me because I was at the point in my taste bud journey where I almost cried every time I split a Chipotle burrito bowl with Chris, and I accidentally ate the tiniest bit of hot salsa. After searching for the perfect recipe, I found the Dragon's Breath Chili by Guy Fieri on the Food Network.

I invited all of Chris' friends that still lived in South Bend. David was going to go with me to the grocery store and let me into the apartment to cook and get everything ready while Chris was at work. He was going to be so surprised!

In the middle of his birthday, I got a text from Chris that he had a break from work, and he was on campus. I went to see him, but only for a short bit! I had a surprise to pull off, after all! I remember being on the rugby field behind my dorm when I told him that I had to go.

"What are you up to the rest of the day?" he asked with an annoyingly knowing smile.
"Oh ... just a lot of stuff." Teasingly, he prodded further. The jig was up. He knew. He knew! How could my surprise be ruined?! Chris laughed and confessed that he was accidentally included in a group text from Jaime (Hi, Jaime!) that reminded all of the friends about Chris' surprise chili birthday dinner that night.

So the surprise was foiled, but the chili was not. The recipe was a hit according to Chris, which is a huge feat as I have come to learn as his wife. Over the years, I've tweaked it to make it my own. We noticed that every time we got a bite of ground beef or stew meat was a let down since it wasn't a bite of sausage - so now I make it only with sausage! Pre-kids, I also use to roast the peppers myself, but now I just chop up a bunch when my mom visits and brings me bags of peppers from my parents' garden, divvy them into appropriate amounts and then toss them into the freezer so this staple meal that involves a lot of chopping is easier on me. 

Oh - and it does call for a lot of ingredients - which really surprised my mom who always made chili with a packet of spices, ground beef, some beans and diced tomatoes. I still love the chili I grew up on! It's comforting; it reminds me of coming home to the scent of chili on cold winter days. But I remember the first time I made my chili recipe for my family, my mom exclaimed, "This is the most expensive chili I've ever made!" It's not steak and lobster, but it does cost more than your average chili. Hear me out though - this chili lasts us at least three dinners, a lunch or two, and it would last for more if both Chris and I would stop snacking on it between meals. I think it tastes even better on the second day and so on. The first night we normally eat it as is; the second night, we eat it over rice; the third night, I serve it over pasta. 

For the record, I've converted my mom to The Best Chili Ever. 

So! This is my go-to meal. I hope you enjoy!

(I apologize in advance for the excessive amount of notes in the recipe). 

The Best Chili Ever
adapted from Dragon's Breath Chili by Guy Fieri
serves 10-15

5-6 tablespoons of butter, bacon grease or canola or olive oil. (I normally use butter, but I will mix bacon grease in if I have it on hand. If I have been out of both, canola and olive oil have both been great in a pinch)
2 poblano chiles, diced, with seeds (I keep the all seeds because Chris loooves spicy. I made this recipe to a T the other night, and it produces a decently spicy chili. A good spicy. 10-month-old Conor ate it, but our kids come out of the womb liking spicy so ... )
2 Anaheim chiles, diced, with seeds
2 bell peppers, diced
3 jalapeños, diced, with seeds. (if I want to kick it up a notch, I add a couple more)
1 yellow onion, diced
4-6 cloves of garlic, minced.
3 pounds of ground sausage  (My favorite mix is 1 lb hot Italian sausage, 1 lb Italian sausage and 1 lb country/breakfast sausage. Sometimes if I don't have sausage I just throw a bunch of chili powder, garlic powder and cumin into the raw beef or turkey so it gives it something else)
3 tbs chili powder
2 tsp cumin
2 tsp paprika
2 tsp garlic powder
2 tsp onion powder
salt and pepper to taste
2 tsp cayenne (I do this to taste ... sometimes the seeds from the peppers are enough)
2 cups tomato sauce
1 cup tomato paste
12 ounces lager beer (I double the beer if I want to stretch the chili. We somehow normally have a lot of cheap beer around and that is what I use. Save the good stuff to drink with the chili).
1 cup chicken stock
2 cans of beans, undrained (I normally go with 1 can pinto beans and 1 can black beans. If you want to stretch the chili even more, add another can of beans)

Add the butter to a large stockpot over high heat. Add the Anaheim chiles, poblano chiles, jalapeno chiles and onions, and cook until caramelized. Add the garlic and saute 1 minute longer. Be careful not to burn the garlic. Add the sausage and brown, about 4 minutes. Stir gently, trying not to break up the ground meat too much. You still want nice chunks of sausage. Cook until the meat is nicely browned and cooked through. If you would like to drain some of the fat, do it now. (Confession: I normally don't). Add the chili powder, cayenne, cumin, garlic powder, onion powder, paprika, salt and black pepper, and cook until fragrant.

Add the tomato sauce and paste, and stir to caramelize, about 2 minutes. Stir in the beer and stock. Add beans; lower the heat and simmer, about 2 hours. 

Serve with cornbread as is or over rice, pasta or French fries. Top with grated cheese, green onions and/or corn chips. 

Wednesday, September 10, 2014

Where in the World is San Diego?

South Bend to Ohio and back --> South Bend to Duluth, MN and back --> South Bend to Ohio and back --> South Bend to San Diego --> San Diego to Dallas --> Dallas to South Bend --> South Bend to Ohio and back --> South Bend to Annapolis, MD and back

8,500+ miles in 118 hours or almost five full days of summer road tripping is over and done with. Amen.

Nearly every time we told someone that we were headed out to San Diego at the end of July, they would ask, "You're flying, right?" We'd go ahead and toe the line separating crazy and sane and confess that nope, we were going to drive! Sometimes the people would then ask, "But you have a minivan, right?" Nope. We went ahead and leaped onto the crazy side with our confession of only having our car. Our car with very spotty a/c and nary a DVD player.

We aren't brave. We just want to see our family. It's as simple as that. 

And so we pulled out of our driveway after Chris finished summer school ... only to pull back in about two minutes later so I could prove that I could actually get rid of stuff out of the trunk and that I was not the worst packing pack rat ever (What do you mean a bag full of embroidery hoops rates low on the essential travel items list??). A few superfluous items lighter, our wheels started rolling once again until we pulled into a St. Louis hotel negotiated by William Shatner or something like that around the later side of the midnight hour. Poor Conor fell off the (thankfully low) king size bed that night. 

My phone's alarm competed with "I'm hungry, Mom," until we were drowsily up, and Ryan was munching on a granola bar - a quick fix for the ever demanding toddler appetite. Then that whirlwind of motion happened - the toothbrush searching, diaper changing, shoe hunting, keys finding scurry that occurs while simultaneously marveling at the mess created from six hours in a hotel room with only one hour of being awake. It's a consistent conundrum, that whirlwind, but it came to a halting stop when Ryan's mouth opened and didn't close until his body had bid sayonara to his breakfast. 

Poor guy. Poor, poor guy because that was actually the start of it, but oh, it wasn't even the start of it! I didn't even have any plastic bags for him; my packing was an ill-timed attempt at going green. We somehow made our way to a grocery store for plastic bags and everything disinfecting, but not before three more cookie tossing events came and baptized the car and the car seat. After we had collected ourselves this is how it went: console crying toddler, nurse crying baby while keeping one eye on the toddler who understandably couldn't give us fair warning of the next toss, breathe that it was all over, catch a whiff and realize why we were holding our breath, hear the slightest gurgle, lurch to hold the bag up before his stomach lurched, rinse and repeat, heavy on the rinse. 
The state of affairs at a rest stop, toddler clothing long gone.

Fortunately for Ryan, it was the fastest bug we've ever seen. He was fine by noon and downing Oklahoma barbecue by dinner. All of us were very thankful for its speed. We wanted to forget about it as soon as possible, but it was a little difficult to forget when we would stop and then get back in the car-turned-oven full of the absolutely not pleasant scent of baked breakfast discards thanks to the hundred degree weather in Oklahoma.  
A brief reprieve from the fumes.

The plan had been to stay with our friends that we miss so very much in Oklahoma City, but we didn't want to expose them to our little walking Petri dish so we decided to keep driving as far as we could that Saturday with the hope of finding a cheap hotel in New Mexico. We reached our pedal pushing limit when we got to Santa Rosa, New Mexico around 1am local time which was pretty late for our Eastern time zone bodies. I thought this was a good sign - helloooo St. Rose of Lima is my patron saint, right? Katrina ROSE Harrington. Despite that, no luck. Call us crazy (oh wait! you already did!), but Chris and I decided to spend the night in the car parked at a less than mediocre rest stop for free after being quoted $80 for a dismally dingy hotel room. 

There was enough comedic nature about the night that I'm chuckling as I type this remembering the ridiculousness of it all. It was so bad, it made it good. Ryan was to have the passenger seat so he was tossed up to Chris who put the driver seat as far back as he could. But if you put Ryan in the same room, er car, as a sleeping parent, there is no way in heck that that boy will sleep anywhere that is not touching said parent. So somehow the two of them ended up on that crooked driver's seat with Ryan hanging half off of Chris, both sound asleep - well the depth of what sound asleep meant was all relative at that time. The point is, they were sleeping. As for me, I was up with this kid who seemed to think the dirty light casting a creepy glow above our car was a disco ball signaling that it was time to party hard. 

I mean, he was onto something since the car did already smelled like a club full of people who just cannot handle their liquor. I unbuckled Ryan's car seat and pushed it on top of Conor's so we had two seemingly spacious seats that made a bed that was juuuuuuuust wide enough to throw a nursing party until 4:30am or so when I just couldn't pretend to sleep anymore. 

We set our sights on Arizona with its glorious promise of family. Just in time for 12:30 Mass, our car rolled into a Phoenix church. Ryan was released from his buckles and he did not stop running, dancing, wiggling, jumping, anything moving until after we strapped him in once again after Mass. I normally don't prefer to stand in the back, but the restless boy ran around in circles for 45 minutes. The priest even opened his homily with, "I was so inspired by this little boy I saw dancing before Mass ... "

Brad's apartment (now Brad and Geena's!) felt like the most luxurious hotel to get some much needed rest in. We contemplated just finishing the rest of the trip off that day, but how often we will get to visit that ridiculously good-looking couple we are lucky enough to have as a brother and sister? Pizza, pool, Mexican (after a whole lot of indecision), some laundry and Euchre teaching and playing it was. 

Red, white and blue; I took this photo to always remember the time B&G chose spades as trump when my hand looked like that. 
(A little aside to point out that I felt like such a proud wife when it was Chris, the West Coast/London raised one in the relationship, who could explain that Midwestern card game of my youth way better than any of my attempts).

Early-ish the next morning, we started the final six-hour leg of the trip. Six hours! What a breeze. All was fine and dandy until I realized that I needed something from the trunk of the car. Chris pulled off at an exit, but it immediately lead to nowhere. There actually was no road. Chris tried to turn the car around on the dirt except the dirt turned out to be sand, and Ford Fusions are not exactly meant for off-roading through Tatooine.
We were actually on the edge of the desert that was used for filming the scenes on the Star Wars planet, Tatooine. Ha!

Thankfully, our guardian angels kept the a/c running in the hot desert, and AAA quickly sent a tow truck. While our car was being pulled out via chain, the tow truck driver was kind enough to tell us that this happens often so hopefully he wasn't just being nice by saying that. The boys were happy for a chance to be wild and buckle-free.  

We got back on our merry way to the tune of the Fight Song, Celtic Chant, March to the Stadium and Alma Mater every 1.81 seconds as requested by Ryan with a few I'm So Fancy playings thrown in there. A few hours later, we made it to sweet and sunny San Diego.

We will continue to check for cheap plane tickets, but once Conor turns two, it will always, always, always be road trips for us. That reality is a happy one for me. This past trip was a happy reality for me! It's not that I have an endless amount of patience. On the contrary, as I took a break from this post to scorch a couple of marshmallows over the stove top to a blackened and delightfully burnt crisp, Chris observed that patience does not seem to be my strong point.

Perspective does help. My Wonder Woman of a mother-in-law just completed the drive in a 12-passenger van from San Diego to Annapolis and back with a stop in South Bend to give Ryan, Conor and me a ride to Maryland. And I don't know how many times I told Chris in our many hours in the car, "Can you imagine how people in covered wagons did this?" I know, I have brilliant thoughts. 

But, most of all, cross-country air travel being out of the budget for us means that I have children with Chris, and man, that reality throws an instant gild over less-than-desirable scents and sleeping arrangements. Pinch me. Or better yet for a trip like that one, pinch my nose. 

Wednesday, September 3, 2014

A Capital Day, Indeed

The Tuesday before this happened, the boys, most of Chris' family and I were en route from Virginia to Maryland, and we made the spur of the moment decision to spend a few hours in DC. 

This is how it played out.

As it turns out, when you combine arriving in the wee hours of the morning and only a twenty-five minute nap during the day with any activity, you are playing with tired toddler tantrum fire.

 But, all's well that ends well, right? Right!
Diaper Bag c/o Lily Jade

Thursday, August 28, 2014

Shake Down the Funder

(photos courtesy of the this iPhone talented Ms. Alex Cooley)

I'm writing from Annapolis with family members playing pass the baby (my baby), one toddler fast asleep after a day full of paddle boarding (and no naps) fun, and my sweet sister-in-law is sitting next to me with my one year old brother-in-law taking his bottle. Okay, now he is the object of pass the child; this house runneth over with laps for bouncing sweet babes to bed.  There is just a little something happening this weekend, and this sneak peek just gives me one more overwhelming moment of happy tears, and I find myself solidifying my rank as the sappiest and most emotional person in at least the continental US. I've been from coast to coast this past month so maybe I have just a little authority to type that exaggeration? Just a little, not a bit more than that. Yesterday I choked back happy tears as we piled out of a 12-passenger sardine can. I don't think my siblings-in-law joined me in that emotion fest, but they are used to my sap.

The past month has been more jam-packed than a pantry after canning season. It will take my rusty finger tips a while to type it all out, but until then - let's shake down the funder.

{Press play}.
Shake Down the Funder - Notre Dame Victory March from Katrina on Vimeo. (In the middle, he is talking about the wet chair that was behind me. All choreography is his own).

Monday, July 21, 2014


This photo is from my very first day of a real job in the city when Chris surprised me with Indian food and flowers upon my return home. We had been married a little less than four months. 
We saw one of the lovely newlywed couples in our life two weekends ago, and I'm still laughing over something we discussed about the quirks that come up when learning how to live with your new spouse.

I just can never seem to drink the last few sips of water in my glass. Ever! I may be really thirsty and just dreaming of a glass of water, but when I fill my glass up and drink ... that last bit just seems like too much. And it isn't a "I don't drink the last sip, it's all saliva," thing that high schoolers say. It's just a habit.

Anyway, I thought it was pretty cute the other night when Chris was teasing me about the cups of unfinished water I had scattered about the kitchen because him teasing me about that means that he is my husband - the one who gets to tease me about minute things like water in a glass for the rest of my life, and I really like having him as my husband. But, the movie Signs was on TV the other day, and Chris was confused as to why I liked the movie. He seems to have forgotten a key lesson that we learned (he, begrudgingly and I, gleefully) during the first summer of our marriage when he was being bombarded by unfinished glasses, and I somehow got roped into watching a semi-scary movie (I don't do scary).

So here you go, Chris. I like Signs because it proves that water in the bottom of a glass is not the worst thing ever.