Ummmm, let me bring you up to date

I last posted my views on love and stuff on Valentine's Day but here's what's been going on with the Crabb Family since then.

February: Was hella cold here in Iowa! So we thought we would go somewhere warmer like Springfield, Missouri and visit our best buds the Rice Family. Lucky for us they got their one snow fall and below 30 degree temps for the entire year during the very weekend we were there. Fourtunately though, we were also there to celebrate my best friend Lindsay's 27th birthday, so the cold became an after thought as we were basking in love, friendship and red wine. Campbell had a blast playing with Tatum and Dalton Rice and Jack loved being showered with attention. Lindsay and I had a blast doing what we do best...It is also very important to note that Chad and Dan Rice played on the Nintendo Wii ALL weekend, and that in all of the years of a friendship never wanting for laughter I don't know that Lindsay and I have ever laughed as hard as we did watching our husbands hula-hoop. It was a sight to behold, let's just say that next time I am getting video and then I am going to make millions riding the media circuit after the video hits U-tube. Of course you are invited Linds--you give great interviews!

March: It got a little warmer--and the kids got bigger. We played a lot, we danced a lot. Jack spent some quality time getting to know his walker and defending himself against Campbell's barrage of blankets and burp cloths that she threw at his head. Like always I made corned beef at cabbage for Saint Patrick's day, mmmmmm. I also was under the brief delusion that I was super mom and decided to take the kids downtown to the St. Pat's day parade by myself. It was a beautiful spring day which led to the biggest turnout ever. I knew I was in over my head when the semi rolled by blaring its deafening horn scaring the bejesus out Jack and causing him to scream until we basically cleared the premises and noise of the parade. And parades are REALLY noisy by nature. The trip back to the car was way longer and we all took naps when we got home. March became sad when my BFF Jess got promoted by the Von Monster and moved to Kansas City. For the last few years she has always just been a phone call and 5 minutes away whenever I needed her, she knows that blush is a must AND she understood my deep love for all things BBQ. I miss her a lot. But I've become a pro at long-distance relationships, ie. Chad and Lindsay, so Jess and I don't have to break-up...we just have to make the most of it.

April: Well, in case you don't watch the news, I turned 30. That meant drama, which beget more drama in the Crabb household ( I love you Chad). See, the thing is that birthdays have always been a big deal in my family. My father actually has gone as far as to practice "birth-month" at one point in time. Surprise parties with bands, luaus, trips to tropical places these things are not unheard of in my family as part of birthday culture, especially when the first number of your age is followed by a zero. Even as I write this I am basking in the after-glow of a birthday get-together last night for my step-dad Dewey. It was complete with extended family and a non-chain restaurant private room and he didn't even have a zero! So, when April came around I was totally psyched! Even though the "dirty thirty" (as Lindsay likes to call it) was staring me down, I was cool with the milestone because it meant that everyone that I love was going to get together and celebrate fabulous me and my fabulousness. You know the daydream sequence in "A Christmas Story" where Ralphie fantasizes about getting his Red Rider BB Gun and he saves the day...yeah, silly me my birthday party fantasies ran that deep. The truth is that I couldn't even get a babysitter to watch our kids so Chad and I could just eat dinner at a local restaurant. Yes, there were some extenuating circumstances, and I'm not bitter, anymore, well maybe just a little. But turning thirty immediately granted me the wisdom of knowing who in my life really "gets" me and who loves me enough to turn a derailed fiasco into a good memory complete with a banner, balloons and a Top 30 playlist. I would now like to give a shout out to my husband for being awesome and supportive and for not having me commited and for being the best human being I know and I wanted to say thank you for trying to understand my craziness. I would like to say thank you to my best friend Lindsay for sending me a box full of presents that show that you understand who I am and what I like which meant more to me than the actual contents, but yes I kept them...and to my BFF Jess for taking me to a fun but disastrous lunch that led to the discovery that our favorite place to wine and dine was ran by jerks(that's being G-rated) to which we are never going again, oh, and for listening to my horrible singing...and my brother Henry for going through what he did to dig the original Nintendo and games out of the storage unit and gifting it to me (and Chad for fixing it)...and Jake and Mollie Mae (who understands) you guys are awesome and my good buddy April for hooking me up with a much needed spa treatment....um, I feel better now. We had a lovely Easter and had a nice family get-together, I got to put everyone in matching outfits and Campbell had a blast hunting for Easter eggs. Chad also won our family's Biggest Loser competition...he has been working his butt off since January and deserves lots of praise for his accomplishments. Chad also completed Waukee Leadership Institute in April. I am so proud of my husband, not only is he hot but he is smart and civic-minded to boot! At the end of April we went down to the Saint Louis area to see my dad for HIS birthday (no zero). Jack was teething like a madman then and was up all the time at night so we decided to stay in a hotel. This came as a suprising delight to Campbell who shares her mothers love of all things 'spensive. Campbell LOVED everything about the hotel. She loved that we all slept in one big room that had a big bed to jump on, and a TV that she could reach so she could turn it on and off a ba'zillion times. She loved the breakfast buffett and running down the long halls. She also loved planting flowers with her Grandpa Bob and hanging out with Grandma Di and Great Grandma Hill. It was good to see everyone and we had a nice visit, I hope my Dad had a good birthday. It took us like ten or eleven hours to get home (usually 6 1/2), the children were conspiring against us,complete with a blow-out from Jack which led to a 45 minute clean-up at the greatest Walgreens EVER! All happy memories now:). Yeah, April was a wild month.

May: Well, on May 1st the kids and I drove around town delivering May baskets to family that we had made at the library a couple days before. It was super fun. Chad managed to avoid jury duty the second full week in May that was looming over our heads like a dark cloud threatening to destroy my dreams of seeing Billy Joel and Elton John in concert with him. Last year he missed going to Billy Joel with me because of an out-of-town business trip and I was afraid I was in for a repeat performance when the jury summons came. Fortunately everything worked out at Chad and I were off to Omaha on a Tuesday night to see the Piano Man and the Rocket Man. It's one of the greatest joys of my life that Chad and I are the best of friends and genuinely enjoy eachothers company, at least that's how I feel. It doesn't matter if we are playing scrabble or rocking out to "Only the Good Die Young," we have a blast. I had such a good time with him, the concert was awesome, we heard so many of our favorite songs performed by two living legends of Rock...but the best part was being there with Chad. Jack started crawling, clapping and climbing stairs. He follows Campbell everywhere, it's so cute. She looks at him and says, "Come'on Jackie let's go," and he is right behind her. He's also pulling himself up and cruising around which has led to lots of bumps and bruises. Watching him clap his hands is so cute, everytime he hears a song or even a rythmic beat he starts clapping and bouncing. He's actually got a great sense of rythym, something he certainly did not inherit from his mother. Chad competed in the Des Moines Dam 2 Dam half-marathon at the end of the month. He's been training for it for a few months now. We all had a great time watching him and he did awesome! He's continuing his training and looked towards running in the Des Moines Marathon in October. Memorial Day weekend was great! We had our friends Seth and Angie over for dinner, scrabble and a Mario Brothers match between Chad and Angie on Saturday night. Way fun. Spent Sunday working on refinishing Campbell's bedroom furniture and on Monday night Chad and I went to see Jake's band Douglas Acres play a benefit concert for the families of fallen soldiers. It was for a great cause and they were good as always.

June: So far so good. Campbell is potty-training. Wow, this definitely tests my patience, parenting abilities, and senses of modesty, tact and humor. My urge to vomit upon seeing all the yuckiness is lessening...I know that some mothers are unflinching rock stars when it comes to changing diapers and other smelly baby/kid unpleasantries but I fall into the ranks of those that would prefer to put on a full hazmat suit before any such endeavor. Fortunately for me, Campbell does not like messes. She's not one of those angels that plays with their poop and smashes it in to the carpet. The trade off though is that she is very independent, so we have to keep a careful eye that she not attempting to do things by herself because it inevitably leads to a mess regardless of cleanly nature. Chad and I have both discovered that we already have "Potty Power" and are so familiar with the DVD of the same name (because Campbell wanted to watch it twenty times a day for two weeks) that I checked out from the library that we now have all of the songs memorized. I used to think it sucked when I couldn't get the theme song from "Go Diego, Go," out of my head, but with chart toppers like "Wipe Your Bottom," and "I'm Proud To Wear My Underwear," pinballing in the playlists of my mind...I've got to admit I miss that chorus of jungle animals chanting and singing in my head. I also don't like surprises (unless it's for my birthday) so I have purchased a couple books on the subject of potty training. But SURPRISE, would you believe that my kid doesn't follow all of the rules in the book? She's not aware that potty traing is liken to the Mambo? So I'm back to square one: doing the best that I can. The books do give some guidance though, it makes me feel better to read that it takes some kids months, some years to get this potty training thing down. My gut tells me that my daughter is a smart kid that values playing and dancing and chasing her brother way more than sitting on an uncomfortable toilet seat, yeah, she's a smart kid. My life experience and common sense has led me to believe that she'll get the hang of it eventually. When I give it even the slightest thought I come to the conclusion that even the dumbest of the dumb dumbs that I know and have known are potty trained. Some of them can't even legibly write their names, carry on conversations or hold down jobs but they manage to make it to the can on time, pull down their britches and do the deed all by themselves. The hand washing part is questionable but the point is that if someone that is dumber than a bag of hammers is potty trained then my brilliant little princess will put two and two together in her own time. Therefore from this day forward I am leading a new revolution of mothers, we shall call ourselves the "Potty Pressure Resistance!" Our mission will be to allow our children to grow and learn as their bodies and minds allow them, without forcing and frustrating them (and ourselves). We will also swear an oath not to judge, undermine or belittle other mothers and their parenting abilities based on the performance of their children as graded by some wacked-out 1950's, Tom-Collins imbibed, super-momaholic, baby racing, Spartan-moms. I'm not saying these women don't have the best of intentions but COME ON, we are supposed to be enjoying life...and our children...and they are supposed to be enjoying life. Live and live; don't hate, celebrate! If you are interested in joining my cause let me know your T-shirt size...cause that's like a must for any good organization, a kick-$@% T-shirt.

Okay I'm spent, more to come, I've got to go put Campbell on the potty for a while...

Love and let love

Inspired by Valentine's Day I must write. I cannot tell you all about my Valentine's weekend because honestly you would all just be jealous. Let's just say Chad can make a mean chocolate souflee. You're jealous already aren't you...enough said.

Moving right along. You know what I love about love? I love that love is relative. Each of our encounters with love is solely dependant on our personal encounters and situation in life. Our loving is based on our connections with the people around us; it's unformulated, unscripted and unique. Our stories about love, who we love, falling in love, how we show our love, and all that love stuff are as different and special as we are.

Love, mush, blah, blah, blah--wow Mag, that's really beautiful, but what's your point?

My point is that the whole "The Greatest Love Story Ever Told" stuff is crap. Every time I hear that phrase as a prelude to a book or movie title I have to roll my eyes because I'm thinking, "have these people not heard about me and Chad and Jimmy Buffett night?" To me, my love story is the greatest, ever, hands down. You can tell me your personal love story, sell it any way you like, but it will never trump mine (to me).

I've even read "Love Story," twice, and aside from being a tear-jerker full of socio-economical class discrimination, twenty-something angst, hockey and a terminal illness it was more depressing to me than a trip to Abercrombie and Fitch. (Disclaimer: "Love Story" is a good read, just not "the greatest love story ever told," in this person's opinion. Sorry Eric Segal.)

Now, before you question my authority on love I will clearly state my credentials. First of all, I am in fact madly in love with my husband and have been for the whole four years we have been married. Before you scoff, that is like a golden anniversary in L.A., okay, I would get a kick-ass party and a super sparkly diamond band for that matrimonial achievement. Secondly, I have read dozens of books on love and romance, everything from Jane Austen and Shakespeare to Danielle Steele and Judy Blume. I can quote Petrarch, Robert Browning, and Pablo Neruda. And when Delilah sends a requested song out across the air-waves, I know all the words (although the tune is a little pitchy). Thirdly, I have watched many so-called "chic-flicks" and before you judge me, I don't just watch the feel-good romantic comedies, I watch the hard-core, not so happy ending, off with her head period love stories, too. So back off, I know love.

Now that we have established my incontestable expertise on love I need to offer my professional criticism on an article that I was reading in a local magazine publication yesterday. It was about local "Love Stories," and I found it to be full of lies and it flat out pissed me off! This supposed professional journalist, who is obviously not a love expert like myself, interviewed a few couples around town. She asked them questions about how they met, how they showed their love to each other, and how they celebrated the ultimate love day, Valentine's Day. It was complete with cute little pictures. She practically served them up on a silver platter etched with heart doodles as the ultimate symbols of love through the ages.

Well, I think these people and their love, and this hack who calls herself a newspaper woman are ridiculous. How could a journalist with any integrity write about love stories and not include the greatest love story ever that is about me and my beloved husband? Do they not know, have they not heard? I was reading the interview portion and thinking "who do these amateur lovers think they are?" They act like they've got the love market cornered; like their stories are so unique and special and...yep, then I realized, it's all relative.

Of course they think their love story is the greatest, it's theirs. The bond and history that these lovers share and live is what connects them to the universal idea and act of loving. So what if they believe that sending flowers the day before Valentine's Day is an original idea. Who am I, as a bonafide love expert, to try and contradict what they believe in their hearts to be absolute? Love and let love. As for the journalist, she needs to get her facts straight and when she wants to write an article on the "greatest love story ever," she can give me a call.

The more things change...

so this is my first attempt at blogging...Chad has been telling me for a while now that I should do this, and then I was reading my friend Lindsay's' blog earlier and was officially inspired enough to act. So here we are.



Today is pretty uneventful. We woke up (Campbell, Jack and I), had breakfast, which satiated Campbell's new addiction to blueberries and started playing. As I write Jack is lying on a blanket surrounded by toys that Campbell has brought to him. I'm almost certain that if it weren't for his wanting to chase after her, as well as human necessity, he would never have to learn to walk because Campbell would bring everything to him. They are so crazy about each other. It's my new favorite thing to watch. Jack listens intently to her voice; follows her every move with his big blue eyes; and when their eyes meet...he gushes giggles that melt your heart. It is by far the cutest thing I have ever seen.



Tear. And about tears. Anyone who knows me knows that yes, I am a crier. I cry at the drop of a hat. I cry when I'm happy, I cry when I laugh, I definitely cry when I am mad or sad. I cry every Christmas when that darned Folgers coffee commercial comes on. You know the one where Peter walks through the door on Christmas morning just as the angelic little blond girl is coming down the stairs wearing a nightgown that I'm pretty sure she stole from the set of Little House on the Prairie (this commercial has been running for many years). Anyway, a cab pulls up to a perfect white colonial,Peter walks in, shakes the snow off, embraces baby sticky-fingers Barbie, and after the rest of the family wakes up and is over come with joy, the all have a nice, hot, steaming cup of Folgers coffee. Complete with plaid Christmas mugs. I'm bawling like a baby as I write this (not really), darn you Folgers and your good-smelling coffee!



So back to me and crying. This one time in college, Southwest Baptist University to be exact (I officially attended 3 schools, but who's counting) I woke up on a sunny fall morning in not so quiet desperation. It was probably about 7am and I had my first Spanish test of the semester at 8am. The problem was I hadn't even cracked the book yet and there was no time to cram since I lived in an apartment with my friend Lindsay which was 45 minutes away from where I went to school. Technically it was Lindsay's apartment. I had my own place in the town I went to school in. I just preferred to sleep on her black leather couch with my bedding, sparse belongings, and Mr. Bunny piled in the corner next to the entertainment center for 2 1/2 years. Anyway, back to the dilemma then at hand. I knew Lindsay was quite the linguist when it came to good ole' Espanol (she spent a lot of time before I met her hanging out in this one Mexican restaurant's bar drinking margaritas and listening to some guy named Alan Ross sing and play guitar, I don't think that's where she learned Spanish, but it helped her polish her skills). So I woke up Linds and begged her to help me study for my test by riding to the university with me and quizzing me during the 45 minute drive. I assured her that the only class I had that day was Spanish so we would go there, I would take my test, and then immediately go back home. I probably also promised her something really awesome like a pack of P-funks and lunch at Ryan's Steakhouse, too. Whatever I said I don't remember, but she agreed to help me, we threw on some clothes, and we were on our way.



For 45 minutes we drove up and down highway 13 from Springfield to Bolivar, Lindsay quizzed me over Spanish vocabulary and we laughed so hard I cried. I still remember that the sun was so bright that morning that even with my sunglasses it was hard to see without being blinded. Once we arrived at the building where my Spanish class was held I showed Lindsay where the ladies restroom was, took off my sunglasses and walked into class just in time to sit down before Senor Goss handed out the test. I don't remember much about that hour in which I took that Spanish test except for two distinct things. The first being that every once in a while everyone in the class would look towards the door and the hallway when they were grossly interrupted by the sounds of what was obviously some girl yacking in the bathroom (and no, it wasn't flu season yet). The second thing I remember and will never forget is the look on my instructors face when I turned my test in to him. He looked sort of puzzled as I handed him my best shot at B.S.-ing in Spanish (if that is even possible) and asked "Ms. Hill (my maiden name) are you okay?" Puzzled by his puzzled look I assured him I was fine, grabbed my backpack and headed towards the ladies room.



Well you don't have to be Dick Tracy to figure out that yes it was Lindsay who was making all of the noise, and that we had gone out to the clubs the night before hence the lack of studying, and hence the puking. However, unless you are Paul Harvey you are probably still wondering "why the funny look from the professor?"



Well, if you knew us back in our "Dirty Pop" days, as I like to call them, you would know that going to a club for us was more than hanging out and dancing. It was an evening full of such ritual and glamour that I am pretty sure Hollywood back in the day was crazy jealous of our rock star lives, Franzia and all. It took us hours to apply tons of make-up (the black cat-eye was especially popular with us) and glitter the likes of which would rival any show on the Vegas strip; perfect hair like you would not believe, I could style my hair so that it wouldn't move for 3 days (true story, just ask Lindsay) no dance could disturb my indestructible coif; and as for clothes...Bob Mackie would have been proud.



So on that gorgeous, sunny fall morning as we were rushing to get me to class, hangovers and all, Lindsay and I just threw on our clothes and donned sunglasses over our still too-made-up faces from the night before. And un-beknownced to me as I was laughing so hard I was crying (ah, the crying) my black-cat-eyed make-up was melting and pooling under my sleep-deprived eyes. So when I took my sunglasses off as I entered the classroom right before the test there was no time for anyone to clue me in on the fact that I looked like a Gene Simmons ready to rock out at a Kiss concert...tragic. And that my friends is why Senor Goss was so concerned, bless his heart he probably thought I was just really upset about something, "she was probably worried about her Spanish test..."



When I walked into the bathroom to collect Lindsay and finally looked in the mirror we had quite the laugh. We still do. Fortunately, or unfortunately if you don't think like me, I was too young to be embarrassed. I still am (too young to be embarrassed), or I wouldn't be telling this story.



Well the more things change, the more they stay the same--it really is true. I still haven't learned some lessons, take yesterday. Yesterday afternoon I found out that my friend Jess was moving to Kansas City for work. I was selfishly devastated for about an hour, put the kids down for a nap, went to my room and cried until I starting thinking about what a great opportunity this was for Jess and how proud I was of her. Then I perked up, got up, let the kids out of their rooms because neither one was sleeping, and decided it was time for a dance marathon at the Crabb house. Just as Rusted Root was sending us on our way the door bell rang, I grabbed Jack in mid moon-walk (just kidding, Jack's not a big fan of Michael Jackson) and headed for the door. I peeked out the window and saw that it was the Fed-Ex guy. Knowing that he came bearing Billy Joel/Elton John concert tickets I opened the door with more enthusiasm than a Miss America contestant talking about world peace. I was all smiles rocking Jack on my hip while signing the electronic pen pad...so excited to open my package. It's been really cold here so I made it a point to tell him to stay warm as I flashed him one more smile of gratitude for being so kind as to brave the cold to deliver me awesome concert tickets (hello, it's his job!).



And then as he was walking away I realized he was giving me a strange look. I had seen this look before...Oh, no! It was the same look Senor Goss had given me that morning of my Spanish test many moons ago. I plopped Jack in the pack n' play and headed strait for the bathroom. Sure enough, it was Gene Simmons all over again, I was Gene Simmons all over again. After my boo-hoo fest over Jess moving I had failed to look in a mirror, and had no knowledge of the fact that my mascara was everywhere on my face but my eyelashes.



So what have I finally learned from all of this? Well, I have learned that I cannot count on a two-year old and a newborn to tell me that my make-up is smeared or that there are boogers hanging out of my nose. I have learned that waterproof mascara may be the way to go, although I have never found one that I am in love with. And I have also learned that if I am going to remain as sensitive as I have been for the rest of my life, and the odds of that are pretty good, then I really should make it a point to look in a mirror once in a while.



Whew! One down, many more to come...