Entrenched.

Before we had kids, "getting away" meant far away. Like, on a plane. To a beach. With drinks and sand and books and guacamole.

Guacamole is definitely one of my love languages.

When you're in the trenches of parenthood, "getting away" takes on a broader definition. Like a trip to Target alone. Or a root canal.

Seriously. Some days a root canal would honestly be preferable to one more minute in my house with bickering children. At least I'd be alone and the only one screaming.

Nate and I are definitely in the trenches. And it's not fun. Filled with beautiful, joyful, precious moments with our sweet kids that we will surely miss someday? Yes. But fun for us as a couple? Eh. Honestly, right now it's a lot of work just getting from point A to point B every day without biting each other's head off. Turns out when you spend 15 hours a day giving everything you have to your children and job, there is very little left to give your spouse. These days the bulk of our conversation takes place on the couch from 9-10pm and is usually a combination of the following statements:

"Should we water the flowers?" (Yes. Ugh. Be back in a minute.)
"What do you want to watch tonight?" (Arrested Development.)
"Do we have any ice cream?" (Silly question.)
"Will you get up and get it while I switch the laundry?" (Sure.)
"Did you remember to give the dog her pill?" (Yes, Abby. I always do.)
"Don't forget we have to take more diapers to daycare." (Run upstairs for diapers.)
"I'm exhausted, let's go to bed." (Finally.)
"Ugh, the sheets are in the washer. Let's just sleep on the mattress pad." (Too tired to care.)
"Will you let the dog out while I get us some water?" (Sure.)
"ARGHHHH, the outside light is still on!" (I'll go back down.)

Riveting, right? I just can't understand why we're not having more fun!

Thank the good Lord for grandparents. For our anniversary this year, Nate's parents gave us a gift card to a hotel in downtown Minneapolis. It graciously included free childcare, which was a good thing because my feelings on staying in a hotel with small children lie somewhere between "NO" and "HECK TO THE NO."

Saturday morning we shipped our kids off to grandma and grandpa's, traded our minivan for my mother-in-law's convertible, and headed downtown for 24-hours of much-needed fun.

It's amazing what 24 hours can do for a relationship. 

Look, I got dressed and put on makeup! On a weekend!

Hot dogs at the Walker. Enormous.

Cute hubs.

So close.

Game faces. (He beat me by 2 points.)

Amazing.

Sorry, I'm one of those annoying people who take pictures of my food.

Bacon confit. If you insist.

Well-rested and well-fed.

Wind in our my hair.

We may not have gotten away away, but we did get far enough to remember just how happy we are to be in the trenches together.

A month and ten days ago.

Oh man, I'm behind. I have about a million pictures to share from this summer and no idea where to begin. I guess we'll start with the Fourth of July? Which probably isn't as far back as I need to go, but whatever.

I thought it would be really neat to make Calvin's pancakes in the shape of stars. Of course I wasn't the one making the pancakes. Despite his mild annoyance at my suggestion, he did it anyway.

Unfortunately, Calvin didn't eat them. Any of them.

In the future, Nate will probably ignore my neat ideas.

Patriotic Bub. Flag hat courtesy of school. I love America as much as the next girl, but that hat is a bit much.

This hat, however, is not. Thanks, Nana.

 Allie came over to play. It was over 100 degrees outside, so there was a lot of this. Look familiar? 

We set off some serious fireworks. Like this one. And a worm. And those snapper things.

I chilled a bit on the toddlers with sparklers thing this year. Good thing, too — Cal and Allie were way into them.

 

Arthur, not so much. He was into our remote.

Eh, maybe next year.

Twins.

Oh, calm down. Not really. But this photo was taken after a ridiculously good dinner at Heartland with my husband, so I figure there's a human baby AND a food baby in there. And let's be honest: Twins is the only excuse for a belly this big at 22 weeks.


So thankful for this one, who loves me despite my double wide middle. And who still makes me laugh harder than anyone else in the history of the world. I dare you to ask him about the $2 at dinner.


Actually, I will pay you $2 to ask him, because then I can laugh all over again. It's a story well worth $2. My husband is very funny.

And exceptionally cute.

And an amazing husband.

And an even better dad.

Our babies, food and otherwise, are blessed to have him. As am I.

(Here's hoping all this sucking up will keep him from killing me over the mere mention of the $2 at dinner. Because we all know it has to come out now...)

Marriage, in a nutshell.

This morning:

N: Abby, your car won't start.

A: Okay...

N: You watch Calvin, I'm going back out to try and get it started.

----

Ten minutes later:

N: Got it started.

A: Oh, good. Thanks. What was the problem?

N: I think it's the sparkplug.

A: Really? How would you know that?

N: When I tried to start it, there was nothing. It didn't have that spark.

A: Hmm. Okay. What should we do?

N: Well, I think you should take my car to work and I'll try to figure it out.

A: Figure it out, like try to replace the sparkplug yourself??

N: Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's what it is, so I'll just take a look.

A (starting to laugh): Nate. Do you know what a sparkplug looks like? Or where it goes? Or what kind to buy?

N (offended): No, but I'm sure I can figure it out. I'll just go to the store and ask them what kind I need to buy for your car. I think it's pretty easy.

A (still kind of snickering): Yeah, no. Nate. It's freezing cold outside, you have no idea if it's actually a sparkplug-related issue, and you're going to get this figured out before you work at 11?

N (still offended, but not in the mood to argue): Fine, I'll take it in. Although sparkplugs are really inexpensive and if we have to pay someone to put it in...

A: Worth it!

----

An hour later, via text:

N: Weak battery. Gonna replace that and go from there.

A: So...not a sparkplug?

N: Not yet.

N. Smartalec.

A: I would have them check again. I'm pretty sure it's a sparkplug issue. It just didn't have that "spark."

N: So I'm officially not a mechanic. Shocker.

----

Thirty minutes later, at home:

N: You're not going to start calling me Sparky or something, are you?

A (laughing, all the while plotting out this blog post in her mind): No, of course not.

True story.

Once upon a time, on the Saturday night before Thanksgiving, a Girl Who Worked a Crappy Job That Got Her In Loads of Debt was set up with a Guy She Didn't Want to Meet by a Friend Who Also Worked the Same Crappy Job. The Friend had a Boyfriend who was the Guy She Didn't Want to Meet's best friend from high school.

The Girl told the Friend that she wasn't interested in being set up, but the Friend told the Girl that she thought she would hit it off with the Guy She Didn't Want to Meet. So the Girl reluctantly agreed to go out in a big group that included the Friend, the Boyfriend, the Guy She Didn't Want to Meet, and a few other people.

It was fun. The Girl Who Worked a Crappy Job liked the Guy She Didn't Want to Meet. They played Golden Tee at the bar and she used all her best flirty moves and he used a few clumsy lines and they drank a little and laughed a lot.

Then a Charming Scottish Guy tried to pick up the girl at the bar, and the Girl was flattered but not interested, so she grabbed the hand of the Guy She Didn't Want to Meet and claimed he was her boyfriend. The Charming Scottish Guy smiled, shrugged, and walked away, but the Guy She Didn't Want to Meet kept holding her hand. He held it as they left the bar and crossed the street and until they got back to the car, where he let go so he could pee in someone's bushes. Once that happened the Girl didn't want to hold the Guy's hand anymore, but she did find his off-key rendition of Britney Spears' "Crazy" kind of endearing during the drive back to her Friend's house.

And she was a little thrilled when he called a few days later to invite her over for movie night with friends.

And somewhat suspicious when movie night turned into date night because everyone but the Guy She Didn't Want to Meet left as soon as she got there.

But the Girl was happy as the night wore on and the conversation got deeper and the Guy She Didn't Want to Meet sat a little closer and the first date turned into a second date which turned into a third date which turned into love.

And nine years later, the Girl Who Worked a Crappy Job That Got Her in Loads of Debt and the Guy She Didn't Want to Meet found themselves living happily ever after with a Sweet Little Boy and a Small Brown Dog.

And the Guy She Didn't Want to Meet still holds the Girl's hand whenever they cross the street.

The End.

Mix and match.

Can any of you tell me what's wrong with this picture?


a) Tyler is wearing a sweater in July.
b) He's got a little something on his upper lip.
c) There's a Nuby lid on a Gerber sippy cup.
d) All of the above, really, but especially the stupid sippy cup thing.

How hard is it to match up a sippy cup to its appropriate lid?

Nate says hard. Apparently, Tyler Florence agrees.

Normally, a milk ad would not be blogworthy. But I have been giving Nate the hardest time about matching up the sippy cups with their correct lid. Every time he gives Calvin a drink it's in a strange combination of cup/lid — between colors, sizes, and brands.

To me, which cup goes with which lid is a total no-brainer. Of course I do the sippy cup purchasing. But still - it's not difficult to match them up! In fact, the other day Nate gave his brother Mike a sippy cup/lid test (hoping to prove his point that sippy cups are really really hard) and he passed with flying colors. He even matched the colors correctly within the same brand.

But then there's this. An ad I ran across in Martha Stewart Living magazine featuring the exact two brands of sippy cup we have at home, mixed up.

I don't question Martha on anything, not even her editorial decisions regarding advertising, so I will trust that this — though inherently wrong — is the presentation I should be using when offering beverages to my child. Especially if I expect him to grow up to have exquisite taste and an appreciation for Good Things.

Sigh. Score one for Nate. He's such a visionary.

Four days.

Two days is the amount of time Nate and I have decided we can spend together without driving each other crazy.

We're not used to being together all that much. For the past nine years, Nate has worked jobs that require evenings and weekends. And I've worked a nine-to-fiver. A typical week for us includes maybe two nights together at home and possibly a weekend day. Some weeks we barely see each other. Those weeks are rough, but we're used to them — we've each settled into our own routines at home without the other.

Which is why we tend to drive each other a little batty when we're both home over a long weekend. And this weekend we were both off for FOUR DAYS.

Yikes.

But Friday was one of those magical days that rarely happens — a day when we're both off, but our daycare provider is not. Hooray! Off to daycare went Calvin, and off together went we. We slept in, went out for breakfast and lunch (and wine), and did some shopping. We spent a few fun hours with Calvin in the evening, then ended the day with the worst movie ever made: Couples Retreat. We felt severely ripped off by Redbox. I'd like my dollar back, please.

And then Saturday morning I got to go see Eclipse with a friend (judge away, I don't care, it was awesome). Later that afternoon the three of us went to our little neighborhood pool. Where we actually saw a neighbor! How cute.

On Sunday we celebrated the 4th of July by taking Calvin to the zoo. Which was really just a trip to the farm, with lots of adorable pictures and a quick stop by the bears and fish. And then Nate and I watched Valentines Day and ate Culvers. Yay for french fries, romantic comedies, and America!

Today Nate played golf, then we went over to see our friends the Vuongs and meet their sweet baby girl, Kiley. She is precious. I thought maybe my uterus would start quivering at the sight of a newborn (an adorable GIRL newborn, I might add), but I left feeling surprisingly okay with just the one boy child I have. He's kind of a lot of work. Plus he woke up at 4am this morning, so I think I'm just too tired to quiver.

Turns out it was a full, fun weekend at home with the two I love most. Minimal crazy-making by the husband and quite a bit of cuteness from the small one.

Hmpf. Four whole days. Who knew?

Fun at the farm:


And the picture I can't stop laughing over:


I love both of my crazy-makers to bits.

Aloe and Advil.

Nate and I were white. Pasty, pasty shades of white. Well, I was, at least. Nate was pasty for him, which is still about four shades darker than me.

So, why, why, why, why did we think we could survive the Mexican sun — in late May — wearing spf 45?

Silly pasty white Breyers. Although pasty really isn't the word for it anymore. Now we're both slightly sunkissed (that's the nice way of saying "not tan") and super peely.

Despite generous aloe applications, regular doses of Advil, and not being able to touch each other (or, you know, sleep on our backs...or shower...or walk) for nearly five days, we had a really amazing vacation. It was fun to leave work and school and parenthood behind for a few days, though we admittedly found it hard to talk about anything else for the first day or two. We spent eight years alone, only talking about ourselves, and now after one year as parents we have a hard time talking about anything else. It took a day (and a few mango margaritas) to find our way back to just being Nate and Abby, and not Calvin's parents, but we got there. And it was just as good as it always was, maybe even better.

We ate well (that probably goes without saying), laughed a lot (we are such dorks), and did some serious relaxing (when your legs are so burnt you can't walk, you kind of have to). It was the almost* perfect way to celebrate five years of marriage, surviving the first year of parenthood, and Nate's graduation.

*Next time I'm bringing spf 100. Or 150. Do they make 150? They should.

And now, a series of photos of the two of us, taken by us, or one of us, taken by the other. Photos are tricky when you're on vacation alone.

Together (you can see the sunburn progression from horrible to marginally improved):




















































Alone, each of us looking kind of ridiculous:












































































Random scenery and some iguanas:































































And, finally, the photo we took to prove that we've been in a bar in the last five years. Granted, it was noon, we were waiting for our taxi to the airport, and we were the only people there. But we're still cool! Seriously! I promise!

Date night.

Calvin had his first sleepover at Grandma and Grandpa's Friday night, which meant we had our first night alone in almost eight months.

We went to dinner! By ourselves! At 8pm! Somewhere nice!

I felt we should commemorate this momentous occasion with a photo.

Here we are post-dinner — tired, happy and very (very) full. And Nate's wearing an acorn pin because, really, what's a night out without an acorn pin?

Don't ask, because I really don't know. But it sure made me laugh.