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A Note to My Littlest Love

Tomorrow, you turn two. It seems silly to write you this note, but I'm not sure how else to express how blessed we are that you are our baby.

I hope you know how much you're loved. I hope you know how hard your Daddy and I work to make sure you have a wonderful life, even if it's a bit of a different life than most families.

Sometimes, our dinners only have one parent present, but never doubt that we both want to be there.

Sometimes, you'll be up well past your bedtime, watching a game just to spend 15 minutes with your Daddy on the field.

Sometimes, there will be days that you go without seeing Daddy. Those days are hard, it breaks his heart more than you could ever imagine.

Sometimes, there will be dance recitals or games that Daddy will miss. But know, there's no bigger cheerleader than him, despite your mother being embarrassingly boisterous.

Sometimes, we have hotdogs three nights a week, and I don't really have a defense for that other than they're ea…

Knock, Knock

Football has started. I had a whole post written up about pre-season thoughts and feelings, and here we are in it. Oh well.

I *always* struggle with this time of year. I get used to having Coach home, having dinner together every day, leaning on him to help with A. Then that all comes to a screeching halt. That may be a tiny bit dramatic, considering we know what happens every year as August rolls around, but you know what I'm saying.

I tend to find myself in a funk the first month or so. Getting re-accustomed to the season, it takes me bit. Coach knows it too, we talk about it as July starts creeping in and we know what's about to happen. Coach also does a really great job of making sure he tells me I'm appreciated, he will stop for a Topo Chico or a bottle of wine on his way home. He really just gets me. And this is also the time, that I don't see his kindness because I can get too stuck in my head.

This is me basically sugarcoating that I usually turn into a total n…

Meatloaf and grace

You know what I really suck at? Making meatloaf.

I hate meatloaf, so maybe my subconscious sabotages me from doing it well, I don't know. I'm actually a pretty decent chef. And I usually only stick to things I like as to ensure it's absolutely scrumptious. But meatloaf is gross. There's something about beef being pressed into a pan with loads of ketchup that makes me want to get sick.

So when Coach called on his way home and asked what was for dinner and I responded with "meatloaf", he asked who I was and what I had done with his wife. It was fine, I guess. Meatloaf tastes like meatloaf. I cannot imagine it actually ever being good. The problem is that Coach loves meatloaf. He's gross.

You know what else I'm super crappy at?

Grace.

I'm bad at giving it. I'm bad at receiving it.

2017 was supposed to by my year of grace. Self-grace, grace for people that have hurt me, grace for people who I  believe don't deserve it.

But here we are in 2018 …