Tangled

This week I'm getting really sentimental. I'm sorry.

As I sit here cutting out felt triangles for Ham's Tangled-themed party, I feel a little sad thinking about what this movie has meant to us this year.

I hadn't even really heard of it until I was watching my friends's little girl when Ham was only three months old. We had just finished washing my car outside with Ham on the porch in his swing. It was the only exciting thing I could think to do with my friend's then three year old. Three year olds are unchartered territory for me. She was not as interested as I thought.

We went inside and I flipped through the movies on Instant Netflix. "Tangled!" she screamed. "I want to watch Tangled!" I shrugged my shoulders and I let her watch tangled while I loaded the dishwasher. Every now and then I peeked at the screen and thought that Disney movies just weren't what they used to be when I was growing up. I didn't even give it a chance.

When Ham was 7 months old he was just beginning to stand up. I was flipping through our Netflix Instant Que trying to find something that had music that Henry could listen to while he played. I was trying to find something that didn't involve a purple dinosoar or highschool kids singing in hall ways. Yes, I went there. Poor Ham.

Then I remembered that Tangled had music to it, so I turned it on.

And the minute that little Mickey Mouse startled whistling in the intro, it was over.

Hammy who was grasping onto the coffee table was now nails dug into my legs grasping onto me. He was smiling his big toothless smile and he was swaying to Rapunzel's intro song.

And as time went on different parts of the movie fascinated him. Sometimes he would laugh out loud at Pascal or he would be enthralled with Flynn Ryder's battle with Maximus the horse.

Sometimes he wanted a better view of the movie. He would crawl on over to me, tug on my pajama pants and I'd scoop him up into my arms and I would lean back into the sofa wrapping my arms tight around him. I would take a big deep breath of his lavender scented baby hair and hope that smell never goes away. But I know one day it will.

As I know one day he will be too big for me to scoop up in my arms. His little fat fingers won't just barely wrap around one of mine. And one day Tangled won't be his favorite movie anymore. He'll like Star Wars or Indiana Jones. He'll be too cool for mom.

But for right now he still likes it. For now, it's still our thing.

Goodbye Bottles

I have to postpone the "How I Met Mr. Yardbird" story for a moment, but I'll finish it as soon as I can get back on that train of thought. I hate doing that, but I've been so busy with school and first birthdays, with transitions that I may have to come back to that one after a few other posts.

Today I was busy getting the house together for Ham's first birthday. I rushed over to Wal-Mart because it was the one place I knew I could get everything I needed in one place otherwise I would need to go to Lowe's and Petco and I had a feeling that too many stops might test Ham's normally pleasant disposition.

At Wal-Mart I rushed through isle after isle. Ham is at a point where he can see toys and he wants toys. With a pointer finger that's always pointing, he can be very clear about which toy it is that he wants. I kicked the gorcery cart in high gear and stayed focused on the mission. Poor Ham's eyes could barely adjust on any one thing on the shelves.

Just as I was leaving I grabbed some Febreze Air Apple Spice Delight because I thought it would be nice to get the house smelling more like delight and less like a diaper geanie and dried green beans stuck to the floor and we headed home with all items checked off of my list.

After I watched one of the top five most depressing, but truthfully good movie "One Day", I wiped my tears away and went back to cleaning the house. I decided it was time to put Ham's bottles away. Now was a better time than any other with the mood "One Day" had left me in. I had been putting off putting away Ham's bottles because the truth is I didn't want to admit he didn't need them anymore, because that's the same thing as saying he's too big for them. And if I was going to put them away I might as well put up the bottle warmer and oh yes, the bottle stand where you hang the bottles to dry. I tried to cheer myself up by reminding myself of all the new counter space I would have now.

As I was putting them up I caught the smell of the Febreze Air Apple Spice Delight wafting down the hall. That combined with me putting bottles in a bag made me have a strange sense of deja vu.

And then I realized it. The last time I bought that particular fabreze scent was right before I had Ham and with that aroma filling up our house I was busy unloading and boilings bottles and setting up bottle warmers and stands on my counters. I was saying goodbye to the counter space and wondering if I would ever get it back.

And now here I was getting my counter space back and thinking counter space isn't all it's cracked up to be without a bottle warmer and bottle stand anyway.

How I Met Mr. Yardbird - Part 4

Dear 18+ year old Hammy,

Now that I had your dad's attention, what now?

I was pretty pleased with myself. Sure it didn't go exactly as I had hoped. Sure I had insulted him. But I got what I wanted or what I needed to happen to see if just maybe Mr. Yardbird was the Mr. Yardbird for me.

As the night went on I made my best effort to strike up any conversation I could with him.

He would order another Becks and I would dramatically roll my eyes and say things like, "Surely you have better taste" or "Really? You might be the only one who orders that, let me go see if they have one more of the worst beer ever made."

And each time, Mr. Yardbird laughed, I walked away feeling triumphant and in my head, I patted myself on the back for a job well done.

But then something happened.

On one of my trips past their table, I noticed that one of the girls who I had thought came with another guy in thier group was leaning very closly and talking to Mr. Yardbird.

She was smiling and leaning in to Mr. Yardbird. She was playing with her hair, while she talked to him and she was laughing at everything that he was saying. She was flirting...and I didn't like it one bit.

And just who was this girl who had suddenly taken all of Mr. Yardbird's attention?

I knew exactly who she was. She was my competition. Not just in the world of Mr. Yardbird and me, but in my art world. The one where I drew pictures in class with other art students. I had just graduated and the memories of art studio classes where still so fresh.

In my art class, she was the best of the best. She was the one who drew the best gesture drawings that we all marveled over, that we all tried desperately to reproduce. They just came naturally for her.  And to add insult to injury, she was one of those girls who looked fantastic without a stitch of makeup on. And that was just not fair.

And now she had captivated Mr. Yardbird's attention.

I knew if it was totally possible for Mr. Yardbird to fall in love with this makeup-less, gesture drawing wonder and I was disheartened. All my hard work would have been for nothing.

As the night went on, my eyes drifted over to thier table but all that I saw was more talking, more smiling and more leaning.

I even went to check on thier table a few times, but with her in the way there were no more opportunities to talk to him.

Finally, I glanced over at thier table one last time. This time, it was just the other couple and low and behold one lonesome Mr. Yardbird. I wondered where my competiton ran off to.

I wasn't going to waste anytime wondering though. I walked as casually as I possibly could without seeming like I was in any kind of a hurry to beat anyone over to him.

"Hey." I smiled at him. "I...um...did you need another beer?" I glanced down at his more than half-way full beer.

"No." He smiled, a smile I already loved. "I'm good."

Here goes nothing. "Did your...girlfriend....did she need anything else?"

"Who?"

"Your girlfriend, you know, the girl that was sitting right here.' I pointed to the empty stool between us.

"Oh no, she came with the other guy." He gestured across the room and sure enough there was the girl sitting on the lap of the guy I thought she had arrived with. They had apparently opted for a seat closer to the live music. I can't believe I didn't notice that.

And I breathed a big sigh of relief, in my head, because any other way would have been hugely embarrassing.

"Oh, I'm sorry I guess I just though she was with you." What a RELIEF.

"No, No, No...." he shook his head.

"Okay well, let me know if you need anything." I smiled an I'm so happy your single smile.

And Mr. Yardbird, well, he must have had some clue, right?

No, Ham, not yet.

How I Met Mr. Yardbird - Part 3

Dear 18+ year old Ham,

So I was a hundred percent sure that your dad had not had the same love lightening bolt strike him that had apparently struck me. And while I typed in his table's order, I thought about what I might say to him to get his attention.

But I came up with nothing.

I checked on my other tables and when thier drinks where ready I loaded them up on my tray and carried them over to thier table. I handed out all of thier drinks and I purposely handed your dad his drink last.

If there was going to be an opportunity to talk to him, it would have been right at that moment.

And as I handed him his Becks, I said the only thing that came to my mind.

"And one Becks - which is by far the worst beer ever invented."

Yes. I said that. Of all the things to get your dad's intention, I used an insult. Honesty is my shining quality.

The worst beer ever invented. Yes, sir the one that you picked.

Your dad whipped his head around and looked directly at me. "What?"

I smiled sheepishly and said, "Yes, well it is. I might as well back up my claim. I mean, who drinks that anyway. Obviously your dad does."

In my defense it was true. It was, in my opinion, the skunkiest of all beers and that's the nicest way I could put it. So, I was wondering what did this say about Mr. Yardbird drinking the worst, skunkiest beer around?

"It's my favorite. I love Becks." He smiled at me waitng to see what I could possibly come up with after that.

"Well I think it's the worst....so I guess we can't be friends." I smiled right back and turned on my heels to walk back to my other tables.

And that, Hammy, is how I got your dad's attention. Now, that I had that - what was the next part of the plan?

How I Met Mr. Yardbird - Part 2

Dear 18+ year old Hammy,

Yes, I had almost given up on finding the right guy all together or at least decided it was time to take a break from it. That is until I saw your dad.

I was working a weekend night in the first weekend I had been back since Christmas. We were just starting to get busy. Usually we had a few regulars that came in between four and seven pm and by seven people slowly started coming in groups to claim a table inside. Especially if it was cold outside, which it was.

There was a one man band that night. A guy by the name of Steve. Steve, was one of the nicest people you ever met. He was an older guy who played the guitar and sang and was a regular part of the bar's line up. His style of music reminded me of Blue grass meets James Taylor. He was kind enough to give me a cd of his and whenever I listen to it, there is one song on it that will always give me the same feelings of anxiety and excitement I felt at seven pm when people started filling up the pub. I think it's because it was usually the first song he sat down to play and the intro had a guitar solo that increased in intensity as it went on.

Anyway, there were a few tall tables near the bar that night that were still open and a group of five people quickly snatched one of them up. At first glance it looked like two couples and then a fifth wheel but I only looked for a few seconds. This was my section, so I grabbed my little notebook and pen and walked over to see what they were wanting. At first I didn't even notice your dad. He was on my right side and I had started with the people on my left. I glanced at each person and I scribbled down their order. When I got to your dad, I looked up from my notebook and looked him right in the eyes.

Mr Yardbird

Ham, there are lots of different things that people say about the moment when you meet the person you are supposed to be with. They say that there are instant fireworks or that cupid strikes you with his arrow. Well, for me, I thought I was looking at someone I already knew. Literally. I kept thinking he looked so familiar. He was kind of tan and had longer hair with blondish streaks throughout it. I remember contemplating in those few seconds whether his hair was really blond or if it had been highlighted. But looking at him, I realized he wasn't the type to highlight his hair. No, it was real. Definitely real. And his eyes were a nice shade of greyish blue. I was partial to brown eyes, but these, well, these eyes were nice too. And his face well, it was the most handsome, familiar face I had ever seen.

Sorry, Ham. But that's what I saw.

Pretty soon, I realized I was gawking. I could feel my face getting hot and my cheeks were most likely a nice shade of bright pink.

"I said, I'll have a Becks." your dad repeated back to me.

"Huh?" I was flustered.

"Becks."

I turned to walk back to the bar and I felt like a moron. How long had I been standing there? Could they tell that I turned bright red? Did he think I was weird? He only told me his order three times. I turned back to look at your dad. He was cluelessly chatting with the people he came with.

If cupid had struck me with an arrow, I was pretty sure that he forgotten the other important person in this love equation.

How I Met Mr. Yardbird - Part 1

Dear 18+ year old Hammy,

Six years ago in this very week, I met your father. I met the man who would one day be your dad and my husband. The man who taught you how to throw a ball and the man who switched from pricey store brands to generic because of his love for your mom.

One day you will ask me to tell you this very story. Of course, this is the story I will tell you when you are older and not the one I will tell you when you're a kid. Because the truth is, we didn't meet in the ice cream parlor or at the movies or the ice skating ring if we even had one of those around here. We met at the local pub where I worked and where your dad was a frequent customer and I was, you guessed it, his waitress.

It was just after Christmas time and I had returned back to my college town where I was living after spending a few days with my family. I was in between life events, I had just graduated from college and had plans to attend grad school in the fall. In the meantime, I was working at a local pub to kill time before I made the big move back home for grad school.

The pub was set up in an old creeky house and served a variety of local and imported beer. The weekday nights were very low key, and on the weekends a one man band would set up in a corner of the house, strum on his guitar and sing just loud enough that you could still hear the person next to you. It was nice and people seemed to really enjoy the peaceful, no frills atmosphere.

I had been working there for just about six months. The majority of our customers were guys, because in the town where this pub was located, most girls preferred to drink two for one Margaritas at Chilis. In the short time it had been since it opened it became a hangout spot for the guys, a club, sort of, where only guys belonged and maybe a few cool girls who appreciated import beer, or at least could pretend they did for the sake of being "one of the guys".

While I was working there I was asked out on dates fairly often. Being one of the only girls around combined with liquid courage made the atmophere ripe for these kinds of situations. Unfortunately, I was just on the heels of a bad breakup that left me feeling like I needed to read and reread the book, "He's Just Not that Into You." followed by the book, "You're Just Not Into Him Either." I was a complete mess and the few times I took someone up on thier offer for a date, I quickly realized after one or two dates, I was not ready to start dating again.

Though all the guys I dated in the months after the breakup where nice, none of them would be anything like your dad and even though I didn't know your dad I still had a pretty good idea of what I was not looking for.

Working on Halloween in
Eighties Workout Gear

For example, on one date, a guy asked me what I would think if he were to propose that night. He had explained that he wanted the best table in the restuarant so he told the hostess he was going to propose. But even so, he was wondering what I would do if he did propose. It was our first and only date. And while I sat there sweating bullets, I ate my dinner in record speed and mapped out all the possible exit strategies in case he was crazy enough to actually do it. He didn't, thank goodness.

Another guy was sweet and sent me flowers. I know that lots of girls like them but at the time, I didn't appreciate flowers like I should have, so it didn't work out. For the record, your dad is not a flower giver. He once told me he was sending me flowers and instead sent a giant potted plant. It was very romantic.

Working on Halloween in
Eighties Workout Gear

And finally there was one guy who on our second date showed me a tatoo of a Picasso painting on his arm. "I got it yesterday," he said. "It was something you said to me the last time we went out that made me think I should get it."

Ham, who knows what I said. I might have said, "I like art." Sometimes, I get nervous and talk just to fill up the silent moments in conversation. But somehow my nervous chatter inspired an arm length Picasso tatoo of man playing a guitar.

Yes, Ham though all of the guys were great in thier own way and perfect for someone else. I knew that there was someone out there who was just right for me.

With the luck I had been having, I thought for sure I should call it quits for a while. Embrace my solitude, read books, dine alone, purchase a cat (which I did - Murphy).

But you know what, in beginning of January six years ago, your dad walked right through the door of the pub and changed my mind.

Indian Lunch and Magazine Street

A few months ago Mr. Yardbird, inspired by his Indian surroundings, bought me a gift certificate to an Indian restaurant in New Orleans. He thought I might enjoy the outing and he wanted me to get a taste of some of the food he had while he was there. It was a while before I finally got to use it, but a few days ago my mom, my sister, Ham and I went. We were celebrating my mom's last holiday before returning to work the next day. We had a great time although the only Indian part of our meal was our appentizer. Also, I had never been to this part of the city before, so it was a definite adventure for all of us.

After we we were finished we decided we had room for some Gelato and headed down to Magazine street. When we sat down to eat our ice cream, we realized that we forgot all about Ham's gelato. He didn't forget and had a completely meltdown until he tasted his very own mango sorbet. Once he had that he was in a completely hyper heaven.

After we ate our ice cream, we popped in a few stores. Some of the stores were all new to me, I guess it shows how often I get to go down there. We saw some really cute things and were all set to go, but my mom and Anna wouldn't let me leave until I bought this hat. And I'm glad because I love it. I love it so much I wore until I went to sleep that night. I hope it stays cold long enough that I get to wear it some more.