I swear I haven’t forgotten about the blog…
I know, I suck, and I have no real excuses except for a weekend long, Friday through Monday, Bachelorette party (that’s what Vegas is for, right?!), but otherwise it’s purely my memory’s fault here.
Anyway, I’ve been wanting to post about this for months now, so here it is…
Joshua and I have been together for six years. Count ’em. Six… We’ve had twelve birthdays between us, six Christmases, six New Years, six summers, six winters, and six anniversaries.
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I get to do this weekend, something that I haven’t done in a long, long time. Spend a couple long days with my tiny baby and I’m looking forward to it!
We were together today from around 4:30-on and we had a pretty good night. Granted, Emmy goes to bed at eight, but what can ya do. We had a good few solid hours together and it was cool.
I used to be with her three days a week from like 7:30 am until nearly 10 pm. It was a good time and I loved spending all that time with her, just father and daughter, straight chillin’. But she was a blob then and pretty incapable of getting into things and hurting herself severely. That’s not the case now, though!
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Alright, alright, now I understand that it may be weird to have an entire post about coffee—or maybe not at all… I don’t know. What I do know is that without the magic substance, I might not be here today, you know, because I have a kid.
Now I know that there are those out there that don’t have a taste for coffee and those that seem to be anti-coffee, for some strange reason. I’m here to tell you that you’re wrong! Coffee is one of the greater things in life and if you don’t like it… you must be sick.
My friendship with Joe (Joe because it’s so funny and witty to call coffee Joe) began at age 23, shortly after I stopped drinking alcohol. I had never had much of a taste for coffee until I dropped one habit and picked up another. I know it sounds like it was just a replacement—and hell, maybe that’s what it is—but it feels like a lot more than that. Joe helps me focus and get the shit done that needs done and helps keep me from falling asleep at my desk at work after we have a rough night with Emmy. And that has happened, more than once—I’m just sayin’—moffuga gets tired bein’ a dad and all, haha.
Coffee has become my crutch—but in a good way; it helps support me in a non-deadly way such as alcohol was providing me. It’s actually pretty healthy for me, according to some studies, and that makes it even better. There really is nothing like a nice, black cup of coffee when you’re fighting to stay conscious or even when you’re just trying to relax, thus why it had to be written about more than just in an in-passing way. So there you have it—my little friendship story with coffee.
I love you, boo.
Alrighty then—now that we established what happened with the whole birth part of the story and I’ve talked about some more recent stuff… we can move forward, or onward you might say, in the past, but still onward… in the story, and can now discuss our Portland/Vancouver life a little bit.
I think I mentioned earlier that we were living in a small city called Vancouver, Washington at the time of Emmy’s birth; she was born in Portland, though, and thank the Lord for that. Not that Vancouver is a bad place or anything, but there are definitely some crazies up there and who even knows that there’s a Vancouver in Washington. Anyways, Emmy is Portland-born and she lived there (or near) for the first eight-or-so months of her life.
Now, I’m just going to give you the first 3/4 year of her life in a short, small, little nutshell. When our tubular little tyke was born, it was right in the heart of the rainy season, which worked for the FIRST few months of her life because she was fairly immobile and we weren’t really supposed to take her outside anyway. The more time moved forward and the bigger she grew though, the more we longed to get away from our dreary little apartment on the bottom floor in the small, hardly-known town that is America’s Vancouver.
I guess today I’ve got a little ode to or a little shoutout to stay-at-home parents. I am not one myself but I know that being one has got to be incredibly tough.
I once found myself a part-time stay at home dad when we were still living in Vancouver, Washington and I worked full-time, four days a week, and Kayleigh worked full-time, three days a week. So I spent three full days with Emmy, from like 7am to 9pm, just the two of us, kickin’ it. Keep in mind, Kayleigh was doing it four days, from 9am to 10pm or later. This is all after she already had to (as if she minded) stay at home for something like seven weeks after Emmy was born for her maternity leave, which was unpaid, by the way.
I’ve got to say, in the months that I did the whole all-day parenting thing—it was hard, like, it whooped my ass. I’m surprised we both even made it back then, like, we’re both here and in one piece and I think that’s impressive. But I did have really hard days being with Emmy all by myself, and I mean ALL by myself. We lived in the PNW all alone, with no family near or anything. Okay, so Kayleigh’s cousin Tiffany lived in downtown Portland but she’s a doctor and we rarely saw her so that doesn’t count. And yes, she did have a great aunt and uncle that lived at the coast 2.5 hours away, but hey, they lived on the coast, 2.5 hours away…
Have any of you ever had a ferret? You know, those long tube-like, semi-crazy little mustelids (not rodents, I checked. Google it!) that scurry around and have no chill? The ones that steal all of your stuff and have ALL the energy and sometimes bite you if they feel like it?
Well, I hate to have to inform you all, but Emmy has become a ferret.
Recently—like sometime in the last couple of weeks—she’s decided that one of the greatest things in the world is taking other peoples things and putting them in places that they would never think to look.
The other day Kayleigh and I were making dinner and Emerson was running around, doing what she does—being a nutcase and attacking the animals—what else? She then proceeded to grab Kayleigh’s stepdad’s flip-flops and made her way into the kitchen where we were slaving over the counter and stove, working hard to get food ready for her. She walked over to the oven, opened the drawer underneath, threw the flip-flops in, and walked away.
Here’s a little story about an umbilical cord situation. Don’t know what I mean by that? Get to reading then, silly!
Are we ready for some more blood? Not nearly as much as in the last post—the bloody, gory, unexpected c-section—but just a little. I foresee lots blood, booboo’s, butts, and beers* (just kidding) in my future considering I now have a small child to care for—a tiny, uncoordinated, little drunk of a child—so you’re going to have to bear with me from here on out.
It was approximately six days after Emmy was born; my mother, sister, her boyfriend, and my brother were still in town, as were Kayleigh’s mother and stepfather. So, Emerson and I were in the living room, everyone else was kinda just dilly-dallying around, probably bored out of their minds because it was raining outside and we couldn’t really take a new baby anywhere. I’m sure they were eating and talking away as well because my family be hungry and they never shut up. I love you guys.