I do.

– __ — __ –

Thanks for the past seven. Looking forward to the next seventy.

And I also hate the word hate, but my back has pushed me across the line of severe dislike into the deep, icky area of hate. I hate my back. And not just because it is causing me pain whether I am sitting, standing or sleeping.

I hate my back because it has made me doubt myself in many different ways.

1. As a mother.

Since my back injury, I have not been able to lift the boys at all. Now, with BigBrother, this is not an issue as I couldn’t really lift him anyway. He’s too tall, too long, too heavy. LittleBrother, however, is still rather small and needs help with various things. When we traveled with FireDad this summer, I had to have LittleBrother crawl in and out of our SUV by himself as I couldn’t help him. And once, when he was throwing a fit in a restaurant, I forgot about my back due to the crazy anger and embarrassment adrenaline surge, lifted him out of his seat to go outside and talk and paid for that move for quite some time afterward.

Beyond logistical issues, I can’t run around in the yard with the boys. I can’t walk them to the local city park as we were known to do regularly. I can’t lift them to the monkey bars. I can’t even push the darn swings. It hurts me to sit on the floor and play a game of Chutes & Ladders or Cariboo. I can sit and blow bubbles — but not for too long as it hurts to stay in the same position for more than five minutes. I can’t bend over the tub to wash them. When I cuddle up with them in bed to read a story, it hurts so bad to get out of the bed and stand up.

I feel like a useless mommy.

2. As a woman who used to be pretty darn happy with her body.

Lack of exercise means change in body shape. Which has made me question my self-image. Big time.

The weight gain is not my favorite part about this back injury. I am not feeling like myself because I don’t feel like I look like myself. My clothes do not fit properly. I sometimes get all stubborn and force myself to walk two miles — and then I can’t move for days afterward. As someone who had taken back to running and was at yoga class twice a week, the lack of movement has hit me hard — especially considering that movement and exercise help me manage my anxiety.

I don’t like the way I look right now. And when I would feel that way before, I’d go for a walk or a run and remind myself to eat well. But now I can’t walk or run and the anxiety builds up and I say, “Screw eating well! I need comfort food.” And the scale keeps tipping.

3. As a wife and partner.

See above and add in relationship-based body insecurity. Of course, my husband keeps telling me reassuring things like “you look great!” and “I love you!” And I look at him with an eyebrow raised, the “Daphne Returns” episode of Fraiser playing in my head. Is he blinded to my change in shape by his love? Or is he just a smart man?

I don’t know.

I do know that my back is not healing as quickly as I’d like. Or as quickly as my chiropractor would like. And an MRI is going to be scheduled soon… and I don’t like that either. I don’t like feeling this way — the not knowing what is next, the self-doubt, the mother-doubt. I also hate shuffling around like someone’s Great-great Grandmother. (I can’t even say Great-grandmother because mine walks better than me right now.)

I’d give anything to wake up tomorrow and feel better. Then again, I’d also like to win the lottery, have a book published or make sure BigBrother never comes home from Kindergarten in tears ever again. All of those seem somewhat doubtful too.

“True love is your soul’s recognition of its counterpoint in another.”

Or, let’s try this on for size.

True love is rushing home from the fire department to hold your wife when she got the call that her grandfather suddenly passed away. Holding her hand as she said goodbye to that grandfather — too late for him to hear. Crying as the hearse pulled away. Realizing that you’re part of a family that you weren’t born into and never could have imagined. Enduring two more family deaths within months of each other. True love is holding each other up through the darkest of days.

True love is driving twelve hours with two children, stepping in dog poo and eating greasy rest stop food. Stepping in the ocean. Getting smacked with waves. Building sand castles. Sneaking moments alone. Searching the entire island for a pink hat for your mother-in-law. Cliche moonlit walks on the beach. And breaking down on the way home, putting on your brave face while waiting for help and letting a few tears slip out of frustration. True love is laughing about it later.

True love is letting me sleep in after I’ve had a long night at work. Or hushing the boys as you catch a snooze in your recliner after a long night fighting fires. Or making breakfast on a difficult morning. Or dancing around each other as we make dinner together, running into each other and generally stepping on each other’s toes. True love is knowing that the other totally bombed the meal but smiling as you chew… and cracking up when the cook admits that it tastes like wet socks.

True love is putting on the shirt your wife bought you. Driving off into the middle of a park despite the crazy looming storm clouds. Smiling. And smiling. And smiling. And smiling again. Freezing, but smiling anyway. True love is posing for family pictures even when you hate them simply because you know that someone loves them.

True love is supporting your partner’s career choices. Even when they run into burning buildings. Even when one or the other works on Easter, Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and, yes, anniversaries. Hoping they get the promotion, the raise. Rejoicing when they do something awesome. Supporting when it’s been a long, hard day. Or night. True love is the smile on the other’s face knowing that they are content with their job.

True love is building traditions of our own. And memories. And sorrows. And inside jokes. And life savers. And the sounds of boys. And so on.

– — –

I love you. I did then.

Wedding Day, December 18, 2004

And I do now.

Anniversary Date, December 17, 2010

Happy Anniversary.

(Wedding Rehearsal, December 17, 2004.)

Wait, forget that nonsense. We’re still young. And still in love. In fact, though it’s entirely too cheesy, overdone and cliche, I’d venture to guess we’re more in love now than we were then. Six years is a drop in the bucket of time.

Tonight we’re off to be the young and in love couple that we are, celebrating our anniversary a day early as someone (uh, me) works all day tomorrow. Tomorrow will bring the usual sappy anniversary post, but I couldn’t not post this today. Though, this year we’re rocking the green instead of the red, which I know is probably shocking if you know us.

Hopefully we get through an evening without the pager going off. Six years ago tonight? It did. Oh, fire life, I knowingly married into you, didn’t I?

In more ways than one!

Being married to a firefighter is just fine. Being married to a firefighter with a sense of humor is the best.

BigBrother helped a bit.

LittleBrother mostly fell down in the snow, cried, got picked up, took two steps and fell down again.

And again.

This was the first time we’ve been able to use the Snowman Kit that we got from one of my Grandpa’s friends during the week of his funeral. In the plastic bag came two black circles for the eyes, an orange carrot-type nose, a yellow pipe for the mouth, three brown circles for the buttons and a black scarf to tie around his neck. All pieces but the scarf were handmade. It’s totally awesome. So, once the pieces were in place, I thought FireDad was done and I took a picture of him with his creation.

We went about slipping and sliding and tripping our way through the snow. Then FireDad told me to go look at our snowman. I did. I laughed out loud. Really, I lol-ed in the snow. My awesome husband made me an ANGRY SNOWMAN.

We’ve been talking lots about Calvin & Hobbes for the past few weeks. Even before Grandpa’s sudden death (for which this particular strip is totally appropriate), we had been talking about rebuilding our Calvin & Hobbes library so that the boys have access to what we both feel is the epitome of comic strip awesomeness. And so with the angry snowman in mind, my husband made my day. Or weekend. But we didn’t bring him to life. Promise.

We did some sledding.

We had a snowball fight. Or two. Or three.

And, really, despite the fact that we haven’t left the house since Friday and they cancelled not only soccer but church, we really had a wonderful weekend. I mean, with smiles like this, how could it be anything but good?

I’d be singing a different tune if we had been without power (like my parents and grandmas and some other bloggers I know). I hope everyone was able to be safe and warm this weekend. Let’s hunker down for Round 3, set to begin on Tuesday. (By the way? Despite the cheer of this post, I’m over winter.)

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[Reminder: My $100 Visa Gift Card giveaway, sponsored by BlogHer and V8 V-Fusion, ends tomorrow. Go enter!]

There was no way to predict what the future would hold. We didn’t even know as of our wedding day that we would be trying to conceive in short order due to my health issues and the advisement of one of my doctors. We had no idea that one day shy of eleven months later, we’d be welcoming our first son into our family. Or that two years and one week after that we’d welcome another son into our fold. We never would have wanted to imagine the loss we endured between those two dates. Other dates spring to mind and fall away as I sit in awe of all we have and all we are.

He still makes me laugh.

He still gives me butterflies.

He’s the glue that keeps me together, keeps our family together.

He’s still the man I love.

Happy Anniversary, FireDad. Thank you for the past five years. Here’s to fifty-five more.

Turns out I have more favorites than I knew. Most with great stories.

This was the centerpiece in our wedding. That’s right. We had a Christmas themed wedding. Actually, our anniversary is tomorrow. My grandmother did the flowers for our wedding. This centerpiece sat in front of us at the head table. It was gorgeous then and it’s gorgeous every year when I pull it out of our holiday closet, dust it off and situate it on our half wall with the little Christmas trees that were the centerpieces on the guests’ tables.

See?

I added lights for the first time this year, which I’m loving. Though we plan to be in this house for another three years, give or take a Christmas, I hope that our next home has an easy place, like our half wall, to display our centerpieces. Other than our Fire Tree, it really is my favorite part of our decorations.

Next we have our front door which also brings us a gem from our wedding. Maybe your front door has a wreath. Maybe you also have a bell attached to your front door right now. We have… wait for it… two wreaths (small), tied together, made entirely of jingle bells. These were made for the front of the church on our wedding day.

Love them. I love how they jingle every time the door is opened or closed… even if you’re trying to be oh-so-quiet because you’re carrying a sleeping child in the door. Okay, well, maybe that part isn’t so hot but, otherwise, I love their shiny silver greeting every time I look at our front door. (Ignore the bows. I haven’t re-fluffed them since the wind storm we had last week. They’re a bit… mashed looking.) But, yes, I love the shiny beauty they bring to the door… even if you can see me, with morning hair, in my robe (no socks again! but no snow) on the front porch.

Finally, the last bit of favoriteness also sits on our front porch. You see, we have a firefighter that sits next to our front door. He guards it, if you will. He stands about hip high. On me, you know, since I’m short. At Christmas time, I take out a bow and wrap it around his neck like a scarf. It’s also another bow related to our wedding. It was some ribbon my mother had purchased to see if I wanted it for anything in the wedding or reception. While I love Christmas, it was a little too Christmas-y for the wedding. But I kept the bow. When we moved into the house and celebrated our first Christmas, I delegated the firefighter to wear the bow. Our front porch is festive and safe. No?

Did you really expect my favorite Christmas decorations to lack something fire related? Never!

And so, there you have it. These are my favorite Christmas decorations in our home, minus our Fire Tree. Though I do have a post coming with all of our Nativity sets. Turns out we have quite a few! (Do they make a firefighter Nativity set? If not, they should.) I’d head over to I Should Be Folding Laundry to view today’s You Capture post if you’re interested in viewing others’ favorites.

The next challenge is YOUR HOLIDAY. Meaning mine, not yours. I’m not showing up to capture your holiday! (A side note, there will be no You Capture next week due to Christmas Eve on Thursday and Christmas on Friday! We’ll be back on December 30th with a smorgasbord of our holiday pictures. Which works well for our family because we’re not celebrating in Pennsylvania with my side of the family until the 28th! WIN!)

Finally, come back tomorrow if you want to hear me blather on about FireDad, our marriage and general awesomeness.

We made jokes about being sick of each other by the time our thirteen days were up. We laughed and said we’d never make it through a seven day vacation and associated travel, let alone the full thirteen days. But, at the risk of sounding horribly sappy: it was flipping wonderful.

We took walks on the beach. We splashed water at one another. We went shopping without children (which is the benefit of vacationing with extended family). He bought me my first-ever fishing pole which is pink with lights. Then he took me surf-fishing, taught me how to properly cast in the ocean and even let me re-bait my own hook. (I’ve been fishing before but have never owned my own pole. With lights.) We sat on the deck in the evenings, silent and still. We teased and we poked. We laughed and we joked. We spent time with our boys together, taking them to the aquarium. We splashed with them in the ocean. We argued with one another over whether or not to go east or west at one point. (Perhaps I was wrong because I wanted to stay at the beach? Yes?) We learned dorky information about the route home (like the state line between Virginia and West Virginia is inside the East River Tunnel).

And, of course, I took lots of pictures of the two of us.

(Also: I wear a lot of green because it’s my favorite color. Obviously.)

We don’t have a ton of pictures of ourselves. In fact, the photographer we hired for our family portraits on the beach made sure to get some of the two of us by ourselves because we haven’t had any of that nonsense since we got married! I’m hopeful that they turn out well and that FireDad isn’t making his “I’m Purposefully Trying to Mess Up Your Photo” face. Like this one.

And so, yesterday came, bringing our vacation days to a final end. FireDad woke up to an alarm, something we didn’t do since we set out on vacation at 3:00 on August 15th. He showered, got ready and came in to give me a kiss. I felt sad as he left, knowing it will be a long time before we have another thirteen days together. I did roll over and snuggle into his pillow, catching a bit of sleep before the boys woke me up. We spent our day without FireDad running errands and doing the school orientation thing. But by dinner time, we simply missed him. So we stopped at the fire department and got some time in with our favorite firefighter.

He came home this morning and we’ve worked our way back into our normal routine. I’m sad that he has to leave us every third day but, really? The bed last night? All to myself? It was good.

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Having returned from vacation this past weekend and  not having done the grocery shopping until just this morning (we did a lot of pasta), I have absolutely no pictures of food to share with you for this week’s You Capture theme. We’re lucky we ate. (We also did pizza. And went out for Mexican yesterday. My diet? What diet?) But, as we’re back in our routine now, hopefully I’ll have some pictures for next week’s challenge: Old Signs. Ooh, fun.

1. How to stop kids lighting off fireworks – Well, if they’re your children, simply walk up to them, remove the fireworks from their hands, remove the fire enabler from their hands and tell them to stop it. Now. Let them know the fireworks laws of your state, impart some fireworks safety and either call the whole thing off or supervise it by being involved so that everyone retains their fingers. If they’re not your kids and, instead, belong to your annoying neighbor, I would suggest watering down your own roof with a hose, going inside and putting on some noise cancelling headphones. You really can’t control other kids. If you have a normal neighbor, unlike we do, perhaps a discussion with the parent involved could be of benefit but, remember, just as you don’t enjoy being told what to do when it comes to parenting, neither do other parents. That said, if they are shooting fireworks off that are landing on your own roof, drought or not, feel free to call the local Police. Safety should be your concern, not the noise.

2. Do firefighters get divorced more than others? – I’ll be honest, even though I don’t really like to think about it: firefighters have one of the highest divorce rates when compared to other occupations. In fact, some estimate that the divorce rate among firefighters is as high as 75 percent. The easier, less scary way to look at the statistic is to think that just about every Fire House in America is affected by divorce. The job is intense, not just for the one running into the burning house but for the spouse and children left sitting at the table when the pager went off. Communication and realistic expectations as to what marrying a firefighter entails as well as a legitimate commitment can make all the difference. Don’t marry a firefighter just because the uniform is hot (which it is). Marry “for better or worse, for richer for poorer.” There will be lots of the latter of each phrase as well as the good parts. But don’t marry a firefighter believing that it’s all fun and games and fire trucks. Marriage is hard work, no matter the occupations involved. (Some other search strings that are related to this one include: “always alone married to a fireman,” and the more-telling, “don’t marry a firefighter.” I can’t make this stuff up, guys!)

3. Stop red food coloring from turning pink – Perhaps you think this isn’t a fire related search. It is! If you’re making fire truck shaped cookies, you’ve got to have red icing. Let me tell you, adding the normal, liquid red food coloring to a jar of pre-made white icing isn’t going to cut it. Trust me. I almost had to take hot pink fire trucks to BigBrother’s preschool. I have, however, found some tips in the months since our first almost-failed attempt at making red-iced fire truck cookies. This blog tells you a specific brand to use (AmeriColor’s Super Red Gel). And, according to my boss, that’s really the secret: gel, not your normal, everyday, liquid red food coloring. Otherwise, you will be taking hot pink fire trucks to preschool. (Cover with red glitter sprinkles if that’s the case. Takes the obviousness out of it.)

4. Virtual fire truck siren – Just visit YouTube and search for fire trucks, fire truck sirens, fire engines, fire engine sirens, sirens or any variation thereof. As I said before, it’s what we do to pass the time on rainy/stormy summer evenings when we can’t go outside after supper. It’s been a fun lifesaver (and brought about cute videos from my children.)

5. Kids’ fire helmet – Yes, we’ve got some of those. In fact, we’ve gone through a large number of those over the years. I can tell you this: opt for the hard plastic ones as opposed to the flimsy, bendable plastic ones. Why? Your kids are going to be fighting fires and simultaneously wrestling with imaginary hose and/or a parent or sibling. The hat will fall of your child’s head and someone, most likely you, will step on it. It will crack. Tears will fall and a tantrum will follow as you just broke their fire helmet, for Pete’s sake. Stepping on a hard, unbendable plastic one may or may not break your foot, however, so watch for that when fighting imaginary fires in your living room. (Also, if you’re the sorry soul who came across this blog by searching for “homemade fire helmets,” well, I’m sorry. I’m not crafty. At all. Ever.)

This search is worthy of an archived picture. Here’s BigBrother in October 2007.

And finally, one that made me giggle and will probably inspire a post of its own at some point:

6. What kind of women marry firefighters? – Insane ones? Gluttons for punishment? Those who don’t mind when their husband runs out of the house just as they finish a meal that they’ve been planning for weeks and preparing for hours? Okay, okay, it’s not all gloom and doom (just as it isn’t gloom and doom for the men who marry female firefighters). That said, it does take a special woman to marry a firefighter, just as The Firefighter Wife said after I wrote my post about marrying a firefighter. It’s not easy, just as any marriage has difficulty. But you won’t survive without love and commitment. In the end, it doesn’t matter what kind of woman will marry a firefighter. It matters what kind of woman will stay married to a firefighter when the wind blows the flames back into their own house. That’s what matters.

In the near future, I’ll do another installment of Sorry You Found This Place (1, 2, 3) with all sorts of different search strings that brought people to Stop, Drop & Blog. I do think, however, that I’ll continue to do this series as well as I love seeing what brings in the fire related searches as that remains a huge part of our daily life and our family.

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[Note: We are at camp, likely without internet access, through July 25th. I will most likely be unable to reply to any comments or email until that time. Do not take offense. I'm not ignoring you. Just enjoying some (much needed) quiet time with my family.]