this is going smushy sappy lovey dovey. Fair warning.

don't forget to enter.  everyone and anyone.
I've been battling this terrible cold/sinus infection this week.  And it's all in my face.  Literally.  Like, my teeth and cheeks and sinuses.  My sinuses feel like they're bleeding and I haven't been able to smell or taste now for going on four days.

That was too much information, I know.  It's like the person at funerals who takes pictures of the body, then shows them at her next book club.  Like, we sympathize, but will pass on the empathy.  Sorry about that.

So basically, I've been knocked off my feet by this cold.  I've been sleeping wonky hours with wonky dreams and I've been a good for nothing.

It's Mr Incredible's birthday and I've been a useless crank.  With no gifts to bear.  And I'm asking him to pick up his own champagne and cheesecake tonight or else we'll be eating frozen fat free cool whip with chocolate sauce.  Again.

Since I don't have a wrapped present (skiing?) and I'm too lazy to find my passport (I lost my driver's license a LONG time ago.  I've been buying booze with my passport.  But THAT picture will be for another day.)  I'll do bullet points.  Since I never quite surpassed third grade language arts that taught putting thoughts in paragraph.  Ehhhh, we all have our fortes.  And misgivings, no?

Mr Incredible:
I know I give you a hard time, nettle, tease, irk, pick on et cetera et cetera ET CET.ERA. on this blog.  Honestly, on one day of each year I will admit to you that it is probably PROBABLY me projecting my own inadequacies on you.  Yes, that's right.  I'm most like the annoying one with a bad sense of humor and maybe even a little bit of a nag.

But we're not here to focus on THAT.

Friends, if you need a lesson in love, learn in from Incredible himself.  Somehow every virtue comes alarmingly (<-- shoot I did again.) natural to him.  So men, take notes.  Women, get green.

• He always leaves the last bite of anything that I like for me.  That's a biggie, guys.
• If I ask for a washcloth (then get annoyed because he's taking SO LONG) he always brings it warm/hot
• He lets me make decisions.  For a million different reasons that is love.  (I'm very indecisive)
• He supports any decision I make, even if it's a bad one and he knows it
• He tells me I'm not fat every time I ask, approximately three times a day.
• Even when I'm pregnant and 200 pounds he tells me I'm beautiful (at that point I don't ask if I'm fat anymore)
• He's got outrageously awesome work ethic.  Something unbeknownst to me.
• He's a spectacular dad.  He built that playground for the girls with his own two hands (see below)
• He never yells are rarely fights with me.  (even though who doesn't love drama?)
• He likes argyle sweaters.
• There's a million more things, but my last brain cell came out when I blew my nose.

sorry, again that was gross.
Mr Incredible, I'll love you until the oceans turn to yogurt. 

Pick-Me-Up

I'll be the first to admit that sometimes it seems life can give more than you (I) can handle. Even when the only problem of the day is that you didn't start your drier and are now left with a wet, mildewy ball. It can seem overwhelming at the time. So, just in case you're having one of those days, here are two things that just might make you happy.

1

We went strawberry picking about a month ago. Is there anything more wonderful than two kids, outside, picking strawberries, AND sharing? Beautiful.

2

How Did You Die?

Edmund Vance Cooke

Did you tackle that trouble that came your way

with a resolute heart and cheerful?

Or hide your face from the light of day

with a craven soul and fearful?

Oh, a trouble's a ton, or a trouble's an ounce,

or a trouble's what you make it.

And it isn't the fact that you're hurt that counts,

but only how did you take it?

You are beaten to earth? Well, well, what's that?

Come up with a smiling face.

It's nothing against you to fall down flat,

But to lie there-- that's a disgrace.

The harder you're thrown, why, the higher you bounce;

Be proud of your blackened eye!

It isn't the fact that you're licked that counts,

It's how did you fight-- and why?

And though you be done to death, what then?

If you battled the best you could,

If you played your part in the world of men,

Why, the Critic will call it good.

Death comes with a crawl, or comes with a pounce,

And whether he's slow or spry,

It isn't the fact that you're dead that counts,

But only how did you die?

That poem has been my favorite poem since 7th grade. I can label it favorite either because it's great and offers a lot to think about, or favorite because that is one of the few poems I can recite. Most likely the former. Hopefully the former. It's just so strong.