I think I need cooking lessons...

Last week, as we were trying to get Sam to eat supper, he said this (and imagine his face crinkled in extreme displeasure):

"Supper tastes like weird.  Supper tastes like weird animals, Mom."

Today, we're cleaning our oven.  It's self-cleaning, which is great, but it makes the entire house smell like burning.  Really, really bad burning.  This is what Sam said when we came in the house after some toboganning:

"It smells like meat.  It smells like supper!"

Not good.  

The Problem with Milestones

There's something I've been wanting to talk about for a while:  

Competition.  Milestones.  Feeling crappy or defensive when your child is "behind".  Feeling good and powerful when your child is "ahead".  Being driven by performance.  The parent contest.

Sam didn't walk until he was 15 months old.  He never crawled.  So, up until he walked (and "late", at that) his only movements were rolling.  This was one of the best things that happened to me as a parent.  I started learning (it's always a process, isn't it?) that IT DOESN'T MATTER.  We had our fair share of comments, mostly from well-meaning family members.  We were bombarded with questions like "are you worried?" and advice about how we shouldn't be worried.  The funny thing is, we weren't.  (I'm not sure why, really... I think it's only because the Holy Spirit had already started a work in me back then.)  I quickly learned that those comments usually reflected worry in the very people who were saying them, or indicated that they thought we should be worried.  Sam learned to walk at the exact right time for him.  His later walking didn't indicate poor parenting or defective genetics, and it was absolutely no reflection on Sam or his personality.  It did not mean that Kris and I were bad parents.

Here's another thing: our boys have both slept through the night at an early age.  But can I tell you a secret?  That is not any kind of proof that we're good parents.  It just means that sleep is something that we find important for our children, and we've tried to encourage them to learn how to sleep from infancy.  That's it.  It's just a style of parenting, that is neither right nor wrong.  It's just what we've chosen.  And we've had a lot of set-backs too.  It's not perfect.  

The same rules apply to how you choose to feed your baby, when they crawl or clap or sit up or talk or use the potty, what you put on their bum to catch their feces, how well behaved they are, what weight percentile they are in, when they learn their ABCs, and how well they do in school.  The list goes on.  The choices we make for our children don't determine how good of a parent we are or how much we love our children.  And like their parents, children will inevitably soar in some areas, and be "below average" in others. 

What I have learned, am still learning, and will continue to learn, is that it is not my children's job to make me feel good about myself.  That is a huge job to put on such little humans (or any human, for that matter).  And besides, it's a system that's doomed to fail.  Why?  Because some kids don't walk until they're 15 months, some are late talkers, some don't potty train until 3 years old, some have temper tantrums in front of their grandparents and say bad words...  Half of the time it might work out - when all the stars are aligned, and our children look perfect and perform perfectly.  But the other half of the time (or more than half, if you're normal), it doesn't work out.  

The best thing I am learning as a mother is to be filled up by my Father.  He's the only one who can do the job perfectly anyways.  And the best part about that?  It lets my kids off the hook.  It lets my husband off the hook.  It lets me off the hook.  Which all creates a whole lotta freedom for all of us to just be.  It allows my kids to fail.  It allows them to be who God is creating them to be.  And it allows me to allow them to fail.  You get the picture.  (It also allows me to allow myself some failures too.  Because let's face it - I screw this up a LOT.  I need a lot of grace in this area too.)

So - what's the most important milestone for children at any age?  To know they're loved.  To know their worth in God's eyes.  To know that, because their parents get their worth from their Heavenly Father, they have complete freedom to explore and discover and fail and succeed and make mistakes and be the exact person they were meant to be.  Without the huge job of also making us, their parents, feel good.  They should know that we are proud of them, accomplishments aside.  That we love them and like who they are even when they're the only kid in kindergarten who doesn't know how to spell their name.  To know that we love them especially in those situations.  

Those are the milestones that really matter.

The Brother Dynamic

Sibling rivalry.  It has already begun.  

It is really one of the funniest things to watch.  Sam is convinced that his brother is out to get him.  Jack has no clue.  None whatsoever.  He's not even 6 months old.  Sam doesn't get this point, though, despite my best efforts to explain.

Jack scratches the leather couch with his little nails.  "Jack!  Quit scratchin'!  Mom, Jack's scratchin' the couch!"

Jack unknowingly grabs Sam's shirt.  "Let go!  Mom, Jack's got my shirt!"

Jack screams.  Sam screams at him to stop.

And today.  Sam was convinced that Jack was jumping and making a lot of noise in his Exersaucer just to irritate him.  "Mom!  Jack's buggin' me!"  I look over at Jack, who's grinning from ear to ear.  I have to admit, he does look a lot like a kid who's gotten the best of his older sibling, and knows it.  Jack, however, does not know it.  He's just smiling, because that's what he does.  I'm sure the smile just bugged Sam all the more.

These boys really do love each other.  And the little bit of rivalry is normal.  I just didn't anticipate it happening so soon.  But it certainly is funny (for everyone but Sam).

Letter to the Editor

Here's a letter I recently sent in to the editor of one of our local newspapers (because that's the kind of thing I do).  But first, a little bit of background - the newspaper has been printing ads for the local lounge to advertise strippers, using large photos of... strippers.  In the paper.  Yup.  And then there's La Senza, who puts up a giant-sized poster of a... stripper (essentially) in their exterior window, for all to see.  I'm infuriated about it.  Hence, the letter:

  I would like to express my extreme disappointment at some of the advertisements adorning not only our city buildings, but one of our local newspapers as well.  

  For the past many months, I have opened up your paper only to have my eyes bombarded with images of scantily clad women as an advertisement for dancers at the local lounge.  For the past 4 years, I have trusted and allowed your publication to come into my home, a trust that has now been broken due to the disrespectful and devaluing images you have allowed to print.  As the mother of two young boys, I never thought a day would come when I would have to protect my sons from the inappropriate photos being printed in this newspaper.  I’m shocked that these images have made their way out of the top shelf of the magazine rack, and into your publication, for all to see.    
  Unfortunately, this issue is not one that is kept within the confines of print.  Last week, my husband and I went with our sons to rent a movie - from a video store that happens to be a few doors down from a women’s lingerie shop (which, strangely, also sells young girls’ clothing).  I was shocked by the giant-sized poster of an airbrushed, full-breasted, long-legged woman in only her underwear.  Can I not even go and rent a movie with my family without having to worry about my children being assaulted with suggestive images?  
  Advertising is advertising.  I understand that there is money at stake here.  But we have to ask ourselves, at what cost?  Do we really understand how damaging this is for our children?  These are the images that are shaping the self esteem of our little girls.  We are giving them the message that this is what they should look like, act like, and be like.  And what about our boys?  What is this teaching them about what real femininity looks like, and what it means to respect a woman?
 This is unacceptable, and something needs to change.  These businesses should be held accountable, and they need to know that this isn’t okay.  I want my city to be one that displays respect and tact in all forms of media - because there is something seriously wrong when I can find racier images outside the movie store and in the pages of the newspaper, than in the windows of the local sex shop.

Do you agree or not?  Do you think they will print it?!

It saddens me that this kind of thing has just become acceptable.  We aren't even questioning anymore.  We live in a country where we have a voice - a voice that, if big and loud enough, will be heard.  Why aren't I using this voice, and encouraging other to use theirs, to make a difference?

Let me know, and then read this blog post (in fact, check out a lot of this guy's posts.  You'll be glad you did.).   Interesting, huh?

A Moment Like This

Earlier today, I was sitting on the floor in front of Sam, who was sitting on the toilet taking care of some... *ahem*... business.

He smiled at me, then stroked my cheek, and said, "You're a good little guy, Mama".

If you've never had a moment like this, I sincerely pray that one day you do.

Shedding the Quills

I don't really know what to say here.  I've thought about and pondered this post for a long time.  I've written and rewritten it numerous times.  And now, I'm just praying that the Holy Spirit gives me words that are not my own, and that these words do what they need to.  (And that God gives me the strength to click "Publish Post" when I'm done.)

I've been grieving lately about something that I've done.  Something that maybe you've done too.  I've set up a system that just isn't working anymore.  A system that never worked, and will never work.  

It's called dishonesty.

Here's the thing.  I struggle.  And I feel alone in my struggles.  You have no idea how many times I've sat here wondering why I'm inadequate, why I don't have it all together, why I feel like I have so few people who I can call and say, "hey, life feels crappy right now.  Here's why."  As I've been wrestling with these things, God has given me the answer - it's because I don't talk about it.  It's because I'm so busy trying to convince everyone around me that it's all good.  That I'm supermom and I have my crap together.  That's dishonest.  And maybe you're in that spot too.  

It's really hard to go to someone in your brokenness when you feel the illusion that they're better than that.  That they don't struggle like you do.  It's really hard to go to someone when you feel like they will listen just long enough to counsel you from their spot above the crap.  It's really hard to go to someone when you feel like they're just going to worry about you, or put a label on what you're going through.

But here's the truth.  I've done this to myself.  How do I know that?  Because I've been the person who has been unapproachable, who has wanted to save the person who comes to me in their weakness, who isn't always willing to share my struggles in return, who has just been filled with concern instead of genuine love and understanding.  That's why I know what it looks like so well.

I'd like to be different.  I'm going to be different.

I know that it's not always the appropriate time or place to share your innermost struggles.  Some relationships don't ever go there, and that's okay.  Some people just really aren't safe to go into that place with.  And some struggles are meant to be kept close to your heart.  

But sometimes, it's a beautiful thing to sit across from a friend, and say, "hey, this is hard".  It's a beautiful thing to hear a friend's struggles, and just say, "I'm sorry, and I understand that.  Please tell me about it".  Even if you've never been there, or you're coming out of it, to just lend an ear.  Without answers.  Without planning an intervention because you're concerned they're losing it.  To say, "I can't help you.  But I can travel this road with you".  To put on your rubber boots and wade through the crap with them.  Heck, to take off your boots and still wade through it with them, unprotected, unafraid of getting dirty.

Isn't that what most of us want?  We don't want help - we want company.

Why are we so scared of each other?  Why are we so scared to ask how someone is really doing?  To probe into some of those messy places? 

Is it because we're scared they will do the same to us?  I know that's probably one of my reasons.  Is it because we're scared to get dirty in relationships?  Probably that too.  A wise friend of mine once told me that the enemy puts fear in front of what God wants for us.  So sometimes, to run in the direction of something scary is a really good start.  

So here's the thing:  I'm sick of staying clean.  Because clean is a lonely place.  Dishonesty is a lonely place.  I'm praying that God will show me who He wants me to get dirty with.  And I finally want to live in honesty.  True honesty.

I don't know if you're with me here, or if this makes no sense to you.  Maybe this resonates really deeply with you, or maybe you think I'm crazy or in a totally different place.  Either way, it's okay.  I am sharing what God has told me to share, in the expectation God is taking me to a better place.  A place with truth and intimacy in relationship.  I want to shed the quills of illusion I have covered my body with.  The quills protect.  But the quills repel too.  I don't want to be a porcupine anymore.  How about you?  

So I'm trusting God to put women in my life (or show me the ones that are already there) who I can be honest and messy with.  I might have to make the first move and be real, truly real, for the first time.  You might have to make that move with people in your life.  But God is good.  He will bless that step of faith. 

And so I wait on my Father...

Teen Drama Intervention

Before I begin, I have to tell you how much my husband L-O-V-E-S when I write these things about him.

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If you know us well, you will know that we have been watching our fair share (and a few other peoples') of teen dramas. Mostly since the last bit of my pregnancy with Jack, when I could hardly move and Kris was scared to anger the beast. And then after he was born, to pass those evenings of waiting until the last feed of the evening before you can head to bed, sweet bed. We're still watching.

We've made it through Dawson's Creek, and a few others. Now we're working on One Tree Hill. I think this one is our favourite yet. Teen love for me, basketball drama for him. (The basketball, however, is just a hook, and doesn't have much to do with the show, really. But it makes men feel just a little better about watching it.)

Kris' friends have discovered this pasttime of his. One group of his friends here in town consist largely of trades-working, Conservative-voting, gun-toting hunters who would not be caught dead watching anything slightly resembling a teen drama, never mind admitting they like such things. (We wives know the truth. But nice try, guys.) They're nice men. They're just concerned about Kris. Quite concerned. One of his friends told me a little while ago that if it goes much further, they're thinking about a teen drama intervention. It's for Kris' own good, after all.

I can just imagine it. We're watching Dawson's Creek. The guys break in, camera crew in tow. Kris' face displays shock. Then betrayal. He gets hauled off, all the while fighting and screaming, "But I need to find out if Joey and Pacey end up together! NNNOOOOOO!!!!"

Wait until they find out that Kris knits.

I'm such a lucky woman.

Bacon and Potty Training

My 2 (nearly 3!) year old loves bacon. So does my 28 year old. Because this is a love BOTH father and son share, Kris thinks it's totally acceptable for Sam to eat as much bacon as he likes. I harp on both of them about their bacon eating. And I think the reason Kris gives Sam the bacon freedom he does, is so that he can say to himself, "Well, SAM eats that much". As if that makes it okay.

Now, I would probably be more okay with the bacon eating if it were good farm bacon we were eating. A lot of the food in our house, especially lately, is farm fresh and local. I feel good about that. But I HATE FARM BACON. Hate. Loathe. Can't stand. When I first started dating Kris, I remember being served farm bacon at their house. My mouth was offended. I told Kris that I thought it tasted "gamey". He asked if I knew what that even meant. I've tried it a few times since, and I still hate it. I like bacon that has a bar code and preservatives. And because of that, I'd like to at least limit the amount of sodium and preservatives that go into my child's body. Kris, apparently, has no such goal.

Anyways, I became aware of the propensity of the bacon issue a few weeks ago. Sam is potty trained, but still asks for treats after he goes. I usually give him one, or hope he forgets and then I'm off the hook. At this particular point in time, we had some left over bacon in the fridge. Sam knew about it, and had snuck a piece a time or two already. I think you may see where this is headed. Sam went pee on the potty. Then he came out, and said to me,

"Mom, can I have piece of bacon for going pee on the potty?"

There is a serious problem when your child wants bacon as a potty-training treat. Kris was there, and he was lovin' it. And he gave Sam the bacon. ("What?! Positive reinforcement!")

We are so weird.

********

And as a bit of a tangent, while looking for a photo of bacon, I found something FAR weirder than potty training with bacon. Who does this stuff? Who are these people? Whoever they are, they make me feel a heck of a lot more normal.

About Obedience and Mittens

I struggle with being obedient. With trusting that still small voice that runs so deep in me. I struggle with listening to - no, following through with - those gentle prompts from my Father. I hear Him. I know what He tells me. I just don't always do it.

I think a lot of us know how the cycle works. You feel something rising up in you, a little stir in your belly. You know what you're supposed to do. Go talk to that lady, and tell her she's beautiful. Invite that homeless man into a coffee shop and fellowship with him. Call a friend you've lost touch with. Love someone who's "unlovable".

And then the flesh kicks in. They're going to think I'm weird. That's just silly. But who might see me? What are they going to say? What if I'm rejected? I'm sure I'm not the only one who experiences this rigamarole when God lays something on my heart.

Some wise words I recently heard come to mind: Be obedient in the private, and God takes care of the public.

I'm learning to stop listening to those silly voices in my head, and instead obey the one voice that I know speaks truth. I'm learning to be obedient and faithful to what God is prompting me to do, and to trust that God has a plan with it. Even if I never see the ripples.

And wouldn't you know it, but neat things start happening.

I can't hardly count the number of times God has blessed my obedience with little signs that I did what I needed to do. Words confirming the timing of a phone call, hearing much-needed words from a mentor I finally called, stepping into someone's life at just the right time.

And this. This blessed my heart more than I can say. God, you are so good. Tears filled my eyes as I read such kind words. And a confirmation from God that I did what I was supposed to do. Isn't it amazing how if we do what we need to, God takes care of the rest?

To know how God orchestrated it all AMAZES me. I felt like I should make mittens. I have to admit, I did feel a bit silly in a way for sending a gift to such a new friend. I thought she might think I was overbearing. Or trying too hard. But I ignored those messages, and I made the mittens. Then I sent them. And God took it from there. He didn't ask that I make sure they arrive on a certain day. He didn't ask me to figure out all the details. He just wanted obedience in that small area.

And then to read the rest of story - words can't begin to describe how much awe I have for our Father. I think Tonia's words were as much a blessing to me as the mittens were to her. It's all part of the story. God was blessing both of us, and showing us his extravagant love. In His perfect timing.

I'm not perfect in this, and I will still make mistakes. Lots of mistakes. I'm learning so much - about God, and who He wants to be for me, and how there's SO much grace in this journey. And I'm learning how much God blesses obedience and faithfulness. I love Him for that.

A Story about Grace

Kris and I have a really neat story to share. (It's a long one - you might want to make some tea...)

It began happening almost exactly a year ago now. I've held this story close to my heart, and until now, have only told people close to me, or told it in bits and pieces. But I feel like I want to share it now, and I want to give all the glory to my Heavenly Father, who has (again) proved Himself to be so, so good.

Early last summer, Kris and I decided it was time to have another child. We quickly got pregnant, and we were really excited. Not quite 2 weeks after we found out about this little person, we ended up having a miscarriage. We were both devastated. It was awful, and hard, and even though I knew many people who had had a miscarriage and how common they are, I don't think I ever thought I would be there myself. It was very, very tough. We still remember and wonder who that little person would have been, but know that he/she is being held by the best Father ever.

Because our miscarriage happened fairly early on, the doctor had told us that we could start trying again whenever we felt ready. Of course, at that time, neither of us felt like we could even think about trusting again, or being at a place where we were okay. However, it wasn't long before we started feeling like it was okay to try again, and we really appreciated the words of a respected pastor in our life who told us that trying again, even so soon, was NOT a dishonour to the child we had lost. We hung on to that truth, and to the memory of our little one, and decided to carry on with the plans we had for our family. To our surprise, we ended up getting pregnant again on the first round. We were thrilled, and though we were a bit scared, we both decided we would not live in fear.

One morning, when I was about 12 weeks along, I went to the washroom and found that I had some spotting. The devastation hit me immediately. Because I had been there once before, all the thoughts of "it could be nothing" and "this doesn't necessarily mean anything" were gone. I instantly was convinced we were losing another baby. And I couldn't do it. I was scared, and angry, and just plain terrified. I immediately called Kris at work, who rushed home to take me in to the hospital.

The doctor came in, and after some questions, began searching for our baby's heartbeat. And searched. And searched. 10 heart-wrenching minutes passed as the doctor tried and tried to find something distinguishable on the Doppler. Nothing. She said she would have to send me for an ultrasound to see what was really going on. She also said that my cervix was a little bit open, which was a bit of a concern, but also can be normal if it's not a first baby. As we were getting ready to go, she apologized, and told us that miscarriages are really common and that it wasn't our fault. I knew what she was thinking. I left with a requisition for an ultrasound the following day, my eyes filled with tears, and my heart filled with fear for my child.

Kris stayed home the rest of that day. I remember just thinking and pleading, over and over, that I couldn't do this again. It had been too hard, and I couldn't do it all over. That evening, after Sam had gone to bed, we decided to spend some time praying. Kris started praying for the life of our child. And then I was filled with the feeling that we were supposed to pray for a name for this little one. Kris agreed, and we both fell silent as we asked God to lay a name, the same name, on both of our hearts. After a few moments, Kris said, "So?" With a shaky voice, I said, "Grace". I was scared that Kris was not going to say the same name. But he looked at me with huge eyes and said, "me too". That was just the beginning of God showing us how good He is.

After some more prayer, God gave Kris and I peace, and the confidence that everything was going to be fine. Our baby was okay. More than okay. And we came away thinking and dreaming about this little girl who God named "Grace".

But then the next morning hit. We were flooded with doubt, worry, and fear yet again. We started questioning what God has told and shown us. We even wondered if "Grace" was a name for a future child, instead, and that maybe this child was not going to make it.

A few hours before our ultrasound, Kris took Sam out to do a few errands. When he got home, he told me about how he had ended up at our church's office, and had told our pastor about what was going on. Kris explained about our prayer time, but how we didn't really know what it all meant. That maybe it didn't mean our baby was okay. But our pastor said to Kris, "God gave you the name for THIS child, right?" Kris said that He had. "So then why in the world would you think it was for another child?!" So true! Kris told me about how we needed to stand firm on the truths that God had given us, and to discredit anything that was a contradiction to that. We knew what God had told us.

We went to our ultrasound. Prior to getting there, and having been through the process with Sam, I was ready and waiting for a fight when they would inevitably ask Kris to wait in the waiting room until they called him. Earlier, I had imagined myself tearing into the nurse, and demanding that my husband be with me when I find out if my child is alive or not. However, with the peace I had in my heart, I knew I didn't need him. Kris waited in the waiting room, and I walked confidently into the room with the nurse. By myself. (But not really.)

I waited while the nurse rolled the ultrasound tool around on my abdomen. If you've ever been to an ultrasound before, you'll know how insanely nerve-wracking it is - they roll around, and type stuff while they stare at the screen. And they DON'T SAY A THING. It was completely silent for many minutes. Then finally she said some of the sweetest words I have ever heard:

The baby has a heartbeat of 140. Everything's looking great!

I cried. Then Kris came in and together we watched our little person dance around in there. It was amazing. Truly, truly amazing.

Life carried on, and so did my pregnancy. Because God had given us a female name, we felt very sure that we were having a girl. We (okay, it was just me) felt the temptation to find out the baby's sex at our 20 week ultrasound, just to see, but decided not to. I remember both of us (I finally came around) feeling that we didn't need to, because we had faith in God's words to us. I even had a cool experience when I stumbled across a book all about a little girl named "Grace". I felt like God was just giving me more and more signs about this little person.

The day to have our baby arrived. We were so excited and we just felt bathed in God's blessing - to think that we were ready to deliver our child, whose life we were so scared for not so many months before.

After a pretty quick labour, it was time for our baby to make its appearance. After a bit of pushing, out came our little... BOY! I remember the mix of excitement and shock! It's funny, because at NO point was there any feeling of disappointment, even though we had been so sure he was a girl. The last few weeks of my pregnancy, however, I had really been feeling like it was a boy. For some reason, I just felt like a boy made sense for us. I really wanted another little boy. I was thrilled when we saw our little Jack.

Jack Robert was a name we had picked for our baby, if he was boy, from early on in the pregnancy. At the end of our pregnancy, Kris and I chatted again about boys' names, "just in case". Another name that we liked was "Daniel". So after Jack was born, the nurses asked what his name was. We didn't know. We hadn't really felt like it was necessary to decide, because we were sure we were having a little "Grace"! We thought about it for a while. A few hours passed. We knew we needed to decide, so that we could call people with our wonderful news (we had only told our parents so far). I thought for a few minutes, and said, "I really think his name should be Jack. It just feels right." Kris said that he had been thinking the same thing. So, Jack it was!

Those first few hours and days, as I was thinking and pondering about Jack, I started asking God about why we had felt so strongly that our baby was a girl, and why he had told us that "Grace" should be her name. Kris and I were both confused. We knew that we would eventually know (at least some of) the reasons. To this day, we're still discovering little things that God is showing us about that.

The day we came home from the hospital, I realized that we didn't even know what the meaning of Jack's name was. We just liked it without really researching it. I knew it was another form of the name "John", but didn't know anything beyond that. So while Kris ran out with Sam to go pick up some lunch for us, I looked it up. Tears filled my eyes as I read the meaning of my little boy's name:

"God is gracious."

It all made perfect sense.

Since Jack has been born, God has been showing me more and more about what it means to live in His grace. Experiencing God's grace, in some ways for the first time in my life, has allowed me to have more grace for myself, and more grace for others. My baby boy is a constant reminder to me of how, indeed, God is so, SO gracious. That's what he was telling Kris and I a year ago when he told us that he would be "Grace". God sent me His "grace" through my little boy.

So that's the story of our little Jack, our precious little boy who (with his awesome older brother, of course!) fills this house with love and joy. And who reminds us on a daily basis to experience God's grace.

Grade 2 fashion

So I've only worn my not-so-new-anymore skinny jeans out in public once. And that was when Kris and I went up to the city on a date - to a different city where no one knows me. I hardly consider that a victory.

I think I've figured out that they are just too tight on my legs. A little TOO skinny, if you know what I mean.

I ended up at the second hand store last weekend. I seriously LOVE thrift storing. I think it's the thrill I get when I find something perfect. There is just no challenge to finding a shirt you like, and then just sifting through to find your size. Anyways, I discovered something amazing while there:

Royal Blue skinny jeans.

I just kind of thought they were funny, and decided to bring them home just to try. Again, to see how ridiculous they might look. But here's the thing: I love them. I love the way they feel, and the way they fit. They are the most amazing cut of jean I think I have ever worn. Really. And I feel really cutting-edge wearing coloured jeans. (I think those are "in", aren't they?! Sure hope so!)

While at the second hand store, I also found a really great long-shirt-y thing. So I went and bought some leggings. Yup. Leggings. An article of clothing I have not donned since my grade 2 days. (Although I think the ones I wore back then had stirrups - remember those?!) I also got some great black boots. I tried on this outfit, and Kris told me I looked like I was straight out of 1986.

Perfect.

Apparently my husband knits

The other night, one of the weirdest things happened to me. Let me set the stage.

I am a knitter. I have been knitting for about 9 years now, about the same amount of time that I have been with Kris. (And no, the wonder of how TWO of my greatest loves entered my life at the same time is not lost on me.) In those 9 years, I have repeatedly attempted to have Kris let me teach him how to knit. And I have repeatedly failed. Until the other night. Kind of.

We were sitting together, and I was knitting a toque for our godson for his 2nd birthday. I asked Kris if I could teach him how to knit. Real quick. And just one stitch. So that he could say he helped. Because wouldn't that be neat? Pleeeeeaaaase? (See how I like to make it sound like the greatest idea ever?!)

Preparing for yet another failed attempt to add to my list, I just about jumped off of the couch Tom-Cruise-style when Kris rolled his eyes, and said, "Fine".

HUH?!

"Really?!" I said. He confirmed his prior response, and told me to make it quick. So I cuddled up close to him, and then started my explanation. I put the needles in his hands, and started to tell him where in the next stitch he needed to insert the needle. But as I began, he said this:

"I know, I know. You put it right in here like this, wrap the yarn around back and between the two needles like this, and then pull it down and slip that stitch off."

Pardon me?!

Like I said, the weirdest thing ever. MY HUSBAND KNOWS HOW TO KNIT.

I quickly assumed that he had learned to knit as a child, was actually quite an adept knitter, and had been hiding it all these years. I asked him how he knew, wondering if he would confirm my suspicions or not. He said this:

"Sarah, I've been watching you knit for years. Don't you think I've ever paid enough attention to actually know how it works?"

No, Kris, I didn't.

Reason #93 why I love this man and think he's the cutest ever.