sueeeus

enamored, in love, besotted, bewitched, captivated, charmed, crazy about, crazy over, devoted, dotty, enchanted, enraptured, entranced, fascinated, fond, hooked, nuts about, silly about, smitten, stuck on, taken, wild about, beguiled, dazzled, delighted, all over, attached, big, big for, caring, crazy about, crazy for, crazy over, dear, devoted, doting, fond, friendly, huggy, lovey-dovey, loving, mushy, nutty about, partial, soft on, tender, warm, warm-hearted, apple of my eye, cherished one, angel, beloved, darling, dearest, fair-haired boy, favorite, honey, light of my life, loved one, object of my affections, pet, sweetheart, treasure, cherished, darling, dear, dearest, doted on, endeared, esteemed, fair-haired, loved, precious, prized, respected, sweet, treasured, my boy, my child, my half-pint, my lad, little guy, my sprout, my squirt, my lovebug, my Buggaboo, my Boo, my son

Emily Post (1873–1960). Etiquette. 1922.

Chapter XXVII.

Notes and Shorter Letters

Never under any circumstances address a social letter or note to a married woman, even if she is a widow, as Mrs. Mary Town. A widow is still Mrs. James Town. If her son’s wife should have the same name, she becomes Mrs. James Town, Sr., or simply Mrs. Town.

Dear Mom,
I know you mean well, and that you make every effort to be proper and to do the right thing. All that said, I can bite my tongue no longer, and must let you know that I most passionately disagree with Emily Post’s letter addressing etiquette, and would much rather you address me using my own name, rather than that of my husband. Consider it a matter of practicality in this modern age. The only form of identification I have that has my husband’s name on it is my marriage license, and I normally don’t carry that with me. When an item of mail requires a signature receipt, the postmaster must see some form of identification to ensure that the individual receiving the post is, in fact, the intended recipient.

My husband might be able to sign for the letter. Although the postmaster will surely recognize that he is not, in fact, Mrs. Cool Cat Gadget.

I could try to sign for the letter, but as I mentioned earlier, I’m not accustomed to carrying my marriage license with me.

Perhaps the thing to do, to avoid any wasted trips to the post office, is to go together. That way we could explain that I am the Misses and he is the one named Cool Cat Gadget. Ah, but it is not very convenient to visit the post office as a couple. After all, the post office is closed by the time he returns from work, and since he works on Saturday, we can’t go then either. He does have Mondays off, but then I work. If I could make it home on a Monday before the post office closes, I could get my letter.

You see, if you would address the letter to Sueeeus Gadget, there would be no question.

Using my name is no insult to the man I married. Using his name when addressing me is an insult to me. I took his name (in retrospect, perhaps I shouldn’t have, considering the hassles this decision has spawned), but I didn’t want to lose myself in the process. Etiquette, schmetiquette! I don’t care what Emily Post has to say on this matter! I wouldn’t mind so much if I received something addressed to Mrs. Cool Cat Gadget from a complete stranger, but when it’s from my own mother (and grandmother), it is most annoying and insulting. I’m sorry to say it, but that is how it is. I am still ME! I am not a shadow of the man I married. He is not my provider, he is not my protector, he is not my guide. He is my partner. Partner! Please. Please use my name.

Sincerely,
Sueeeus Gadget

It’s been that kind of a morning…

Where the head is pounding so hard that it wakes you up at 3 am and you lie as still as you can hoping you can relax enough to go back to sleep and pray that the headache will be gone when you wake up, but you finally give up and stumble downstairs to take 4 ibuprofen, yes, 800 milligrams, then lie as still as possible waiting for them to take effect, knowing it will be at least 20 minutes, all the while wondering if you should perhaps go try and throw up because possibly if might make you feel better, and you actually nearly talk yourself into trying it when you hear the baby crying and need to get him a bottle and hopefully get him to go back to sleep so that you yourself can go back to sleep and hopefully, oh hopefully, wake up without the headache.

Where, two hours later, you get up because the baby is up again, and you are blissfully happy that the headache has receded, even though you can feel it lingering and you keep on hoping that it won’t return as you try to calculate through the fog that is in your brain how many hours you will have to wait before you can subject your body to any more ibuprofen.

Where you call in sick to the office, but you have to keep the baby home all day too, because, after all, he started all of this, with the pink eye and germs he brought home from daycare, and he can’t go back for 24 hours.

Where he feels fine and wants to play and you’re miserable with aches and pains and congestion and phlegm, all on the way to a full blown sinus infection, so you barricade him into the living room with the sofa making most of the barricade and you lie down so that your body spans the rest so that he is fully enclosed and can play with a pile of toys while you try to sleep a little bit more, just a little bit more.

Where he plays with the lid to his drum and decides to bang it on your head. Oops, says his expression, but not really.

Where he thinks it is not much fun at all to be confined to a play space with his mama when there is a whole house to explore beyond her.

Where you finally think you are ready to handle some coffee and toast, because your tummy is grumbling and your head is starting to pound again, but you’re not sure whether it will help or hurt, but you don’t dare anyway, because you don’t want to make any noise since the baby finally fell asleep for his morning nap, so instead you go whine about it all on your blog…

It’s been that kind of a morning.

I wonder if that ref was BLIND. No way was that a touchdown. How lame!
Things were going so well, but I have to say, there were quite a few questionable calls. In Pittsburgh’s favor. What’s up with that
But what the heck. Who cares. It’s just a game. We had fun.

It’s Superbowl Sunday and the boys are ready. Go Hawks!
Check back in a few hours to see if they’re still smiling.

A year ago today you came into the world and took your first breath. How perfect you were, my 10lb 7 oz giant of a boy. Yet how tiny you seemed. I was terrified when it hit me, the responsibility of my job from there on out. To protect you. To nurture you. I felt suddenly so inadequate. You were my dream of dreams, my miracle boy. How I yearned for you, for all my life. How amazing it is to see you now, the bright and beautiful boy you are growing into. Your personality unfolds before my eyes. You have a fine sense of humor. Such a twinkle in your eyes. And your smile! Oh, your smile! You light up the room. Your giggles are a joyful noise. You have so much fun being you. And I have so much fun watching you be you. You are very smart, my love. I can watch you learn. I can literally see the comprehension dawn on your face, your beautiful face. You are stubborn, dear one. Just like your dad. Tenacious, just like your mom. Are they not the same thing! We are all that way, aren’t we I will do my best to teach you the things you need to know. I will do my best to give you the best of me, and keep from you the worst of me. I want so much for you! I want you to be well adjusted, to have all that you need, to appreciate life and simple pleasures. I don’t want to spoil you. I want you to be gracious and kind, to think of others as well as yourself. I want you to be strong and courageous, but wise. I hope I can teach you these things. I hope that you never grow to resent me. I hope that you will always know how much you are wanted, how much you are loved, and how much you belong here, in this world. I love you, my precious one. I love you.

A year ago today, my life changed in the most wonderful way.
Happy Birthday to my beautiful boy!!

Today you would have turned 35.

I hope you are singing showtunes in heaven
Surfing the waves of the Aurora Borealis
Dancing amidst the stars
Soaring through the universe
Smiling
Laughing
Now and forevermore

I think of you every day.

A year ago, I got to see my precious child, before he was born. It was an amazing and wonderful thing that brought immeasurable peace and joy to my heart.