Me:
Once upon a time (about two years ago) I worked at a cable company in a job I both loved and hated. Mostly I loved the socializing and hated the sitting at my cubicle working quietly part. I was so easily distracted. If a conversation was happening within my earshot, I wanted to contribute. I worked in billing/accounting and spreadsheet after spreadsheet can be really...snore...snore...wai...what was I saying?
I also hated the getting up early aspect of working a nine to fiver. I have always been a complete night owl so I could never force myself to go to sleep any earlier than midnight. Not cool when you are getting up at seven and need approximately 12 hours of sleep to be rested. I am extremely high maintenance when it comes to my sleep requirements. It is a whole post unto itself.
I had two miscarriages, which I won't discuss on this post, but suffice to say, was devastating. When I got pregnant with my eldest son, Napoleon (not his real name), I worked through the pregnancy until about eight weeks before my due date. It was a high risk pregnancy for a multitude of reasons so I had to go on leave early. After Napoleon was born, I was able to take the standard 12 week FMLA time off of work. When I had to go back, I had a friend watch him, but it was still really hard to leave him. I thought I would have a nervous breakdown at first. Over the course of the next year, we had several different friends and family members take care of him (we paid them, though not nearly as much as we would have had to pay a daycare). When I became pregnant with my second son, Hercules (also not his real name), my husband and I realized that we both wanted for me to be able to stay at home with our sons. So, we decided I should quit (and Thank God I did because the second pregnancy was worse than the first). I could barely walk due to severe sciatica almost as soon as I started showing, which for me was about 10 minutes after I got the positive test back. Since my boss was a total asshat I wasn't exactly crying in my tequila (beer is gross) over having to quit. Not that I was drinking tequila, I was pregnant after all, and anyway I found that it didn't taste good with all the cigarettes I was smoking...I kid, I kid. But I digress, so where was I? Oh yeah, boss=asshat. Ugh, he was so horrible...I may dedicate some posts to him at some point. Sorry, just had a little flashback moment of horror there. After I quit, we decided we would move back to North Carolina because that is where my family is. We had been living in the hubby's hometown of Kansas City, MO, which was and is a nice place to live, but I really missed my family. It took us awhile to get back, but we moved about three months before Hercules turned one. So, here we are and this is where our story takes place. Which leads me to introduce the next member of our little clan:
IRISH: The husband
We met in 1998 here in North Carolina. Irish had decided he was going to live someplace besides Kansas City and since one of his friends was from here, this is where he decided to come. He was waiting tables at a chain restaurant. I started a couple months after he did, but I was a hostess, so I felt more high class. Irish knew a catch when he saw one. These were back in the days when there was, er... much less of me. Now, he would probably run screaming in the other direction, but back then, like I said, a CATCH! He used to come sliding down the bench when it wasn't busy (where people sat and waited for a table when it WAS busy) and rub my sweater and tell me how soft it was and ask me to rub his head. He was very cute, had a young baby face, and he was funny. We started seeing each other, and one night when we left work holding hands, one of our co-workers (who was sitting at a patio table getting wasted, as per usual) asked if we were "together" or something to that effect and I replied "ask him". Well, HIM didn't answer. That resulted in the first ass-chewing of the relationship. He claimed he didn't hear the question...riiiiiiight. We were together pretty much non-stop for the next eight months or so. Then one of Irish's roommates decided he was going to marry the woman he had been "internet dating" unbeknownst to the rest of the group. Since he owned the house they were living in, he gave everyone the boot with just a weeks notice. Irish had an Akita that he adored named Cooper. Unfortunately, he couldn't relocate to just anywhere with a such a large dog. Plus, there was the simple truth, that though he loved me, he was miserably homesick. The eviction was all he needed to convince him that he needed to head back to KC. I was inconsolable. We decided we would try the whole long distance relationship thing and see where that led. I got my Associates degree in pre-business administration a few months later and had to get a "real" job. I got a job as a receptionist at a ridiculously named company. It was a company based in another country and I had to answer the phone with "Welcome to Ridiculous Name!" Who says that? Me, that's who. Sigh.
I worked at Ridiculous Name and dated Irish long distance and was miserable. We were able to see each other every few months or so, but it was difficult and getting very expensive. Eventually, Irish asked me to come and live with him in KC and off I went. Irish took his sweet time to propose to me, much to the consternation of my mother (and father-but mostly mother :) There was a lot of "shit or get off the pot" and "not going to buy the cow when the milk is free" talk going on. Thankfully, he went with "Shit" and bought the cow anyway and were married in 2002. Then boring stuff, boring stuff, boring stuff...bought a house in 2003, boring stuff, boring stuff, had Napoleon in 2008. Which leads to:
Napoleon:
Napoleon is my eldest child at four years old. He has curly red hair and blue eyes. I always said I didn't want an "orange hair". Oopsy. Shouldn't have married one then, I guess. *Side Note* Irish just read this and indignantly said "I do NOT have orange hair". He doesn't actually, but it is dark red and he was a "curly orange hair" when he was little, just like his eldest.
Luckily for me, Napoleon is adorable, but God clearly has a sense of humor. (Before anyone goes into a-hole mode, I have heavy red highlights in my own hair and one of my siblings is auburn so I can say it if I want to).
He has always been very advanced. He knew how to count to fifteen and his alphabet before he was two years old. His doctor would always tell us that he sounded like he was about three years older then he actually was. He has a large vocabulary which leads to him saying things that are so out of character for a four year old that it cracks everybody up. He has a very sweet and gentle nature (usually) and is very loving. His personality seems to pretty closely mirror my own, but everyone says that he looks the most like Irish.
Hercules:
Hercules is my youngest at the age of two. He has sandy blond hair (that I can tell will be brown soon) and blue eyes. He is a real boy's boy. He loves to roughhouse and run and scream. He doesn't talk nearly as much as Napoleon did but I think that is partially due to the fact that Napoleon feels the need to answer for him and be his "spokesperson". He pushes the limits as far as he can. He will often look right at me and do something he knows he isn't supposed to. He is REALLY stubborn. Strangely enough, he is also very sensitive and is extremely attached to me. He can be found in my lap often throughout the day and evening. But when he isn't snuggling, WATCH out! Irish says that Hercules reminds him of himself when he was little, so naturally he looks the most like me. Funny how that works.
Miscellaneous:
One chihuahua/unknown mixed breed dog
One french bulldog
One black and white cat
One orange tabby cat with about two teeth
7 fish
The end.
