Because nothing is sexier than "'ve got poop on your shirt."

Because nothing is sexier than "'ve got poop on your shirt."

Oh, my darling husband.

In the hustle and bustle, give and take, push and pull of working parents, we often don't get a lot of chances to give credit where credit is due. I married a pretty great guy. He's level-headed and wonderful and he must be slightly crazy himself to marry a gal like me who as he says, can "go into an empty room and get rid of three trash bags full of stuff." I ask him all the time if he knew ahead of time that he would live in the Estrogen Castle of Barbie Pink and Purple Land, if he would run like hell. His answer is always long as he has a part of his Sunday for NFL RedZone. :)

The best thing I can compare our relationship to is a dance. A delicate dance of "The girls have a doctor's appointment", "Are you serious? We just bought milk.", "OMG SOMEONE JUST HAD AN EPIC POOP! THERE IS NOT ENOUGH SOAP AND CLOROX IN THE WORLD TO RID MY CLOTHES OF THIS SMELL!" while not forgetting to say "I love you, babe. Everything is going to be okay." It really is an orchestrated, organized chaos, but we wouldn't have it any way.

It's at 7pm when the girls are peacefully dreaming with their ocean sound machine on that we look at each other and sigh. The day's demands are done, and now what do we do? It's usually dinner, talking about our day and life in general, and a mindless escape of some sort such as reading blogs, watching reality shows, etc. It's that moment around 8:30 or so that I realize I could not have chosen a better partner for this adventure that I had no idea about that cold, rainy November night in 2004 on a shy first date at Bennigan's, where these brand new, fresh college grads, would change each other's courses of fate.

We have made a point that in the day to day that we will make a promise to remember the butterflies that happened on that corner booth of a restaurant on a rainy Friday night. We'll remember them when we have a"whack a mole" situation when one toddler is happy and the other is not. We'll remember them when we are in a thousand different directions, all day, everyday.

...and Mike, if you're reading this... I'll remember the butterflies even if you ever go to Walmart again in a tee shirt with a green poop streak and when everything goes to crap.