Pillow Talk.

I made a promise to myself.

Yes, I happened to make a promise to myself in January. But it’s not a resolution. I’m back on my feet again and here we are – in January.

I’m back to writing something, anything, every Monday. I’m forcing myself to write once, maybe twice a week. It might be funny. It might not. It might just be me saying hello and that’s it.

So here we go.

… you guys, I got nothin’.

To the draft folder! I wrote this a few days before my niece had emergency surgery to stop bleeding on her brain. I never published this post because, at the time, my world paused. This conversation hid in my drafts for over two years.

Until today. Because this is much funnier than saying hello.

*Notes: Scott isn’t on Twitter anymore. I’m 34 now. My clothing choice reflects the warm night, not January. But I still hold true to my argument – sleeping in lingerie sucks.


Scott: Can I tweet I hate sports bras?

Me: I don’t care what you tweet. What do you mean you hate sports bras? Do you want every guy at the gym to ogle women?

Scott: No. I mean I hate that you wear sports bras to bed.

Me: Um, my boobs are still perky after two breastfed babies. And I’m 31. You’re welcome. Perky-ish.

Scott: And they also shrunk. What are you wearing? A onesie?

Me: It’s called a romper. It’s comfortable.

Scott: It’s a onesie. With a sports bra. Take off the sports bra!

Me: No!

Scott: You’re like Fort Knox!

Me: Fine. What would you like for me to wear to bed, sweet husband of mine?

Scott: Lingerie.

Me: No. I mean to sleep in. I get the whole lingerie thing. Whatever. But I’m not sleeping in that. I get cold. And the girls would see me in the morning and they’ll be all “Oooooo. Pretty lacy red dress. You look pretty, mommy! Can I try it on? It’s my size!”  Next thing you know they will be showing their friends their new dress up clothes in my closet drawer.

Scott: You have a lingerie drawer?

Me: Yes.

Scott: Never knew that.

Me: I just want to be comfortable when I sleep. Sports bra. T-shirt. PJ shorts.

Scott: Wait, where is this red, lacy lingerie?

Me: In. My. Lingerie. Drawer. This is like me asking you to go to bed with a tool belt on and nothing else. You can’t sleep in that.

Scott: You want me to wear a tool belt?

Me: Oh my God. It doesn’t matter! Tool belts, lingerie, sports bras and t-shirt, WE END UP NAKED ANYWAY. Gah!

Scott: Don’t hate on Victoria.

Me: Who the hell is Vic-oh my God. And don’t hate on her secret too?

Scott: Don’t hate on Victoria.

Me: I love Victoria’s Secret. They sell sports bras. And let me tell you something – every advertisement for Victoria Secret is photoshopped. The real Victoria wakes up with a boob popped out of the lingerie, a string stuck up her ass, like way up. And that ass is far from clean the next morning because Victoria farts in her sleep. She has no make up and morning breath. Morning breath that will make you turn away. But you wouldn’t know this because she stole the giant comforter from you and has it wrapped twice around her body because she’s freezing. And don’t get me started on wearing heels to bed.

Scott: Sorry, I’m a man. I just want to see my beautiful wife in lingerie.

Me: Look all you want, take it off, wear it yourself. But when it’s time to sleep, I’m changing to something comfortable. You shouldn’t care what I’m sleeping in because you will be sleeping too, dreaming of me.

Scott: In a onesie and a sports bra at Fort Knox.

Ladies, tell him I’m right on this one – we’re freezing when we wake up the next morning. Do you enjoy wearing lingerie? Do you enjoy actually sleeping in it? Do all men agree with Scott? Do all men want to see their beautiful wife/girlfriend/lover in lingerie? Or do you want to see her in whatever makes her happy?


Ring of Fire.

“This morning, with her, having coffee.” – Johnny Cash, when asked for his description of paradise.

“I mean, I don’t know, is her name Julie or something?” – Scott Burton, when asked if he knew who Johnny Cash was referring to.

(It’s June, Scott. Like your niece.)

If you follow me on any social media you know that Scott and I went to Nashville, Tennessee this weekend.

We needed a date weekend with country music and whiskey. Sure, you can find country music and whiskey in my own house but you won’t find this horse.


Or this one.


I call them date weekends. Sometimes we bring friends along. Sometimes we don’t. We never bring the kids.

Date weekends are a re-charge.

I get to date a bearded guy named Scott.

He’s taller than me but not by much when I have my cowboy boots on. After a few minutes of conversation, he can impersonate anyone’s accent. This only makes him more fun when he’s buying me drinks next to a group of guys from Bah-ston.

I pack my best clothes for date weekends. I don’t know why I do this because we never go anywhere that requires anything more than jeans and a t-shirt. Yet, my date tells me I am the prettiest after the sun goes away and the only makeup left on my face is a sunburn. I don’t believe it. Cancer and wrinkles, Scott.

We are not a mom and dad on date weekends.

We don’t have jobs to report to.

We are not husband and wife. Scott didn’t even get mad when I gave the taxi driver Luke Bryan’s house address.

The only thing we have to worry about on date weekends is if a honky tonk will show K-State playing on one of their TVs. And then crying down the streets of Nashville because football is the saddest country song we’ve ever heard. Jesus.

We’re just two friends on a date. We wake up in a strange town, in a strange bed. The only plan we make is spontaneity.

And somehow, with him, the taste of coffee the next morning is always home.

Where is your favorite place to travel with your date? Have you been to Nashville? Would you rather travel for dates or stay in town? Do you always bring your kids when you travel? Do you know all the words to Ring of Fire because I totally bombed that one.


Love in Ten Lines.

I’m not the best at reading blogs, lately. I don’t have the time.

The easiest way to get me to read your blog is commenting on my post. I’ll most likely comment back then click to see what you’re up to.

Last night I clicked – The Brickhouse Chick. I have never met her in real life. She rarely posts pictures of herself. But I would know her if I ran into her on the street. I picture her being loud, intertwining the languages of spanish and english. And a great laugh. I have no doubt Mrs. Brickhouse has a great laugh.

She posted a writing challenge: Love in Ten Lines. (click her link to see her version.) I volunteered to participate. A writing challenge that gave me a way to explain to Scott let’s just skip the lingerie and get naked.

After all, my time is valuable.

The rules:

•Write about love using only 10 lines.

•Use the word love in every line.

•Each line can only be four words long.

•Nominate others who are up for the challenge.

•Let them know about the challenge.

•Title the post: Love in Ten Lines

•Include a quote about love (this can be your own).

•You may write in any language.


Love in Ten Lines by Julie Burton

 Love is not ribbons

 and love isn’t lace.

 That love seems pretty.

 That love comes off.

 I don’t understand love;

 love that’s easily removed.

 Admit love is bare.

Unveiled. Bald. Love exposed.

 Love is not hidden.

 Love is stark, undressed.

Quote: “One love, one heart.” — Bob Marley. Because sunshine, saltwater, and rum cocktails.

Your turn! Who’s good at poetry? This came easier to me that I thought it would. Thank you, Maria, for the inspiration for some creative writing today. Go get naked, chica.

The weddings turned me into an alcoholic.

I’m kidding about the title.

My liver is in remission. There are no more weddings on the calendar. My muscles are still twitching from the soul of Michael Jackson racing through my body during The Way You Make Me Feel on the dance floor.

We had a rush of friends profess their love in front of us this year. Not only this year but within the span of two months. One wedding sent me walking home with a tramp stamp. Another wedding pushed me off to the airport with a hangover. And the last wedding left me with nothing else to write about but I can’t move out of bed and weddings are turning me into an alcoholic.

I have been told that my blog is enjoyable to read because I don’t sugarcoat my life. I will never post a picture of Scott with the caption, “best hubby ever.” Nope, I won’t do it. Because he’s not. And Scott will tell you that I’m not the “best wife ever.” I am not. We don’t like making people roll their eyes and fake puke.

Scott and I fight. We get sad. We get annoyed with each other. We disagree.

But we also make each other laugh. We are happy. We love each other. We are honest with each other. We are human.

As a wedding guest, I don’t get a microphone in one hand and a whiskey in the other but I do get a hangover and a laptop.

To the new wives – my wedding was in an era before Pinterest. I’m jealous of the little touches you put into your weddings. My marriage has come a long way. I have learned a thing or two you won’t find on Pinterest.

  • Sex is fun. You will forget this as years go on. I don’t know what’s to blame for that – kids, hormones, age, lack of energy, boredom, all of the above. Sex shouldn’t be something you do occasionally. Be the woman. Let your hair down. Let your hair down a lot. He will never get bored with you. Go do it when you’re done reading this.
  • Men need affection. Men want hugs. He wants to be held. When he walks in the door, run to him and wrap your arms around him. He is your best friend. Best friends give hugs all the time. You will get a hug in return.
  • Accept that you will argue. If you don’t argue, you’re a liar. Here’s a teaser: Ask him what your kids’ names should be.
  • Fine, storm out. Make a scene. He will come back even if you say NO to naming your kid’s middle name Duane.
  • You’re not always right. Don’t think just because you are a woman, you are right. Sometimes he is. And sometimes God blesses you with girls so you never have to name your son Duane.
  • Hand holding in the car is essential. 
  • So are dates. Splurge on the dessert.
  • Weddings count as dates. He’s reminded you’re his own bride. You’re still the prettiest one in the room.
  • Let him have a hobby. Let him go without restrictions. He will understand when you find your hobby – such as writing about his ass, hunting all the time.
  • Find a hobby together. If salt water fishing is your couples thing even though you live in Kansas, well, hey – at least you have something to look forward to.
  • Make fun of each other’s grey hair and wrinkles. You’re growing old together. Laugh about it.
  • Don’t complain about your body to him. If you don’t like it, then fix it. He loves it. It’s you that doesn’t.
  • Be attractive. But in a way that’s only for him. If he likes your hair long, wear it long. It works both ways, you can give him the evil eye when he tries to shave his beard.
  • Let him know at the beginning that you don’t like to cook. Or clean. The expectations are much easier to meet.
  • Remind yourself the best day of your life was marrying him. Some say giving birth is the best day of their lives. Maximum pain levels and a fire crotch might be yours too. But remember that the kids leave the house. He won’t. Your family started on the day you professed your love in front of your family and free loading, alcoholic friends.
  • Get up and dance together to The Way You Make Me Feel at your friends’ weddings. 


How many years have you been married? Did you get married before Pinterest was invented? Do you have advice for newlyweds? Do agree or disagree with my list? Have you ever busted a move to MJ on the dance floor? 


The big one.

Scott: Do you know how lucky you are be married to me? I take you to places like the Dominican Republic for our 10 year anniversary.

Me: Uh, do you know how lucky you are to be married to me? You have a wife that loves to fish. It’s not even a trip to the Dominican Republic to me. It’s a trip to the Atlantic Ocean.

This is the big one. The big fishing trip. Every fishing trip this year was practice for the Dominican. My confidence is up.  It has to be – I will have professional anglers yelling at me to keep the line tight. I’m expecting it. And I’m going to yell right back at them: I LOVE YOU TOO!  The yelling will be forgiven when we’re smiling for the cameras holding up a 400 pound blue marlin.

I’m totally Instagram’ing that.

They're all going to yell at me.

They’re all going to yell at me.

But it’s another big one. Today is our wedding anniversary. 1 decade. 10 years. 3,652 days of marriage.

3,652 days of marriage doesn’t sound like an important milestone. 1,000 days sounds important. Or maybe 5,000 days. A decade is a milestone and there should be a speech with that. Words from the bride, aged 10 years –

Out of 3,652 days, most days were good. And some days were not good. I have never baked a turkey on Thanksgiving. I sleep in as late as possible. I have been to known to ask Scott to do something repeatedly – you men refer to that as “nagging.” I am not the wife of the year.

I do know that day 3,649 sucked. Scott dragged me to a spinning class with him. I walked out of there convinced he was trying to give me a heart attack or fracture my butt bones.

Day 667 and day 1755 were life-changing days for both of us. But this post isn’t about becoming parents.

Like babies growing up, it’s impossible to see the change in a marriage day to day. If you look at us a decade ago, you’ll see it. We have wrinkles around the eyes when we laugh now. Scott doesn’t wear his wedding ring because he lost it. My hair color is not it’s natural color anymore. We’re going downhill together – holding each other’s wrinkly, paper-thin skin hands.

As a couple, we’re closer. Scott and I were complete opposites when we got married. Our wedding was proof that opposites attracted. Ten years ago, I didn’t know we would have to overcome that. Two opposites may attract but they won’t last in a home when one is squeaky clean and one drags bloody deer into the house. I am not as clean as I used be. I have accepted my forever young teenage son in the home.

We didn’t know babies would leave us emotionally drained at the end of the day. I remember Scott asking for his wife to come back in our sleep deprived days. The babies grew up. Now he has three girls begging for a Disney World “adventure.”

We have mastered the art of fighting. I know exactly what to say to send his blood pressure out the roof. He knows nothing will bother me more than his silent treatments.

But…we always come back to each other, like magnets. Our wedding day did prove that opposites attract.

The beauty of ten years is we know each other more than anyone else. We know what we like on our sandwiches without asking each other. We know each other’s likes and dislikes. They are filed away, never forgotten. Scott knows 3,652 days ago, I would have never agreed to a 5 day fishing trip.

I guess, like fishing, you don’t realize what you have until you fight to get it. Then yell, “I LOVE YOU TOO!”

I love you, Scott. And my marlin will be bigger than your marlin.


Without this ring.


A lost wedding ring.

The old wives say bad fortune is in your future. You might as well be looking for your happy marriage at the bottom of that murky lake.

Superstitious or not, losing a ring will set off panic. Never in your life have you prayed for time to go backwards. For just a few seconds, God. Please. A tiny bit. It was right. here.

And then it’s gone.

That split second can happen all kinds of ways. I polled my Facebook friends. Hey, I do more than stalk on Facebook. I got the party started with this question –

“For those of you (or your spouse) that have lost your wedding ring – how did you lose it?”
  • It fell off my husband’s finger into the ocean. It was the first day of our honeymoon.
  • My husband gave the ring to our girls to play with. Been gone ever since.
  • He lost it in training and his 2nd one got lost while he was deployed.
  • It’s at the bottom of Table Rock Lake. It fell off while cleaning catfish.
  • My husband lost his in the snow, it slid right off. I lost mine after my 2-year-old took it. It was never seen again.
  • I have a nervous tick and I play with it on my finger. I spent hours looking for it in a parking lot.
  • My husband lost another man’s wedding ring. We were at a triathlon and my husband offered to hold a friend’s ring while he did the swim event. My husband went to pull in the buoys out of the water and the ring slipped into the water.
  • Husband lost his in the bottom of a river while canoeing, trying to save another couple from distress. 2nd one in Applebee’s bathroom. I will have to ask about 3rd and 4th rings.
  • Softball field, never found it.
  • Public restroom. Unfortunately, no one turned it in.
  • He threw it in the trash after washing his hands at work.
  • Thought it was lost forever but found it in the laundry basket.
  • Cat knocked it down the sink drain.
  • Workout bag had a hole in the pocket.
  • Divorce
  • Somewhere in our old house. I would love to blame my kids, for that I’m convinced a toddler misplaced it.
  • In the pasture behind our house.
  • Spinning it on the table at “Shot Stop” in Aggieville. It fell between a crack in the wall and the floor. Next time they tear down that bar, I’m going to go get it.
  • Stuck under my bathroom scale.
  • I throw it off in my sleep, but I always find it.
  • Fell out of my pocket while golfing. Luckily, I was with my father-in-law.
  • A beach in Mexico. I was getting a massage and left it in the hut on the counter.
  • Solution: Get the wedding ring tattooed on. (Brilliant, Serena. Brilliant.)


The responses to my research were immediate. I was expecting a handful of men to respond. Instead, my Facebook page turned into a confession box with a line out the door. Men and women. What surprised me the most was how lighthearted everyone felt about their missing symbol of infinite love. There were no sad stories. No said they felt bad. They were sharing a war stories. They survived and could tell the tale.

These people have found the secret – marriage isn’t a sealed deal until one of you lose a wedding ring. Only then you are golden. Oh, and that crap about your ring finger having a vein in it leading straight to your heart is a lie.

Scott lost his ring. We’re in.

You won’t find Scott’s response above. Scott couldn’t respond to my Facebook poll because Scott has no clue where he lost his ring. He left the house with his wedding ring on. He crawled into bed without his wedding ring on. He swore he didn’t take it off. It’s gone. It has been missing for a few weeks now. Stop it, ladies. He’s taken. But you can look at his cute butt.

We will replace the original ring. Maybe we’ll let our daughters help pick out a new ring. We’re not in a rush. We don’t need a ring to prove to the world that we’re married. That’s what a marriage certificate is for.

Oh, wait. Yeah, we lost that like 8 years ago.


Where did you go?

Goodbye, wedding ring.

Have you or your spouse ever lost a wedding ring? Did you find it or is it lost forever? Have you ever lost anything with sentimental value?

Scott and me.

It’s not our anniversary.


Or your birthday.


I know you hate pictures being taken.


Maybe it’s because I make you do this kind of crap.


Or you’re bothered that I don’t wear pants for pictures.


You’re getting better with the camera as the years pass.

photo-26 copy

Even without me there.

photo-26 copy

Out of all the formal pictures.


And not so formal.

wedding3 2

This is my favorite picture of us.


We look good. Don’t you think?

Marriage isn’t for me.

Stop — Scott and I are not getting divorced. 

I’m back on Blogger Idol, Play-at-Home. 

This week’s assignment: Pick something that is in the news or a topic that is hot right now and write your opinion on it. Stay under 800 words and include pictures.


I rarely watch the news. I seldom check news websites to see what is going on in the world. As a 31-year-old mother of two, hearing about gunshots downtown, complaints about the government and bullies in schools make my heart hurt.

But I do know what’s going on with the world. I’ll hear what is going on through word-of-mouth or social media. Social media is the fastest way to learn what has gone viral. This week’s hot topic reappearing in my newsfeed is: Marriage Isn’t For You by blogger Seth Adam Smith.

No matter what the topic is, posts that go viral are written well. They have to be for so many people to relate to it.

This particular viral post is about marriage. Smith got nervous about marrying his best friend. Smith’s dad gave him advice on marriage:

“Seth, you’re being totally selfish. So I’m going to make this really simple: marriage isn’t for you. You don’t marry to make yourself happy, you marry to make someone else happy. More than that, your marriage isn’t for yourself, you’re marrying for a family. Not just for the in-laws and all of that nonsense, but for your future children. Who do you want to help you raise them? Who do you want to influence them? Marriage isn’t for you. It’s not about you. Marriage is about the person you married.”

My opinion: This blogger’s dad couldn’t be more right. Who is this guy? Can I shake his hand?

Scott and I have been married for almost 10 years. We married young. We had children young. We were the first of all our friends to get married and have kids. It’s hip to wait until your 30s to get married and have children well into your 40s.

Scott and I are not hip.


Scott, what did you get yourself into —


You have a whiskey-loving wife.

10 years. A whole decade of being husband and wife. With any marriage, the occasional “you’re not making me happy” have been muttered throughout the years. I usually mutter these words in the fall when Scott is hunting. Every marriage has lows. It’s easy to fall into the blame trap when you’re there. Every marriage has highs too. The marriage highs are usually apparent on social media  – Look everyone!  My sweet hubby sent me flowers for no reason! Love him. 87 likes.

Smith’s post would have never gone viral if no one could relate to it. It reminds everyone, married or not, that marriage isn’t for you. Being selfish does nothing for any relationship. Marriage is about the person you married. Love is putting someone’s feelings before your own. The more you love that person, they more love you will receive.

“Truly, love and marriage isn’t for you. It’s for others.”

Smith’s viral post is a shocking reminder as I sit typing, eyeing a pile of muddy hunt clothes dropped on the kitchen floor for some magical fairy to pick up —

Oh, yeah – Scott is happy.


Meet my husband, Buck-a-roo.

“So I finally get to meet Oh Emma and Oh Kate! And Scott! Hi, I’m Justin. I was kinda expecting a giant deer head or something. So nice to meet you.”  — My friend, Justin, meeting my family for the first time at dinner last night. Justin lives in New York and we don’t see each other often. Although, I am lucky enough to see Justin on YouTube every week.

A giant deer head? Hilarious. I can’t get the visual out of my pretty non-deer head. Is this the overall impression of my husband? Can I take a vote, please?

He makes pretty babies.

But he makes adorable blonde-haired and curly-haired babies.

I suppose when I write about Scott, it always has to do with hunting or fishing. It’s just who Scott is.

This post will be no different.

Scott does not hunt for a living. He has a real office job complete with a cubicle. His cubicle is next to mine.

One of my responsibilities at work is to write the company newsletter. I choose an employee to spotlight every month. I had a tight deadline last month due to my traveling (to fish in Florida of all things. Hey, I am the Mrs.) Since I work for the same company Scott works for I didn’t have to look any further than the guy laying next to me in bed. I’m sure it is very obvious Julie and Scott, the co-workers, are also married. This is — word for word — our conversation that was published this month.

Employee spotlight: June 2013. An Interview with Scott.

So tell me Scott, do you have any hobbies? I hunt.

How many times do you hunt in a year, on average? Well, let’s see I’ve gone 4 times this year alone. Probably 25 times a year, no probably 30.

What is your favorite animal to hunt? Deer with my bow during the rut.

And what is a rut? Mating season. It’s when the males are running around looking for the females. The big bucks will come out and run around for maybe one week a year. They’ll hide the rest of the year.

When did you start hunting? Junior year of college. When I transferred to K-State.

Did you feel bad when you shot your first animal? Heck no.

Just a little bit? NO.

Somewhere in the depths of your soul, did you feel bad? NO! I mean, are you going to keep asking me this question, waiting for a different answer?

Moving on. What’s the longest you’ve sat in a tree stand? I don’t know, probably 6 hours.

And you just stare at nothing for 6 hours? Are you just trying to make fun of me?

I am asking the questions, Scott. What is the craziest thing you’ve ever done while hunting? I sat in a marsh with holes in my waders. It was 33 degrees and raining. Didn’t shoot one thing. Oh, one time I was getting ready to goose hunt a field and I forgot my boots. I had to wear my crocs in negative wind chill temperatures. Oh, and one time I showed up to my hunting spot and realized I forgot my bow.

So you own Crocs? Yeah.

And how old are you? Huh?

I’m asking the questions, Scott. Would you rather hunt by yourself or with another person? With another person.

Would you want to hunt with your wife? Sure. I would love for her to hunt with me.

It sounds like you know her well. What is your dream hunting trip? To be able to go elk hunting during the rut in Colorado.

With your crocs? Huh?


I have just started realizing that Scott and I got married young.  I was 22! I was engaged my entire senior year of college! Ah! What? Who does that?!

At the time it was no big deal.  All I wanted more than anything was to marry Scott.  We could actually live together without the “shame on you” from our parents.  Shacking is a real pain the ass, especially every night.  My senior year of college was filled with weekends in Aggieville but instead of just “going out” it was always celebrating “Julie and Scott are getting married! Let’s go out!”  It was one big engagement party after engagement party after engagement party.

We had a lot of fun being married for that single year before I got pregnant with Emma.  I was 24 when I had her.  Then Kate, I was 27.
If you ask Scott he will tell you that we are done.  I am still debating but leaning towards “we’re done” as well.  I’m 28 and done with kids.

Most of our friends are married now.  It seems very few have children.  If they do, they are just starting with their first.

I don’t know if Scott and I are just “old fashioned”…or maybe since we’re both first-borns, we do things “by the book”…whatever the reason, we are young.  And very few friends (and no siblings) have followed in our footsteps.

I admit, I wonder what it would have been like to spend the past 6 years having no kids.  What freedom! I can just add up all the things I would have done around the house.  All the hobbies I could just fall into and become an expert at.  And how clean everything would be…the house, the yard, the cars, the garage, the basement.  Maybe I’d have my masters.  Maybe I’d work my way up and be on a board of something.  Oh, and all the sleeping in I could have had!  All the easy traveling just to see a few friends for the weekend.  The lazy sundays where you just watch movies all day and take naps in between…ahhh.

But this is my reality.  Although, I have no regrets.  The hard part is almost over for Scott and me.  We have about 9 mos to go until Kate turns 2.   The golden year.  After age 2, it gets much easier.  It would have been somewhat easier if everyone had their kids at the same time.  Scott and I are coming out of the fog of dependent babies and sleepness nights.  But now our friends are just getting into it.  I feel like we are on the outside waiting for them to come out and play.  I’m pretty sure our friends felt the same about us the past five years.

The decade of our 20s will be remembered with diapers, trips to the pumpkin patch, leaking milk (at least for me), multiple visits to portrait studios, and smells of Johnson’s baby shampoo.  Our 30s are wide open.  Responsibility is still there, for sure.  But we’re more available.  We have more time to ourselves.  The girls will have more freedom.  They’ll want their friends more than their parents.  I won’t have to worry about any “clock ticking”.  I can sit back and enjoy my beautiful girls grow up.

I told Scott this past weekend that Emma will be in kindergarten one year from now.  His response: “Good, that means Kate will be two and a half.”