Meet MMA

Last night MMA took charge, like the man that he is, and rocked out a big decision for us: who would be replacing the roof Hurricane Ike knocked off our house. This particular repair has been wearing on us both, but mostly him, because we have internal damages that can't be fixed until the roof is secure.

Now, when it comes to making important decisions, especially for big purchases, I get all indecisive and agonize over it for as long as he will let me. He is type A, pragmatic and ready to move forward. The fact that roof prices have almost doubled in our area is of no consequence to him because "we need a roof and it costs what it costs."

I think its time I formally introduce MMA to you girlfriends, from my point of view. After all, he's such a major influence in the delicious chaos that is Superstar. We met in college at Texas A&M University when I was still technically a teenager. We've grown up together and come a long way, doncha' think?

MMA got the nickname because he loves the sport of mixed martial arts. He's been following it for a couple of years as a spectator, then decided to switch from boxing in our garage gym (which is totally decked out) to taking classes and sparring at Elite Martial Arts.

My Manly Athlete has a day job, but would like nothing better than to make a living as a professional athlete. Not for the fame and fortune but because he's got the heart of a champion. He loves the hurt of a good workout. In fact, he makes grueling workouts look so easy, I wonder if it hurts him like it does the rest of us. He's in the best shape of anyone I know. Sound too cool for me, yet?

Then there's this whole Freudian thing I've realized over the years. I married my dad...a guy just like dear old dad. On first impression, he seems all serious and tense. He's a man of few words and doesn't favor small talk. But those who know him see a lighter side, a juvenile playful side, a terse sense of humor. Most strikingly like dad, MMA is a family man, a hard worker and a good provider. There are some differences of course, but then dad and MMA had vastly different childhood experiences.

Also worth mentioning, MMA has great genes. My brother's wife commented to me at my wedding shower how good-looking all of his family is. Its true. I knew we would have beautiful children, but what I didn't know is that his genes would so overpower mine as to edge them out in Only Child (Exhibit A.)

Three random things I love about MMA:

1. He enjoys almost every meal I put in front of him (or makes me think he does.)
2. His shaved bald head.
3. He loves his Mom. It's a simple thing that says volumes about a man and how he was raised.

Life Interrupts Life

Can't a girl read one novel cover to cover without someone needing something from me, or uh her?

Interruptions are a fact of my life, your's too probably. Then there's the start and stop issue which is a life constant for me. Ask me how long my upstairs guest bath has been "under construction"...no, don't ask. I love the idea of all the things I'm going to accomplish in a day. But somehow, life, family, responsibilities, "things" get in the way.

Family is my favorite interruption. That's not to say my husband and son are "in the way," of course not, but, it does slow you down when you have to wipe a 3 year old's bootie/nose, wash your hands, come up with a delish dinner to satisfy your man but still cover all the food groups, watch out for his cholesterol and colon, pamper his id...Oh, there's trying to keep fit and keep house and finding time to pursue that which makes you, YOU.

Why Blog? Is somebody going to pay me for this? I guess I've been forgetting who I am lately as my 24 hour a day job sometimes takes over. I get the haircut that works best for the job (short and easy.) I have the right car for the job (paid off SUV.) I don't dress like I might like to, because chasing a preschooler down the street in kitten heels...let's just say, the neighbors would talk.

My dear friend Girlystuff, who has watched my suburbification over the years, suggested blogging to me as a creative outlet. But in her wisdom, she secretly knew that my inner Mary Katherine Gallagher needed a place to shine. So henceforth I will refer to myself as "Superstar" when I light up your small screen. Without nudity. And in return, I get to feed my inner Lilly? Indulge in me-time? Something like that.

I hesitate to describe myself as" wife" and "mom" I relish that I am those things but they don't tell the whole story. I'm not identified by my career these days (career interruptus?) I don't have one specific hobby so one could say "that rock-climber chick" (if I did, it would be something cool.) I'm Lilly: volunteer, cook, homemaker, teacher, cynacist, procrastinator, bargain-hunter, HGTV-watcher, book-clubber, blog-reader, novice designer, seamstress-wannabe. I'm a woman who loves all that God has done in my life: I feel rich in so many ways, I am healthy today, I have a home life that I wouldn't trade for anything in the world (that I work hard at.) And yes, I am a proud wife and mother.

I've allotted just 15 minutes today to describe myself. That, too, was interrupted by a loud "mommeeee" coming from my suppose-to-be-napping son who claims he isn't asleep yet because the toys in his bed keep making noise. I'm working on not being such a mean girl to Only Child so I ignore the obvious solution.

Only Child is, after all, just 3 and in his beautiful little mind, there was a valid reason to keep me from what I was doing. "I'm the center of Mommy's Universe" or something like that. Did I mention he's an only child?

I'm way over the allotted minutes. Enough putting off my real world work. I have about 2 hours of precious time left to read blogs (sweet indulgence) do some laundry, make brown rice jambalay from a box, maybe sweep those floors, email the insurance adjuster about our Hurricane Ike claim, get together some clothes to donate to the good people of Galveston, and about half a dozen other little things to keep this house going. Then Only Child wakes up and MMA gets home.