I love my life, REALLY.

After having a few conversations with members of my older readership and reviewing my posts I realize that I may, to those of you who don't know me well, seem to be a Bitter Betty. I generally use this blog as a place to vent my frustrations and explore some random thoughts and I've been finding it really therapeutic. For example, after my ranting post last night I was able to greet my husband calmly rather than rip his face off - quite and accomplishment in my opinion (I may not be a Bitter Betty, but I do have a temper). So in the spirit of being positive and saving my father in-law embarrassment over his insane daughter in-law, as he so nicely got me some readers at work (bet he's regretting that now since terms like "fur vagina" are coming up lately), I have decided to write a bit about some things that I love, some lately, some always.

Of course, I love my husband. Yes, I list him above my kids because he's the reason they exist. I recently read an article in which the author proclaimed she loved her husband more than her children and the readers (of a certain parenting publication) went berserk. I have to say, I understood her. I can't exactly quantify my affections, but my husband is at least tied with my kids in the love contest and, yes, he does win some days. I love that after seventeen years together I still get excited when I see him across a crowded room. I love that he is my favorite person in the world to talk to. I love that when we have coffee and read catalogues on Sunday mornings it still feels like we are alone in our first apartment in Hoboken - when we can ignore the screams and soundtrack of Blues Clues from the living room. To put it plainly, my husband rocks my world.

My kids. I won't bore you with the obvious. I love them with the ferocity of a mother lion as all mothers love their kids. It is random, more interesting things I love about my kids that make my day.

I love how they smell and feel when they wake up in the morning. My oldest is so loving and snuggly and having her wrap her wiry five year old self around me in bed makes me wonder at the fact that she actually came out of my body. Hearing my middle one say, I woked up!" cracks me up - every morning. I love that the very fist thing my baby does in the morning when he wakes up is smile. Like he's trying to tell me, "This is how you face the day, lady!"

I love taking my kids out to dinner because, not to toot my own horn, but they are really well behaved and they get so excited about it. "Look, Annie!", says my oldest, "They have crayons here!" And my husband and I look across the table at each other proud of what we have made and how we are raising them as we listen to the cacophony of a million other ill-behaved brats at The Macaroni Grill.

I could go one and on, but I'm not Oprah with mer damn gratitude journal (tried it, the experiment lasted a week, "I am grateful for toilet paper." got me to stop) I'm me and good or bad, I'm a snarky bitch at times. Despite what you may think after certain posts, dear reader, I do love my life. I love being home with my kids and the opportunities that allows me - from being able to see my oldest read a word for the first time, to seeing the baby laugh at the dog. And as you've read, it makes for some pretty good writing material.

Life is good. See, Pop, I'm not crazy.