y’all will have to excuse me for the entire length of this post. it’s going to be cheesy. and mushy. and generally speaking, nauseatingly and sickeningly sweet.

you’ve been warned.

continue on at the risk of your gag reflex.

i’m a selfish person. all joking aside, that’s just the gospel truth. i’m an extremely selfish person. i’ve suffered from in-grown eyeballs pretty much my entire life.

ok, let’s just say i’ve suffered my entire life. period.

that is why it is so completely and utterly humbling to see how my husband loves me.

sacrificially. wholeheartedly.

i make the decision to finally get serious about losing weight. what does he do? does he mock me or imply that i’ll just end up quitting before i make it to my goal? no way. he joins me and decides he wants to change his eating habits, too.

i decide i want to take the plunge and open my photography business after dragging my feet. what does he do? he asks how he can help.

i come to him and tell him i’m overwhelmed with homeschooling and need help. what does he do? he completely rearranges his work schedule, so he can now be home more during the day to help.

on a whim, i decide to start the couch 2 5k program and start talking about actually running in a 5k. what does he do? laugh at me? no way. he buys himself some running shoes and starts running with me.

i could go on and on.

and on and on and on about all ways he has shown his love toward me in the fourteen years we’ve been married, but i’m trying to control the cheese.

it’s all the little things he does that add up to a whole lot of wonderfulness.

and the thing is . . . . i’m a selfish person.

i have to stop and ask myself, “ruthanne, would you do for him all that he has done for you?”

i want to say yes. i do. but, i also know i’m capable of saying things to just make myself look good. it’s ugly, but it’s the truth.

i don’t deserve him.

i’m humbled by his actions.

i love him.

p.s. i just had to get that off my chest. xo

Sooo, my man has a tradition he does every time we road trip it as a family. After he meticulously packs the back of the van . . . .

Please see below.

Yes, he wanted me to take a picture.

Is this a guy thang?

I’m just not gettin’ it.

Anway . . . where was I? Oh, yes. Tradition.

So, after my man meticulously packs the back of the van {deja vu, anyone?}, he proceeds to snatch our girl’s very old and much loved Winnie the Pooh and put him on top of the van.

Please note: Winnie the Pooh goes by another name in our house ~ Poobah.

When my man first started this tradition, my girl would get so stinkin’ upset. She truly believed we were going to leave him up there for the whole trip. We would feed her lines like, “Poobah likes having the bugs fly into his teeth” or “Poobah would be sad if he had to ride inside the van the whole time.”

Cruel parenting in action, y’all.

Now, we can’t go on a road trip without putting Poobah on top of the van before we leave. She insists upon it.

Like I said . . . tradition.

By the way, can y’all even tell that’s Winnie the Pooh? I promise at one time he had both arms. And a nose. ::snort out loud::

IHOP cooked us dinner last night after all day on the road.

It was super duper yummy.

P. S. I’m typing this out while the man has the crew at the hotel pool. I’m enjoying the peace and quiet. And trying to locate a Starbucks. I’m feeling a late night Starbucks run comin’ on.

This is going to be one of those posts that has so many disclaimers you’re either going to:

{a} Get sick and tired of my blathering on and on without ever coming to the point you decide to click away. I won’t blame you.

{b} Roll your eyes and sigh. Deeply.

{c} Ask out-loud, “Is this really necessary, Ruthanne? Really?”

{d} Unsubscribe from everything pertaining to this blog and run from the room screaming. Just don’t scare the children.

Disclaimer #1: My least favorite time of day to capture shots is right smack dab in the middle of the afternoon. Right when the sun is blaring down in all its harsh and spectacular glory. The harsh lines and shadows it creates on my subject’s face irks me.

Disclaimer #2: No one asked me if this was a good time to capture this memory, so I just had to go with it. I guess I can’t schedule all memorable moments. Bummer.

Disclaimer #3: I’m not so good at shooting in manual mode when it comes to sports activities. Everything is happening so fast. Too fast for me to keep adjusting for proper exposure.

Disclaimer #4: Due to Disclaimer #3, I switched my camera over to Aperture priority mode. I still wasn’t crazy about the exposure in the shots, but at this point I was getting annoyed with myself for over-thinking and being overly dramatic. Both are tendencies which I’m known for. One more so than the other. I’ll let you decide which one.

Disclaimer #5: When it came time to post these images, I decided to batch process them in Bridge. The only drawback with that is you can’t batch run an action with a reduced opacity. It runs full throttle. Since I didn’t feel like editing each of these images individually, I’m just going to ignore the fact that many of these are blown-out/washed-out and/or generally sporting an awkward color. I encourage you to ignore it as well.

There. I’m done. I’m finally done.

::collapses onto the ground while gasping for air::

Last Sunday, my oldest went to my man and said, “Dad, the only thing I want for my birthday is a one-on-one basketball game with you.”

The following chronicles the battle between father and son.

Things started out fairly even.

::snort::

That is so not true.

My oldest started out with a bang and left my man scratching his head.

You see, at one time my man towered over my oldest. Basketball games between the two of them consisted of the older holding back for the benefit of the younger.

Times have changed.

My oldest now towers over my man. Ok. Towers may be a stretch.

There is no more holding back.

It is game on.

Complete with the male trash talking and posturing.

Please note my oldest appears to be showing my man his muscles. Would that fall under the trash talking or posturing category? Or both?

It was back and forth.

Back and forth.

With more shots making it through the hoop for the oldest than for the man.

Things were getting intense.

And then

And and then . . .

BAM!

The sweatband came out.

Obviously, with the sweatband out, that meant the game had just been taken to a whole new level.

Kind of a skeery level.

The sweatband skeers me.

In the end, the game ended with the oldest coming out the victor.

It was a sweet, sweet moment for him.

Our first night in New York was a rainy one {and an embarrassing one}. We tromped through the rain for over two hours, trying to get our bearings and searching for this little gem . . . .

FAO Schwarz.

I could have gone hog wild in that candy section. I want a Hershey’s bar that big. I could just munch on it all day.

They also have a Barbie section, Star Wars section, Harry Potter, Princess, Twilight, Muppets, Madame Alexander dolls, and on and on and on. Basically, it’s a fun place where you could spend every last dime out of your children’s piggy bank.

After drying off a little {not really}, we wound our way over to Serendipity.

I can just picture it. John Cusack and Kate Beckinsale standing out front.

We ordered the classic Frrrrrozen Hot Chocolate.

The next morning we walked down to Rockefeller Center.

It was Fire Safety day that specific day. There were NYC firefighters all over the place with excited little children running around their feet – wanting to sit in the firetrucks.

I already posted several shots from the Top of the Rock. It was a foggy day. That tall building in the center of the shot {where you can’t see the top of} is the Empire State Building.

And now I’m throwing a shot in here of my man. Thank you.

We walked down to Magnolia Bakery afterwards.

It’s a quaint little bakery. That was hoppin’ crazy. No joke.

It was also full of delectable goodies.

All my treats come out looking just. like. these.

I wanted one of everything. I even wanted this shirt they had paired with a purple tutu. I think I could’ve rocked the tutu.

Not.

What did I end up getting?

A classic. A chocolate cupcake with chocolate frosting. It was oh-so moist and yummy.

Then, we hopped on the subway and got off at the World Trade Center. When we stepped out of the subway, it literally took my breath away. I can hardly believe it’s been nine years. We just stood there, not speaking and just . . . . I don’t know. Remembering. Mourning.

So much loss.

We walked through St. Paul’s Chapel across the street.

Again. Moving.

Now, before any of you {won’t name names} are tempted to call me a sissy after today’s post, I would like to point you to the following quote taken straight from the Statue Cruises website detailing what’s in store for all those who climb to the crown on the Statue of Liberty.

The climb to the crown is a strenuous journey that encompasses 354 steps in a cramped enclosed area with high temperatures. The steps within the Statue are 19” wide, are shallow and taper at one end. Head clearance is 6 feet 2 inches. All crown visitors must be able to climb up and down the 354 steps unassisted.

The climb is strenuous and not without risk, and the National Park Service recommends that crown visitors have no significant physical or mental conditions that would impair their ability to complete it, including, but not limited to: heart and respiratory conditions, mobility impairments, claustrophobia (fear of confined spaces), acrophobia (fear of heights) or vertigo (dizziness).

I would just like to highlight a few things:

354 steps

Cramped enclosed area

High temperatures

Unassisted

Not without risk

Claustrophobia

Acrophobia

Vertigo

Now, I ask you, what would you do when faced with this kind of decision? What would you do?

The only sensible thing, right?

Exactly.

One hundred ninety-two steps later, I came out at the top of the pedestal. That was after almost passing out halfway up. So somewhere around step number 96, I started hyperventilating and dry heaving. As I was leaning against the railing attempting to catch my breath, I glanced down at my man. He appeared quite calm and collected. I couldn’t hear him gasping or wheezing.

At all.

Sometimes he really gets on my nerves. {I mean that in the most loving and romantic way possible.}

Wow, wow, wow, wow, wow!

I had to keep telling myself I was actually looking at the Statue of Liberty. I just couldn’t believe it. She’s truly a beautiful work of art.

I’m starting out with the obligatory Subway shot. Because it’s obligatory. Or something. Right?

Hello, pretty horsey.

Uh.

What is that smell?!

Goodbye, pretty horsey.

Oooh, hello, other pretty horsey.

Whoa.

Somethin’ smells funky.

I never knew they could have smells like that in the city.

These carriages are all around and through Central Park. I’m ashamed to admit we didn’t take a ride in one. It was on my list, too. *Sniff*

Central Park was somewhat of a welcome reprieve from the constant overdrive of the rest of the city. I noticed as soon as we entered the park, our pace slowed down. We were strolling and not rushing. The park is even more gorgeous than I imagined or saw on moving picture. There are bridges, huge rocks, open fields, quaint walkways, statues, fountains, etc.

Basically, it’s a romantics paradise.

{And just in case inquiring minds want to know ~ no, these clouds have not been photoshopped. }

My main motivation to venture into Central Park was to find Bethseda Fountain. Familiar with Enchanted? How about a short movie clip? Just for the fun of it.

Excuse me for a moment.

I’ve been there y’all!!

And there she is.

No one was singing or dancing around her that day. Bummer.

Actually, hubby did start singing the chorus. Quietly. To me.

Insert a big Awwww! right here. Thank you.

After the quietness of Central Park, we hopped back on the Subway and made our way over to the Empire State Building. King Kong was visiting that day, too. I would have much preferred Cary Grant personally, but nobody asked me.

“Winter must be cold for those with no warm memories… we’ve already missed the spring!”

I digress.

The following picture is my absolute favorite from the trip. I love the feeling of the sky. It moves from kinda moody on the left to bright and cheerful on the right. It’s pictures like this that make me so glad I bought the wide angle lens. Have I mentioned lately how much I love that lens?

{Again, this sky has not been photoshopped. It’s all the handiwork of the maker.}

Hello, down there!

From up here, you all look like little ants. {Name that movie.}

At the bottom of the Empire State Building, they have a brewery.

They had us at the word brewery.

The great thing about vacation is you can have beer snacks earlier in the day. And it’s ok.

And now if y’all will excuse me, I’m going to brush up on Enchanted.

The Phantom of the Opera {Photo snapped with my iPhone}

Sometime last year, I read Gaston Leroux’s classic novel The Phantom of the Opera. I found it to be um . . . weird? Disturbing? Strange? Depressing? All of the above?

When I began planning our trip to NYC, I took a poll on which Broadway show we should see. The Phantom of the Opera had the most votes. By far! I was hesitant and unsure, but decided I would take the plunge. I purchased the tickets and kept my fingers crossed.

After a phenomenal dinner at Sardi’s, we walked across the street to the Majestic Theater, picked up our tickets at Will Call and were shocked when we realized our tickets were on the very front row ~ in the very center. We could see right down into the pit where the orchestra was. The conductor turned around and spoke to us. {Not. Kidding.} We could see every detail up close and personal.

The show was very close to the book: weird, disturbing, strange and depressing. However, it was set to music. Singing changes everything, no? *snort*

The book = Okay {in a creepy, stalkerish kinda way}

The show = Phenomenal !

The music keeps playing over and over again in my mind.

“The Phantom of the Opera is there . . . . inside my mind.”

Joshua Bell and the NY Phiharmonic

Later in the week, we got dolled up and ventured over to Lincoln Center.

Joshua Bell was performing Sibellius. I wasn’t familiar with the composer before that night, but I was an admirer of Joshua Bell.

I already knew he could play beautifully after studying Vivaldi last year with the children, downloading his rendition of The Four Seasons and listening to it every school day for almost twelve weeks; however, after hearing and seeing him perform at Lincoln Center . . . . . my appreciation for his skill/talent increased tenfold.

His playing is so expressive and dynamic.

*******************************************

What about y’all?

Have you ever seen any shows at your local theater? On Broadway?

If so, what was your favorite? Or do you have more than one?

What about the symphony? Take it or leave it?

And we’ve only embarrassed ourselves twice. Um . . . . that I know of.

Is $15 too much to tip a taxi driver? {Please don’t answer that. Mmmkay?}

Also, hubby and I tried to walk into the hotel at the same time through the same revolving door. We got stuck. The bellman had to provide assistance for us.

Clampetts come to town, anyone?

I was snapping some photos of the crew this morning after I finished our combined schooling and while hubby was doing some French instruction. Important side-note: When my man speaks French, it’s sexy. That is all.

All of a sudden, I heard him say, “Dude. We’re not having an air raid drill. Get out from under your desk.”

I just about slobbered all over myself from laughing so hard. I’m still laughing.

***************

How was your extended weekend? Did you go somewhere? Hang out at home? Are you sorry it’s over?

My fourth child turned six yesterday.

Six.

Six?

Oh my.

My manly man and I {jokingly} refer to him as our post-deployment baby. *snort, slobber, riotous laughter, snort* {If you’re military, then chances are you know exactly what I’m talkin’ about.}

Mom. Dad. Stop reading now. This post might fall under the heading, “TMI” . . .

Back in 2003, my manly man was deployed over in the sandbox for a while. Here he is in his uniform. Hubba-hubba. Minus that hairy caterpillar above his lip, of course.

I feel now would be a good time to mention {again} how much I miss seeing him in his flight suit, since he retired. There’s just something about my man in a uniform.

Ok. Stopping now.

He came home about a week before Thanksgiving.

The week before Christmas, I found out I was pregnant.

Those of you with more than the average 2.5 children can probably relate to the following:

“Who wants to call Grandma and tell her we’re pregnant? Again. Anyone? Anyone? Someone?”

Silence. No eye contact.

“Okay, then. I guess it’ll be me.”

Nine months later, we welcomed Lil’ Dub into the world.

He lights up my world with his smile. He melts my heart with his hugs.

* I’ll be in my closet eating chocolate and staring at the skinny picture of me. Just in case you were wondering about my plans for the afternoon.