Feb 15: Valentine’s Day Split Personalities Explained

At the risk of offending self proclaimed feminists, I will go ahead and say that February 15 is the day that we girls collectively explain our optimistically erratic Valentine’s Day behavior.

I’ll go first.

This Valentine’s Day, I told Brian I didn’t care what we did to celebrate.

He interpreted that as I didn’t care what we did to celebrate.

Yes, I’ll admit it. I’m THAT girl. The girl that says, “I don’t care!” and genuinely mean it about 80% of the time. The other 20% of the time, it’s up to my husband to decipher what I really mean.

Valentine’s Day, anniversaries, etc are always in that other 20%. By, “I don’t care, whatever!” I mean, “I don’t care butyoubetterreadbetweenthelinesandmakeplansorcomehomewithsomethingbut really, whatever!”

Then, there are other girls, who are fine with their guy surprising them with Trader Joe’s flowers, until they’ve scrolled through social media for seven hours. A bouquet pales in comparison to the Ferrari that babiesburlapandbigamy had in her driveway, and Carolyn35 had her pool drained and filled with her favorite chocolate and a swan floatie. Even Brittany from high school had a gluten free cake served in freezable portions to accommodate her Weight Watcher’s diet!

Suddenly, those Trader Joe’s flowers make you wonder if your man even LIKES you.

Your single friend’s Galentine’s was more elaborately planned than your night, so now, you’re sitting at Outback with your date, nary a bloomin’ onion, furiously unimpressed. “Yeah, no, nothing’s wrong. This is great.”

I know better than to peruse social media on Valentine’s Day, and although I still tossed Brian my usual, suspiciously impartial attitude this year, we had SUCH a fun day.

We began the day with heart pancakes that looked like demented Mickeys. No one ate them, but I took a picture.

Gus went to his darling friend Ivy’s Valentine’s party, and it sounded like he was a little confused about his first ever play date without me. One day, he will be thrilled I left him alone with all these girls, and he will be even happier to know I squirted him with his daddy’s cologne on the way out for good measure. Thanks, Taylor and Ivy!

Brian maneuvered through my “I don’t care!” lies with wisdom of a seasoned (battle scarred?) husband. (For the record, I don’t hope for much, just SOME ACKNOWLEDGEMENT, which was established after my 2009 birthday.) (Ashley Furness was my date that night and let me know husbands don’t know what you want unless you tell them, which was news to me…and has only sunk in 80%.)

We stayed in this Valentine’s Day, and Brian cooked an amazing “adults only” dinner after babies went to bed. If you’ve never had a Brian meal, you’re invited over. I have a hard time eating meat since pregnancies, but Brian’s steaks are ridiculous. He made his own dressing for this pear arugula salad he made but wouldn’t eat, and I almost drank it.

Our dining was momentarily accompanied by background music of overtired Gus’s night terrors. After snuggling him for a while, I returned to my OG Valentine, enjoyed conversation, and went to bed early.

Food and sleep speak to my heart.

So, boys, let this serve more as an explanation than an apology, because history repeats itself, especially so long as your significant other has social media accounts and watches The Bachelor. Sleep well tonight knowing you have another twelve months to either figure out if your lady is a 20%-er like me, or save $75/month to get her Louboutins next year.

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Regarding My Last Post…

Ok, hold on.

Thanks to all those long wearing lip colors (Lipsense, Kylie, and otherwise), I’m not looking perfect for 10 hours straight like everyone else seems to be. I’m sitting here looking like the Joker after scrubbing my face with only 90% removal success. I get it…you use makeup remover. What about that faint pink tint that’s still stained all over my mouth, like I’ve been lapping strawberry Kool Aid out of a dog bowl? What ABOUT that?

No wonder my kids aren’t scared of anything. Imagine the terrifying mother they see every morning after a red lipstick night out, smiling at them while she pours their Corn Pops…

I once had a rash like this when I was pregnant. Perioral dermatitis. Google it when you’re feeling bad about yourself.

Anyway, that’s a visual of me right now as I read and feel embarrassed by the many responses to my last post. My experience is so minuscule compared to others’ stories, and I’m just short of cringing for posting all my thoughts. It’s like I just pressed “submit” to posting a diary entry online, but I guess that’s kind of my M.O. on Fluent in Blonde.

…which is cool, until hundreds of people see your naked soul and how weird you really are. The dolphin girl on The Bachelor premiere understands exactly what I mean.

This is a round about way of saying thank you for deeply heartfelt thoughts and words. As unmerited as they are, I cannot believe how fortunate I am to have such a supportive, caring, inspirational network of friends and family. Thank you. Really.

(And if you REALLY love me, will you text me a good makeup remover? Because if not, you know the lipstick below isn’t coming off until Saturday.)

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Happy Birthday To My Child Who Was Created Solely By In n Out Protein Style Cheeseburgers

My babies’ birthdays are bittersweet to me, and birthday eves seem to be the “bitter” part. I can’t help but feel incredulous that an entire year has passed. I accuse time of robbing me, yet with an overflowing heart.

Three years ago, at this very moment, I listened to my unborn baby’s little heart beat with a total serenity that one can only experience when Heaven is lingering very near. It’s not necessarily emotional; it’s just perfect. It’s calm and blissful. It’s overwhelmingly familiar. It’s short lived, and it delicately slips through the fingers of anyone trying to hold onto it.

Mercifully, your hands to get to hold a more tangible piece of that bliss, to take home and marvel over for a little while longer.
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Gus has brought us that light far beyond the newborn stage. He is so EASY. He is happy. He is kind. He is fun and enthusiastic. He is a sleeper. (Bless him. His brother was not.)

Gus is excited about EVERYTHING.

…as evidenced by this reaction to his dollar store gifts. (We already took him to Disneyland, remember? That’s what I had to keep reminding myself.)
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I enjoyed the “sweet” part of his birthday today as he played with his new toys, fresh from China, that will probably fall apart tomorrow…just how I like them. In the garbage by next Thursday is the goal. My house doesn’t have storage for this stuff.

We had a handful of friends over tonight, and Gus was beyond thrilled.

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I adore this little guy, and love this tiny human he is becoming. He tells me almost daily, “I so proud of you, mama!” I hope I have another while before I embarrass him. Happy third birthday, my sweet boy. I’ll love you forever.

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I’ll Take The Mouse Over The Rats.

Some people believe bad luck will ensue after breaking a mirror.

Some people believe black cats are a bad omen.

Today, after slinking out of the house to be embarrassing and get a spray tan, my path was crossed by MULTIPLE rats Free Willy-ing over a bush I accidentally bumped with the tanning salon door. I am convinced I was one of those fainting goats in a past life, because I froze and involuntarily held my breath for about 20 seconds before the front desk girl (casually) said, “Oh, yeah. Those rats. There are a lot.”

I (casually) speed walked to my car afterwards in case I was interrupting a conga line.

But, no cats, rats, or spray tan walk of shame can rain on my parade after the fun week I had in Park City with my family, and a girls night with fun friends.

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NAILED IT
NAILED IT
DOUBLE NAILED IT
DOUBLE NAILED IT

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Let there be Nelly, and let there be giant ice creams.

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Only the utmost admiration for the girl that can eat two desserts. “One is my drink.” I am feeling confident in my friend picking abilities.

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Next up on our Super Extreme September calendar: G’s first Disney trip. We’ve been studying the map and discussing Mickey Mouse, but he knows nothing about churros.

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It’s Sad/ A Tender Mercy Camera Phones Didn’t Exist When I Was In College So I Don’t Have More Photos

I’ll stop talking about my birthday.

Just one sec.

I am getting a new computer, and am making sure I’ve saved everything I want off my old (OLD) (GERIATRIC) (DECREPIT) laptop. Appropriately timed, I found some old photos that made me smile as I was reminded me what welcoming twenty looked like. I walked into a surprise party, and a gorilla stripper that arrived and left in full costume was the cherry on top.

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College boyfriend and all, THIS was my early twenties in a photograph: corralled craziness, super fun, laughter, incredible friends, spontaneity, late nights, constant surprises, lots of love.

You can apply all of the above to my late twenties as well, just with associating those words with Brian and babies, and “late nights” in all caps. (I have vague memories of long, wild nights at Club Baby, but they’re a little blurry…)

My thirtieth birthday didn’t involve strippers, or much of anything, really! My birthday wish was to do nothing, and that’s what I did. My day consisted of minimal effort, salty hair, beach exploring, and napping, with a West Hollywood dinner at PUMP to ensure I was still marginally interesting/trying my best to meet Lisa Vanderpump.

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The cutest cake I've ever had. Those little fingers couldn't stay away from decorating, licking, or eating.
The cutest cake I’ve ever had. Those little fingers couldn’t stay away from decorating, licking, or eating.

I wonder if these pictures are as indicative of this whole decade as the previous were to my twenties.

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My Dance Date 2k16 / Would I Sue Brian If He Broke Our Contract?

Most people’s prenuptial agreements protect finances.

I didn’t have a staggering net worth or massive inheritance to consider, but I did have my sanity to defend. At twenty two, I was wise enough to know a woman’s opinion holds more merit when she is engaged than it ever will at any other point in her marriage.

It was during that golden time that I made Brian sign a spiral bound paper (college ruled), initialing in blood that we would never live in the Dakotas, I could have a cat, and he would squish spiders.

Like I said, important, important things.

I’m not sure if the agreement will be upheld in court as a legal document, but it is signed and dated.

One item of business discussed during engagement (although it was not signed upon), was to have a BIG date once a year: high school dance style. I’m not talking about going to dinner at Chipotle. I mean, a real, planned, get dressed up and go all out date. Going to high school in Las Vegas, I enjoyed some elaborate dance dates…but wouldn’t it be so much more appreciated to do it all again, married, leaving your house of kids to dress up for the guy you’d actually been hoping would ask you?

It took seven years to execute B + A Prom Date, but we made it happen last week.

Cue spray tan.

I got my nails done.

I timed fresh hair just right.

I bought a pretty dress, complete with the annoyances of trying on 57 before finding one that covered everything it needed to.

I got my makeup done.

Wait, did I shave my legs? Oh, well.

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The Snapchat files
The Snapchat files

We had appetizers at Wolfgang Puck, where I felt inclined to solemnly place a small silver dish at the end of the table with a red rose lying on it…

The hostess had some shaky hands. That's all I know.
The hostess had some shaky hands. That’s all I know.

I surprised Brian with a helicopter tour of Las Vegas.

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 It sounds cooler if I don’t tell you it was bought on Groupon.

It sounds cooler if I don’t tell you it was bought on Groupon.

We had a late dinner at Serendipity instead of a show, which I didn’t think we could stay awake to watch. Good call, because we were struggling by dinner.
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Although there was no alcohol involved, I still felt hungover the next morning from too little sleep, so I felt I got the full, stereotypical high school dance experience. Satisfying.

Brian and I had the best time. The night was exciting and fresh, and I laughed hard enough to require a potty break. I don’t tell you any of this to glorify our night…I am telling you this so that you’ll do that same.

If it sounds fun to you, have a “Prom Night.” If it sounds ridiculous, it is.

I’ve always been drawn to ridiculous.

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Summer Slipped My Mind

Toodles, summer. I only say, “Toodles,” because we watch so much Mickey around here. What I really want to say is:

NOOOO. DON’T LEAVE ME. MY LOVE.

But, Ashton, you say. It’s almost boot weather, and nothing tickles you like seasonal shoe rotations!

I know. Is this an identity crisis? I am usually itching for fall, but because I have no one in school to keep me on a schedule, September snuck up on me. I am panicking. (Just pencil me in as “yes” on that identity crisis.)

I LOVED this summer so much more than usual. That could be due to this being my first “normal-ish” summer experience in a long time. (Summer is so much more pleasant and carefree when I’m not nursing or pregnant.) However, after really thinking about it, I think the problem in years past was that I’d forgotten how to do it.

I forgot how to summer.

Thankfully, my little guys jogged my memory. This year:

I rememberered how water from the hose tasted.
I remembered how welcoming and warm cement feels after running in sprinklers.
I remembered the melody of creaky swing chains.
I remembered how Otterpop juice is July’s liquid gold.

It was magical. Thank you, my little guys. Having young children truly makes every season so much more vibrant. So exciting. So beautiful.

As the sun sets on this season, I want to savor every last bit of extended warmth we get in Las Vegas, as well as every minute of precious, unscheduled, “no one is in school yet so I’m not wearing pants” time. IMG_4087

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Sunday evening "Ca-sickles."
Sunday evening “Ca-sickles.”

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Summer, it hurts me to have let you you slip my mind for a few years while I was adulting. I’ll try my best to cut that out.

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Wife Vs Mom

Wife life and mom life.

The juxtaposition of these two identities hasn’t been particularly graceful for me, as the two roles seem to be an either/or, oil/water situation.

As a childless wife, I dutifully fulfilled my responsibilities. I shaved my legs. I washed my hair (more) often. I put effort into my overall appearance, and Brian was my whole, entire world. His happiness was my utmost priority. I would like to highlight how I nobly bit the bullet and sometimes sat with him to watch basketball games…for at least a year. We enjoyed plenty of alone time together, fun dates with other couples, and I went out of my way to be friendly with wives who’s Pinterest recipe stories didn’t particularly jazz me, just so Brian’s friendships with the husbands continue uninterrupted.

Basically, I still doodling his name all over until we had babies.

Those babies pretty much clicked “select all” and “delete” on the previous entire paragraph.

Now, I wake up like sounding like the girl on The Grudge, but looking like the girl from The Ring:
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Literally, I woke up like this,
especially after nights like this.

Motherhood has made me speak 9 octaves higher. Three or four days a week, I only see Brian in passing, and one of us leaves while the other is still in bed. Do we count celebratory high fiving that kids are asleep as physical intimacy? (It’s a meaningful high five.) After mustering up enough energy for chasing two babies and our jobs, we are not especially inclined to make an effort to leave the house. Would I have to button my pants for that? I have a hard time keeping that all consuming mom part of me from spilling over to my husband, and find myself accidentally mothering Brian, who ACTUALLY already HAS a mom.

So, this is how it ends. This is how every girl turns into the wife she swears she’ll never be.

I have no real resolution for this, other than never adding optometry coverage to our insurance. A decline in Brian’s vision might serve him well in the mornings.

However. How. Ever. Aside from the physical attraction concept, there may be hope. I’m trying to figure out how marriage relationships evolve with kids, how to stay flexible, how to nurture a friendship at the basis of our relationship, and remain a unified front against this world, because I really, genuinely like my husband.

Brian should have known it would be all downhill when he dated a girl that preferred to apply makeup in the comfort of the bathroom sink. 6-9-2009 5-48-03 AM_0013

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“A clean house is a boring house.” -Ashton. Can we make that a real saying?

Yesterday, as I reclined during my spa morning, I had a lot on my mind.

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(Dental work’s price tag makes it as close to an actual spa as I’m getting, but if I’m forced to lie here with my eyes closed, I am thrilled and will continue to refer to it as a spa.)

I thought of my sweet babies at home, which inevitably led to me thinking how much cleaning I need to do, the ever growing pile of laundry, and the missing Desitin tube. That missing Desitin concerns me. It also made circle back to cleaning the house.

My feelings these messy days are always sandwiched. I do like food analogies.

Those little bits of frustration are sandwiched between feelings of overwhelming adoration and motherly wonder. Like a real life filter, the pure innocence of the little perpetrators always blurs the irritation of the crime out of focus.

Let me give you a tour of my emotions (the sandwiches, which I am envisioning as PB& homemade raspberry jelly).

Sweet little Roscoe just climbing all over me as he tried to share his drink. Why would I even own white pants? Will this stain? I love that he just wants his mommy.
Sweet little Roscoe just climbing all over me as he tried to share his drink. Why would I even own white pants? Will this stain? I love that he just wants his mommy.

Oh man, my sliding glass door. Look at these hands! Oh, the fingers are so teeny! I literally just wiped these down yesterday. How freaking much Windex are we going through? Buuut before they wiped their Popsicles on the window, they were so sweet eating them together.
Oh man, my sliding glass door. Look at these hands! Oh, the fingers are so teeny! I literally just wiped these down yesterday. How freaking much Windex are we going through? Buuut before they wiped their Popsicles on the window, they were so sweet eating them together.

Ohhh, a golf club in the freezer. I always have surprises! Were they into the ice cream? What were they doing in here? Is my bathroom cabinet a mess now, too? Let me take a picture really quickly to send to Brian. He will love it. I’ll have to stick this in Chatbooks.
Ohhh, a golf club in the freezer. I always have surprises! Were they into the ice cream? What were they doing in here? Is my bathroom cabinet a mess now, too? Let me take a picture really quickly to send to Brian. He will love it. I’ll have to stick this in Chatbooks.

These teeny hands. I hate stainless steel so much. I love these fingers so much.
These teeny hands. I hate stainless steel so much. I love these fingers so much.

Emotional sandwiches. Or, bipolar. Hard to differentiate.

These small annoyances have become the crowning jewels of my home.

My house verges on disastrous sometimes, but I know having clean pants and floors one day will prick my heart.

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R + R

Brian’s brother, Reece, got married in Phoenix a couple weeks ago. We sure love his wife, Rachel, and I applaud the ever increasing blonde saturation in the otherwise dark Scurr family. Keeps the genetics interesting.

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Someone here was skeptical of his outfit after changing out of dinosaur footie pajamas about ten minutes before pictures.
Someone here was skeptical of his outfit after changing out of dinosaur footie pajamas about ten minutes before pictures.
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Wedding with a first birthday on the side
Wedding with a first birthday on the side
Our first aesthetically balanced Scurr sister picture.
Our first aesthetically balanced Scurr sister picture.
The cousins!
The cousins!
One of my favorite pictures from the weekend. My nieces and nephews remind me so much of playing with my own cousins, who are still my closest friends. I'm so grateful my kids will have built in best friends.
One of my favorite pictures from the weekend. My nieces and nephews remind me so much of playing with my own cousins, who are still my closest friends. I’m so grateful my kids will have built in best friends.
I'd caption this, "Wedding was lit," but I still don't quite know what that means and maybe it's inappropriate/creepy/not applicable.
I’d caption this, “Wedding was lit,” but I still don’t quite know what that means and maybe it’s inappropriate/creepy/not applicable.

Brian and I had several self discovery moments over the weekend, and by self discovery, I mean age realization. Instead of being the spry, wedding veterans we are (Twinkle Toes Scurr on the dance floor, anyone?), we ate fruit at a table and acknowledged the possible Indian rhythmic influence of Justin Beiber’s latest. Never have I felt more decrepit.

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