A portrait of my husband, once a week, every week, in 2013.
I thought I was going to die from frustration last night. It was one of those nights. And by one of those nights, I’m referring to one of those evenings where I was trying to juggle cooking dinner, breastfeeding Van, and taking a grabbing-his-nuts-and-yelling-potty toddler to the bathroom. Hooper was giving me a run for my money, Van has two teeth he likes to bite my nipple with, and somewhere in the midst of my I’m-a-single-mom-today day, I forgot to eat lunch. That happens when you’re a mom, doesn’t it? It was nearly five o’clock when I realized and by then nothing but a top tart sounded good. So I ate a pop tart. By the time dinner responsibilities came around, I was spent. I had no fuel to power the engine. Just when I thought I couldn’t handle anymore, Hooper pissed on the floor. And then mister-I-insist-on-standing-in-the-bath-Van fell in the bath. It was one of those nights.
I digress. This post is supposed to be about that handsome man in that sharp looking suit.
We spent the night down in Hollywood the other night, at the historic Roosevelt Hotel. Willy was invited, via work, to the world premier of Iron Man 3 so the boys and I tagged along to enjoy the perks of trashing a room we don’t have to clean up. If you follow me on instagram, you heard my ranting and raving about trying to make it across the street through the hoards of moronic individuals that chose to spent their weekday evening stalking people they deem important because of some script they read in front of a camera. No joke, I was pushed, shoved, and practically trampled by people running back and forth along the ropes of the red carpet. The stroller I was pushing offered no sense of a reality check and as I sat there with my boys in the empty diner across the street, I watched as crazed individuals waved their homemade signs and chanted the nicknames of their favorite actors. Hollywood just isn’t my thing. I think I’m too practical.
In any event, I highly recommend the Roosevelt. The room was fantastic and the service was incredible. I’ll share more photos next week when I, hopefully, have my sanity back.
You can check out other posts in the series here.
My best friend and I went to California (we’re from Florida) back in 2009. There was some silly movie being filmed at the time near the hotel we stayed in, and it was BRUTAL. I couldn’t believe how people were behaving, or the way they were immortalizing all of these actors. It was a little crazy. I’m probably too practical, too.
I feel your pain on “those nights,” too. My husband is an accountant and during his busy season — well, I’m sure he’s come home to find me crying in the closet more times than he’d like to recall. Ha.
It’s amazing how obsessive people can be! I know people who waste so much time obsessing over celebrities, what they are doing, who they are doing etc. It’s not my thing either. I really couldn’t care less!
Beautiful photo as always.
Sometimes you need a night with a sexy man to remind you your life is not just pee on the floor
You’re assuming that those who pee on the floor were not present. They were. And there was not pee on the floor, but a little little bit left on the sofa. Never assume a hotel room is clean… I did clean it off… promise.
Oh I love that you’re doing the project of your husband! I am doing one of my husband too, but he made me promise not to publish it. Haha.
I love Julie’s comment. ^^^ Haha!
what inspiration doing the 52 week project on your hubby =)
Julie, I lol-ed to your comment!