Showing posts with label marriage. Show all posts
Showing posts with label marriage. Show all posts

Thursday, August 5, 2010

I Like a Man with Exceptional Fine Motor Control

My husband spends a lot of his day pretending to be an asshole. His job involves keeping bad people away from good people and that is not an occupation for the faint of heart.  Asshole is part of the job description. Seriously. I read the contract.*

Recently, the stress of work has been following Aaron home.  Really, it trails him like an annoying neighbor kid who just can't seem to get the message that he isn't wanted.  The stress makes Aaron sensitive and that makes me sensitive and before you know it everyone is suffering from a digestive complaint and a 3-day migraine. I beg. I nag. I plead with my husband to find something, anything to do that might help him de-stress. A real, old-fashioned hobby, involving his hands and various 3 dimensional supplies.**

He found one. 

I nag because I care... and because it works.


87 paper cranes were hanging in my living room this morning. He wanted it to be an even 100, but his hands gave out. It took 7 hours to fold them and 3 hours to hang them.  It took me about 30 seconds to start crying.


*No I didn't! 
**Video games do not count as a hobby. Sorry. Nope.

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

Twenty-Ten is for Lovers

It is now the year 2010 ( it sounds better when you pronounce it twenty-ten, okay) and that means  I will soon celebrate ten years of wedded bliss with Aaron.  Ever since we failed to make a big deal out of our fifth anniversary (what with the lactating and the post-partum crazies), it has been written that our tenth will be commemorated with all the pomp and circumstance that it deserves.

This does NOT mean we are having a party. I can think of nothing I would enjoy less than planning and executing an event where our respective families could keep their distance from each other; much like boys and girls at a junior high dance with the added bonus of my mother telling everyone about her latest surgery and laundry list of psych meds. That's what Violet's birthday is for.

Aaron and I would really like to take a kid-free vacation and by "vacation" I mean 4 or more consecutive days in lodgings not located in Ohio, Pennsylvania or Michigan.  Aaron has had it stuck in his head for the entire length of our marriage that we should really go to one of those all inclusive resorts.  He loves the idea that you can pay for absolutely everything ahead of time and then spend a week being waited on and never worrying about the location of your wallet. For a time, he even thought it would be awesome to go to a Hedonism resort (adults only, clothing optional).  It sounds great, except we are not beach people, not even a little bit.  Neither of us enjoys water sports.  I am literally terrified of snorkeling and SCUBA diving. Aaron has strong feelings about appearing in public without a shirt on and I am not my best, most confident self while wearing a bathing suit. In fact, I am physically uncomfortable in swimwear.  Also, our trip will likely take place in the late summer/early fall and it will still be pretty hot in Dayton, so a tropical vacation would be sort of redundant.

The thing that has Aaron stuck on this resort idea is money.  Resort vacations are cheap and you generally know up front about every penny you will be expected to spend. I get that, but a bargain isn't really a bargain if you aren't getting what you want or need.  Unfortunately, Aaron is so stressed and so tired from school and work, that he is starting to view this vacation as medicine or therapy or eating healthy vegetables you don't like the taste of.  It MUST be done, or we will die.

The entire argument about where to go on a trip is ridiculous because we actually agree on where we would like to go.  New York City.  In our wildest fantasies the trip would include tickets to the U.S. Open and a few broadway shows.  That's what we really want to do, but Aaron fears it would be too expensive and NOT relaxing enough.  Aaron's definition of "relaxing" involves a lot of reading/napping with periodic interruptions for food and beer.  I could do that for a day or two, but then I would be bored and my boredom would lead me to pine for my child and that would lead to imagining all of the horrible accidents that might happen while we are apart, which would inevitably cause me to contemplate how sad and lonely her life would be if both her parents were killed in a fiery plane crash over the Bermuda Triangle. Not exactly an aphrodisiac, if you know what I mean. 

I guess I'm asking for help. Have you been someplace nice and relaxing, but also interesting and un-sandy?  Should we chuck the whole thought of a romantic getaway and take the baby to Disney World? Help!

Thursday, January 21, 2010

Bear with Me, it all Makes Sense in the End

Yesterday the dog got a bath.  Normally this can be done in the kitchen sink, but it was cold so Aaron took her upstairs to the bathroom.  With the door shut we can keep it pretty warm for our elderly 5 pound pup.   It was uneventful and Pixie smells much better now.

Violet's kitten is looooong overdue for a fixin'.  We are enduring our second bout of all night caterwauling.  Even Violet's sleep has been disturbed by Mittens and her cries for love. I heard a version of myself yelling from baby girl's room last night, "Now. That. Is. Enough."  If only money grew on trees, we would send Mittens to the vet right now for a little spa treatment. Ahem.

On Thursdays we have our homeschool playgroup and I usually get up early so that I can shower and consume enough coffee.  My bladder is very sensitive to caffeine. I need an extra hour for peeing if I plan to leave the house in the morning.

Today I got up even earlier because I could no longer pretend that I might actually sleep through the kitten's shrieking.  I carefully gathered some clothes in the dark, so as not to wake Aaron and headed for the bathroom.  I piled the clothes on the floor and turned on the shower.

A blast of cold water hit me right in the face. I was so confused. For a moment I became convinced that I was dreaming. The spray kept coming and blinking through the torrent of water I could see that Aaron hadn't  returned the shower nozzle to it's proper position.  I wrestled it back into place and turned the water off.  My pajamas and my neat pile of clothes were now all wet. 

With my compassion washed away I burst into the bedroom and flipped on the big, bright, overhead light. There was some screaming from the blinded man in my bed and then I felt better.

The End.

Thursday, January 7, 2010

A Shaky Start and a Strong Finish

I rang in the new millennium at a monumentally lame party thrown by friends of my roommate/boyfriend/mouth-breathing loser.  They were nice enough people, but they weren't people I'd call my friends. For fun they had their very own War of 1812 regiment. On weekends this crowd pretended to kill each other whilst wearing realistic costumes and sleeping in vintage tents on the wet ground. Like I said, nice people, but I like to keep my costume wearing confined to the play acting/ Halloween party milieu.

Anywho, the whole ushering in of the 2000s was a bit underwhelming. None of the computers failed. Money was in my checking account the next day and a meteor did not collide with the earth to put me out of my lingering 90s misery. The disappointment I felt as the ball dropped us into a new century shook me into reevaluating my life and where I wanted it to go.  I looked at my drunk mouth-breather and thought, "Nope. Not the direction I'm looking for." 

By June I made it clear to my boyfriend that I would be leaving Toledo (without him) and he should conduct himself accordingly. I resigned from my job and accepted my aunt's offer of shelter in Dayton.

I was 23. Sigh.

As I was unemployed and virtually without responsibility for a few weeks, I spent some time taking up space at a Borders bookstore.  One afternoon, a well-known local psychic was giving readings in the cafe. A dramatic shift in one's life tends to open the flood gates to the contemplation of fate and what-will-become-of-me, so I plunked down $5 to buy a glimpse into my future. 

I am not a believer in God, or true love or unalterable fate, but ESP and telepathy and all that super-natural hogwash fascinates me.  I love it. I have a set of tarot cards in my bedside drawer. Now you know.

In short, the psychic predicted that children would be very important in my life and that I would have some soon.  Ha! With what sperm donor, kind lady? The man I was to marry would turn up shortly, but there would be some confusion for me.  Apparently, two men were to come into my life at about the same time and I would have to choose.  The psychic assured me that the right choice was going to be obvious.  Then she said some eerily accurate stuff about my dead grandmother and great-grandmothers and freaked me out enough to think she might be onto something with this husband business.

In July, I got a job at a different bookstore (the venerable, no longer independent Books & Co.) and swiftly began dating the staff Casanova (super nerdy bookstore version).  It was fun, but awkward. Our conversations seem to sputter to halt when we weren't making out.  No one, including myself, thought it would develop into anything serious because it was sort of a rite of passage for new girls to take their turn with this guy. 

In August, Casanova left town to visit friends and I felt weird about it.  No other way to put it.  That's when I met Aaron.  He was sloppy and tired and sad and I knew immediately that I should stay away from him.  Yet, he drew me to him.  During our first conversation he asked me if I had a husband or boyfriend or illegitimate children. I reluctantly agreed to go out with him, right after he admitted to me that he was lonely because his fiance left him a month before their wedding. I know. A giant red-flag sprout from his head and I said yes anyway. The psychic made me do it. I had to figure out which guy was the obvious choice.  I sorta thought the date with Aaron was going to confirm my suspicion that Casanova was the best choice.  I was 6 weeks out from 24th birthday.

The rest is history.  I married Aaron on my birthday and never broke up with the other guy (the gossip took care of that for me).   Ahem.

This whole post was just a bloated introduction to my favorite photo, as requested by MrsW.  She thought for sure it would be a picture of Violet, but I'm nothing if not unpredictable (actually I'm totally predictable, usually).


Newlywed and looking forward to a great adventure.  We were naive and blissfully unaware of how tough and wonderful and shitty and spectacular the aughts would be... and our hair matched.  This photo is our beginning in a neat, tidy little package. It makes my heart flutter.

What is your favorite photo?  Preferably it is one taken by yourself or a member of your immediate family, but I suppose if an Ansel Adams still makes you weak despite all the gorgeous pictures of your loved ones, then whatever, I'm not here to judge.

Show me, with or without a lengthy exposition.  I love to see what you love. It makes me feel warm and fuzzy, like I do right after my second Pomegranate Martini.

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

Married



Married.

For nine years.

That's a long time. It's longer than my parents were married. It's longer than The Cosby Show was on the air. Yet... it doesn't feel like a long time. It doesn't feel as if we've been laboring on a chain gang for the length of our marriage. We work on our relationship, but it feels like the kind of work I was built for, we were built to do together.

And Violet...

What can I say about the sticky, sweet glue that is our child. I thought I loved and needed and appreciated Aaron before we replicated ourselves. I had no idea. And still, I persist in underestimating the depth of affection I am capable of. I underestimated the entire universe of emotion in those blurry, childless, early years of my life with Aaron. So fuzzy are those days of yore, that I am fairly certain that nothing really existed before Violet...nothing except Aaron.

Marriage and family makes for a fine case of amnesia.

Friday, May 15, 2009

Through my View Finder

Most of the time Aaron and I forget to really look at each other.  Violet is distracting us with a song or a whine. The dog needs to go outside or the trash is overflowing.  

We pass each other. We see right through one another.

I take my camera everywhere I go now. I find myself just pushing down the shutter button without focusing my mind on the subject at hand.  Click. Click. Click.  I haven't got the energy to take in every beautiful, ordinary moment, as it happens.  And so, I click, click, click. I am saving the view for later.

Hours, days or weeks go by and I look at the images I've taken with fresh eyes.  I see things that went unnoticed at first. I realize how much I've missed.  My camera freezes in time, what my brain can't catch.

It's the best view I've got.



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What's your best view? Windex and The Parent Bloggers Network want to know. They might even give you a prize! 

Friday, February 6, 2009

Love Defined


There are hugs and kisses, smiles and presents.  Meals cooked and beds made.  It's easy to squeeze a hand and whisper I Love You.  I need and appreciate all those things, but they are not the real proof of love in this house.  The real proof is my husband.

If I once wondered what love looks like, I don't anymore.  Love looks like a man walking out the door everyday to go do a job he not only dislikes, but actually puts him in real danger. Everyday.

I try my best to do my part, to make an equal sacrifice. I cannot. I am simply not as strong or as selfless as my husband is.  He encourages me to write, to take pictures, to make things and then he goes to work.  Sometimes I feel more guilty than I can express. I try not to think about it because cheering me up would just be one more thing that my overworked husband has to do during his day.

I never imagined myself turning into this traditional wife and mother person. In some ways I am still that radical, young feminist, but then I start baking bread and folding clothes and my edge gets blurry.  I'm just so grateful to have this brave, amazing, hardworking man taking care of me and my daughter, that I no longer care if people think of me as anti-feminist. I am me. I am lucky. I am so loved.

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How does your family show their love?  Write about it and you could win a gorgeous Paloma Picasso Loving Heart Pendant from the Parent Bloggers Network and Insure Your Love.

Saturday, January 3, 2009

How to Lose an Argument and Still Win

During this entire conversation I am taking pictures of my husband who hates to be photographed.

Wife: Remember, that [wooden spatula] doesn't go in the dishwasher.

Husband: [Satisfied chuckle].

Wife: What? I'm sorry. It doesn't.

Husband: It doesn't go in there today.

Wife: No. It never goes in the dishwasher.

Husband: That's not what you said last time.

Wife: What last time?

Husband: I wrote it down. You said it was okay to put the wooden spatula in the dishwasher. It's in my notebook upstairs.

Wife: Really?

Husband: I just read it today.... get that camera out of my face.

Wife: Oh, but your right. I just want to take a picture of what you look like when your right.

Husband: Stop it.

Wife: I'M wrong. Oooh. Whatta think of that. I'm wrong and your right.

Husband: Quit it.

Wife: Don't you want to see what it looks like to be right?

Husband: NO!

Saturday, October 18, 2008

Oh Yeah Babe, I Hate Video Games Too!

 
Approximately 8 years, six weeks and 2 days ago I had my first real conversation with Aaron. We were both working the cash register at a bookstore and it was a slow night. He was clearly interested and like any charming rogue, he knew that most women are easily seduced by the sound of their own voice. Aaron started asking me the usual flirty questions. "Where are you from?" "What's your favorite book?" "Do you have a husband/boyfriend/illegitimate child?" Blah, Blah Blah. I played along, answering like a charming smart ass, until he asked me, "What do you look for in a guy?" The question plucked at a sore spot in my psyche and I blurted out; "I'll tell you what I'm NOT looking for. I don't want to date anyone who plays video games! I hate them." I'm sure I probably elaborated. Perhaps, I recited my list of grievances with previous boyfriends and their damned game machines. He quickly agreed with me and then changed the subject. Our courtship started in earnest and before I knew it I was waking up in Aaron's tiny one bedroom apartment more often than I was waking up in my own bed. About two weeks in, he got that I have to tell you something look on his face. Here it comes, I thought. He's about to tell me he has an STD or a wife or a criminal record. Aaron got up and went to the closet and pulled a towel wrapped object from the top shelf. It was a PlayStation. Aaron had no idea how I was going to react to this and he was well aware of the risk he was taking. He had lied to me. I said I hated video games and he instantly made the decision to hide his gaming passion. Given my explosive speech, he probably feared that I would get up and leave, but I already loved him. I was so relieved that this was his terrible secret that I told him as much. Yes, I told my futue husband that I loved him while he clutched the machine I had feared the most. I told him it was okay. I assured him that if he had managed to keep his hands off of it for two whole weeks, he must have more self control than other men with video game festishes. Of course, I now know that the only thing that will distract a man from his PlayStation is a naked lady and since I was mostly naked during those first weeks of our relationship, the game machine was easily forgotten.
Aaron's Man Cave accessories multiplied rapidly in the light of day. In fact, my mother-in-law was so incredulous when we announced our hasty marriage, that she said she would buy Aaron a PlayStation 2 if he could produce a valid marriage license. These days, I'm not naked nearly enough to keep the digital beasts at bay. I now live with a PlayStation 3, a PlayStation Portable, a Wii (which I actually use) and this unfinished monstrosity arcade game cabinet you see here.

On Monday, Aaron and I will be married 8 years. I am so glad he lied to me about that DAMN PlayStation...
He's the best thing that ever happened to me.

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Does your husband have a Man Cave, or at least the stuff to fill it? Tell The Parent Bloggers Network and BillMeLater all about it and you could win seed money for future additions to the cave.

Thursday, August 7, 2008

The Heathen Family Marriage


On October 20, 2000 I turned 24 and I got married. It was a Friday and I had known my groom for approximately 6 weeks. The ceremony was conducted at the home of the newly elected Mayor of Huber Heights and the only photographs were taken by the mayor's wife Barbie on a digital camera with a quality level similar to that of a Commodore 64. I have spent the past eight years attempting to turn these pixelated images into actual photographs. My latest and most desperately abstract effort has inspired me to ponder the fantastically, unlikely success of my marriage. It's good practice for when my daughter wants to know why it was okay for her parents to get married so impulsively, but it is not okay for her to do the same.

I moved to Dayton, Ohio in June of 2000. I had recently graduated from the University of Toledo and due to a series of catastrophic errors in judgment, I was living with an asthmatic pothead who also happened to be my boss at a job that didn't pay enough to allow me to live on my own. My beloved Aunt invited me to come live rent free in her newly acquired house and I was on my way to a fresh start. I had been to Dayton numerous times visiting my Aunt, but I had no social network to speak of. It was a glorious rebirth for me. I got a job in a bookstore and started building a mystery as Sarah McLaughlin would put it. It was great fun weaving the tale of my glamorous past as a collegiate actor, dysfunctional daughter and perennial smart-ass. It gave me an opportunity to write hundreds of pages of self-indulgent poetry alongside my hippie/poet Aunt and her stable of poet friends. It wasn't long before I caught the eye of a fellow bookslinger, who had a reputation for seducing the new female hires. I began dating the bookstore Valentino in earnest. I was keen to get the relationship underway because I had a prophecy to fulfill.

During my first weeks in Dayton, I spent a lot of time doing research on being a bookslinger. It was my little dream. In hindsight, I can see that I was desperate to set a goal for myself that might appear lofty, but was in fact ridiculously attainable. I was hanging out at a Border's one day when they had a psychic doing readings in the cafe. My future was wide open and the suspense was killing me, so I plunked down $5 and waited to hear about the fabulous things to come in my life. I got a little more than I bargained for. It turns out that the woman who did my reading was a very well-respected medium/spiritual counselor. She began telling me about the strong female ancestors who were buzzing around my aura, silently guiding me and protecting me. I don't believe in Jesus, but boy am I sucker for this supernatural crap. The psychic went on to generalize about how important children were in my life (I had just left a job working with kids) and that I would have children of my own very soon. I'm sure my eyebrows went up at that point as I thought to myself, Please let them be legitimate. She went on to explain a complicated romantic plot. I was going to meet my future husband very soon, but there would also be another guy hanging around and I would have to choose. Supposedly, the right choice would be clear to me when the time came to make my decision. I felt electric and immediately began imagining passing strangers as my groom.

Cut to my budding romance with the bookstore Valentino. Valentino was heading out of town to visit a friend in Wisconsin and I was feeling strange about the whole thing. We hadn't been dating long, but we had slept together and I was a little surprised that he would leave me so soon. It had always been my experience in matters of romance that my hot body was so irresistible that any man who was permitted near it would cancel his whole schedule and bend to my will. No sooner than Valentino was out of town, I met the Sloppy Guy. Sloppy Guy was getting ready to quit the bookstore. He had a real job as a security supervisor with Delphi and he was tired of being tired. Why would you work two jobs if you didn't have to? Ah, Sloppy Guy had taken a second job to pay for his (called-off) wedding. In between bursts of flirty, witty banter, I learned all about the Sloppy Guy's recent personal history. Like, how he had supported his fiance through college and was supposed to quit his jobs after the wedding and take his turn at school. Or, how his fiance announced that she couldn't marry him and he had to sit in the rain at the wedding venue and wait for any stray guests that might show up expecting a ceremony. And then there was the matter of getting his real job back, since he wouldn't be going to college after all. The final red flag was Sloppy Guy's admission that he had just bought a dog to help combat his loneliness. He was totally and completely broken. My first instinct was to resist him, for obvious reasons. I had a long-standing record of dating men who were chubby physically imperfect and disheveled. I thought it was important to love people who were beautiful on the inside and it had been my experience that men who paid too much attention to their physiques were assholes. This flawed generalization got me into trouble with the pothead back in Toledo and now I was a little gun-shy about Sloppy Guy's sloppiness. Still, I had a prophecy to worry about and Sloppy Guy was soooo charming, even when he was telling me his mournful tale of love gone wrong. I was also on a deadline. Sloppy Guy's last day was fast approaching. I decided to let things happen.

My first date with Sloppy Guy Aaron was on Labor Day. I met the dog, I saw the nearly unfurnished apartment he had been banished to by his breakup and I didn't run away. We had a nice dinner at the Olive Garden and went back to his place to watch Ferris Buehler's Day Off. It was the most subtle romantic gift I had ever been given. I had mentioned only once how much I love that movie. I fell fast and furious and for real. The idea of becoming engaged never felt right. I had been engaged before, so had Aaron. In both cases, the arrangements were really just last ditch efforts to keep together doomed relationships. I didn't think anyone would take us seriously if we announced we were engaged after only a few weeks of dating. I wanted no speculation, no doubts spoken aloud. Aaron asked me to marry him everyday that we were together until one morning in the shower I looked him in the eye and said yes and meant it. We agreed that we would get the marriage license and if we chickened out, it would expire with no harm done. Incidentally, the clerk who did our paperwork was the same clerk that did Aaron's other, recently expired marriage license and yes, he remembered Aaron.

Aaron and I did not chicken out, but the doubts and speculation came anyway. There were quite a few bets made by our co-workers in the book world. Valentino must have been more than a little bit confused, but we've never spoken of it. He is a dear friend to our family now and has been dating the same girl for as long as Aaron and I have been married. I like to think that I shook him up a bit. My various parents/grandparents were not very happy with me, but I was participating in a family legacy of secret, runaway marriages and they could only complain for so long. Now, everyone loves Aaron so much that they are embarrassed to admit that they once feared he was going to chop me up and bury me in an abandoned lot.

The fact is, we were both at the bottom of our respective barrels. We were both starting over from scratch. Aaron and I were taking advantage of a rare opportunity to reevaluate who we really wanted to be and how we wanted to live for the rest of our lives. I had unpacked baggage everywhere and so did Aaron. It was easy to see how our foundation should be put together, what with all the parts laid bare at our feet. It was hard work, but we never saw any reason to be insecure about the path we were on. Of course, we had absolutely nothing left to distract us from the task at hand.

So, what will I tell Violet about love and relationships? The same thing I was told, I guess. A successful marriage has done nothing to improve my eloquence on the subject.

When you know, you know. You know?

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