Well, the time has come for me to leave this happy place. This is my third blog, I had one at LiveJournal, a Xanga one, a Blogspot one (this), and now... I'm at wordpress! Actually, I bought myself a domain!!
Since I didn't want to keep Fetal Attraction forever (because I pray to god I'm not obsessed with babies forever because I'll HAVE one!), the new address you can find me writing on is: www.ambergontrail.com
It will be the stories of life, love and struggle. The name is a play on the favorite computer game of kids of the 90s: Oregon Trail. I switched to Wordpress because it's more fun for me, and there are a ton more options for additions.
Please follow me over to my new site, I promise to entertain as per usual!
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
A rant
Another day at work, made even more intolerable after a three day weekend of Paul's basketball games, cuddling, and lazing about. Now, it is Tuesday, last night's dinner still needs to be cleaned up, the trash needs to be taken out (the reason dinner wasn't cleaned up), more laundry needs to be sorted and washed (then folded and put away), and the house needs to be picked up. Such a tiny place makes it so easy to get cluttered. A bit of clothes on the comfy chair makes it look like a hurricane hit. I've been trying so hard to get motivated but all I seem to be lately is tired, hungry and headachey- all of which can be traced back to the fatigue! I'm too tired to make food or get food at work, which then gives me a headache. When I get home, I take out Woofie then he and I both retreat to our couch, and fall asleep together. I'm afraid I'm creating a sloth-like dog.
Wanted to add: This "rant" isn't directed to my wonderful cousins, L and K. I love you guys, and am just frustrated at myself and my current inability to be patient. XOXO
Unfortunately, this miserable sleepiness isn't related to a fetus (zygote, embryo, baby, hatchling, little one). No, I've been trying to put this TTC business on the back burner for now, if not because of our searching for a new apartment, but for sanity. Yesterday was the first day since March of 2008 that I slept in and didn't take my temperature at all. Of course, I did use a couple ovulation predictor sticks (but failed to actually read them once I "baptized" them), which would have just reinforced my belief that I am actually ovulating today. So, as another chance goes by, willingly (mostly) this time, I am wistful.
There are some differences between my husband and I, not of the obvious kind (female/male, short/tall), but more the kind that no one other than us knows. Well, and now you. When I'm stressed out, unhappy, or just plain blah, I require a little bit of "Sexual Healing" as Marvin Gaye so lyrically put it. When Paul is any of the above, he just wants a back scratch and a snuggle. This difference is truly unfortunate at the moment because I'm feeling a bit of melancholy and stress, and Paul is just stressed beyond belief. So, I'll take one (ha!) for the team and resist molesting my husband. If only our go-to methods for instant pick-me-ups were one and the same...
It's been especially hard to avoid things baby at the moment. I happily went to the Manhattan Beach Mall for a birthday present for my twin cousins on their second birthdays. One had already been bought, and now I am done. Perhaps I'll add a little book or something to each to give them something cute to play with, since I got them both clothes. I hope family doesn't resent me giving clothes to the babies, it's just so hard for me to NOT buy clothing, because every tiny blouse or sweater seriously hurts me to pick up and hold. In Janie and Jack, Paul and I were strolling the aisles to find something handsome for Luke, our little man. Although I had already picked up Bree's gift, I couldn't help but mosey over to the girl side of the store, with heart-breakingly adorable dresses and tights, tiny hats and silly t-shirts (Mommy's Lovebug" was one), each one so delicate and soft. Poor Paul must have witnessed the pain in my eyes because he just let me wander the rows, touching each item I passed, telling him which one I'd get if I were buying for us. Finally, we had picked out Luke's gift, and Paul had already walked out of the store, but I just couldn't leave. The magic of baby-land is transfixing to a woman who is longing to be a mother, that it's quite terrible to be around something you love so dearly. On the one hand you envy everyone who has gotten there before you, whether or not they've been trying as long as you have- and you just can't tolerate being around people who are "luckier" than you (in your mind, at least) and have what you want. It literally hurts to be so close to something you want so incredibly bad, and still have it be unattainable. On the other hand, you love the babies and anything else related; the clothes and toys, even the mundane things like diapers and bottles (BPA free, of course), that despite how much it hurts to see the bellies of your friends growing, you just can't pull yourself away. It's hard to know which is best for you: ignoring your pained insides and punishing yourself and husband later with the talks of "Why not us?! Why??", or possibly hurting friends and family by not being more forthcoming with why you can't come, or why the congratulations are hard to eek out. You want to tell them that it's not really you who is being this bitter and mean, no, it's the evil person who had taken over last year when those daily acts of temping and charting just became too much to bear with an intact mind.
At this point, I've gotten terrible. If I see a person complaining about anything pregnancy related, I just ignite. When people are panicking about their ability to parent or whatever (perhaps with good cause, but I'm obviously far from logical lately), I just want to tell them to stop it. Just stop. I'd be more than willing to take your baby belly and cradle it gently with my hands, because I've been reading, I've nannied, I've been taking my pre-conception prenatal vitamins. I have done the research on cribs and strollers, miracle blanket vs. swaddle me, SIDS risks and why having a fan in the baby's room reduces the risk by something like 75% (something about airflow keeping the CO2 down)... I KNOW this stuff. So, I'll say it again, this time to someone other than my poor defeated husband: "Why not us?!"
Wanted to add: This "rant" isn't directed to my wonderful cousins, L and K. I love you guys, and am just frustrated at myself and my current inability to be patient. XOXO
Unfortunately, this miserable sleepiness isn't related to a fetus (zygote, embryo, baby, hatchling, little one). No, I've been trying to put this TTC business on the back burner for now, if not because of our searching for a new apartment, but for sanity. Yesterday was the first day since March of 2008 that I slept in and didn't take my temperature at all. Of course, I did use a couple ovulation predictor sticks (but failed to actually read them once I "baptized" them), which would have just reinforced my belief that I am actually ovulating today. So, as another chance goes by, willingly (mostly) this time, I am wistful.
There are some differences between my husband and I, not of the obvious kind (female/male, short/tall), but more the kind that no one other than us knows. Well, and now you. When I'm stressed out, unhappy, or just plain blah, I require a little bit of "Sexual Healing" as Marvin Gaye so lyrically put it. When Paul is any of the above, he just wants a back scratch and a snuggle. This difference is truly unfortunate at the moment because I'm feeling a bit of melancholy and stress, and Paul is just stressed beyond belief. So, I'll take one (ha!) for the team and resist molesting my husband. If only our go-to methods for instant pick-me-ups were one and the same...
It's been especially hard to avoid things baby at the moment. I happily went to the Manhattan Beach Mall for a birthday present for my twin cousins on their second birthdays. One had already been bought, and now I am done. Perhaps I'll add a little book or something to each to give them something cute to play with, since I got them both clothes. I hope family doesn't resent me giving clothes to the babies, it's just so hard for me to NOT buy clothing, because every tiny blouse or sweater seriously hurts me to pick up and hold. In Janie and Jack, Paul and I were strolling the aisles to find something handsome for Luke, our little man. Although I had already picked up Bree's gift, I couldn't help but mosey over to the girl side of the store, with heart-breakingly adorable dresses and tights, tiny hats and silly t-shirts (Mommy's Lovebug" was one), each one so delicate and soft. Poor Paul must have witnessed the pain in my eyes because he just let me wander the rows, touching each item I passed, telling him which one I'd get if I were buying for us. Finally, we had picked out Luke's gift, and Paul had already walked out of the store, but I just couldn't leave. The magic of baby-land is transfixing to a woman who is longing to be a mother, that it's quite terrible to be around something you love so dearly. On the one hand you envy everyone who has gotten there before you, whether or not they've been trying as long as you have- and you just can't tolerate being around people who are "luckier" than you (in your mind, at least) and have what you want. It literally hurts to be so close to something you want so incredibly bad, and still have it be unattainable. On the other hand, you love the babies and anything else related; the clothes and toys, even the mundane things like diapers and bottles (BPA free, of course), that despite how much it hurts to see the bellies of your friends growing, you just can't pull yourself away. It's hard to know which is best for you: ignoring your pained insides and punishing yourself and husband later with the talks of "Why not us?! Why??", or possibly hurting friends and family by not being more forthcoming with why you can't come, or why the congratulations are hard to eek out. You want to tell them that it's not really you who is being this bitter and mean, no, it's the evil person who had taken over last year when those daily acts of temping and charting just became too much to bear with an intact mind.
At this point, I've gotten terrible. If I see a person complaining about anything pregnancy related, I just ignite. When people are panicking about their ability to parent or whatever (perhaps with good cause, but I'm obviously far from logical lately), I just want to tell them to stop it. Just stop. I'd be more than willing to take your baby belly and cradle it gently with my hands, because I've been reading, I've nannied, I've been taking my pre-conception prenatal vitamins. I have done the research on cribs and strollers, miracle blanket vs. swaddle me, SIDS risks and why having a fan in the baby's room reduces the risk by something like 75% (something about airflow keeping the CO2 down)... I KNOW this stuff. So, I'll say it again, this time to someone other than my poor defeated husband: "Why not us?!"
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Soon enough
It seems the New Year has given me the lazies. All I've been doing lately is working, searching Westside Rentals and Craisglist for apartments to rent, and yes, reading the Twiglight saga. Both apartment hunting and Twilight are major distractions, especially on Craigslist. I go to look at the apartment listings, then I stroll on over to the "Missed Connections" searching for the woman who called out my husband in 2007. Yes, a woman actually posted a "Paul from Venice, where are you? I've been wondering how you've been." thing. Turned out it was his ex. And yes, I replied, "Paul is actually getting married- to ME. He's doing just fine, thanks." Paul got a kick out of it, so I don't feel bad, but it makes me stalk the boards just in case she got the urge to ask again.
Once I'm on Craigslist, I then go to the hilarious personals. Man those things are funny. From there I go to Rants and Raves, and then finish my tour back at the apartment listings again.
So, no apartment found yet, still putting aside rents and deposits, trying to find the right place- one that accepts dogs. Now really, who doesn't love a dog like Woofie? Who wouldn't want to see that furry little face every day? Oh well, soon we'll be relocated and Woofie will be adored as he should be. :)
As for TTC, we're still just hanging in there. Every now and then, I get the weepies, and want to just curl up and sleep. Mostly I'm trying to keep myself optimistic by planning on what I'd do with our second bedroom, cribs and bedding, wall decals and adorable rugs. Ah, what I'll do.
So, things are still in limbo, waiting for babies, waiting for deposits, waiting to leave here.
Once I'm on Craigslist, I then go to the hilarious personals. Man those things are funny. From there I go to Rants and Raves, and then finish my tour back at the apartment listings again.
So, no apartment found yet, still putting aside rents and deposits, trying to find the right place- one that accepts dogs. Now really, who doesn't love a dog like Woofie? Who wouldn't want to see that furry little face every day? Oh well, soon we'll be relocated and Woofie will be adored as he should be. :)
As for TTC, we're still just hanging in there. Every now and then, I get the weepies, and want to just curl up and sleep. Mostly I'm trying to keep myself optimistic by planning on what I'd do with our second bedroom, cribs and bedding, wall decals and adorable rugs. Ah, what I'll do.
So, things are still in limbo, waiting for babies, waiting for deposits, waiting to leave here.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Moving
Ahhh, sorry it has been so long since I've been here. Christmas and New Years have passed, and now I'm in the thick of completing year-end along with all the fun of quarter end as well. Paul and I are doing well. Just a few weeks ago, we pretty much decided to move into a two bedroom apartment. One of those spur of the moment things like, "We're going to get a Playstation 3, and we're getting one TODAY."
Unlike the Playstation, this would affect our whole life- at least for the time being. We'd been tossing about the notion of moving for quite some time up to now. We're unhappy in our current apartment; it's dark and the building is frustrating- with upstairs neighbors alternating their fights with loud sex (which, by the way, makes me wonder why some people are okay in a relationship like that), and on a loud boulevard with only street parking available which is nearly impossible to get depending on the hour. As I'd said, we'd been debating moving to a bigger apartment (all the better to decorate), but couldn't quite justify the hassle of moving and paying higher rent. That was until we received a letter from our landlord- he's raising our rent to $1,125.00 per month. For a crappy one bedroom with a fridge that doesn't work, a shower with tiles falling constantly, and a hole in the cupboards. So that was pretty much the last straw.
Now we're squirreling away all our money for the first month/pet deposit, and as soon as that's done- we're OUT OF HERE! Part of me is sad, as this was the first place I moved to outside of my parents' house and the first place we called home after being married, but it's just not feasible anymore. I know that Paul would love to have a second bedroom for friends and family who may need to visit- and I would love to get to decorate a "baby's room" when the time comes. While we've been TTC in this one bedroom apartment, I'd been a little sad when I saw everyone posting the recently decorated baby's room pictures, knowing I could only decorate "baby's corner". Now that we'll be moving, I'm starting to get happier about it all happening, and just thrilled knowing we'll have a second bedroom. A whole different space!
So now we're thinking places to move close to Dad and our friends, because that's what really matters- well, that and my lazy ass being able to get home on the bus. :) Immersed in planning of our layouts and how exactly we'll give our notice, we're thrilled. As Paul said, "Now there is a light at the end of the tunnel." And yes, we'll have to file change of address forms, and change all our billing, and spend a few more hundred dollars a month, but in my opinion, it's worth it.
Unlike the Playstation, this would affect our whole life- at least for the time being. We'd been tossing about the notion of moving for quite some time up to now. We're unhappy in our current apartment; it's dark and the building is frustrating- with upstairs neighbors alternating their fights with loud sex (which, by the way, makes me wonder why some people are okay in a relationship like that), and on a loud boulevard with only street parking available which is nearly impossible to get depending on the hour. As I'd said, we'd been debating moving to a bigger apartment (all the better to decorate), but couldn't quite justify the hassle of moving and paying higher rent. That was until we received a letter from our landlord- he's raising our rent to $1,125.00 per month. For a crappy one bedroom with a fridge that doesn't work, a shower with tiles falling constantly, and a hole in the cupboards. So that was pretty much the last straw.
Now we're squirreling away all our money for the first month/pet deposit, and as soon as that's done- we're OUT OF HERE! Part of me is sad, as this was the first place I moved to outside of my parents' house and the first place we called home after being married, but it's just not feasible anymore. I know that Paul would love to have a second bedroom for friends and family who may need to visit- and I would love to get to decorate a "baby's room" when the time comes. While we've been TTC in this one bedroom apartment, I'd been a little sad when I saw everyone posting the recently decorated baby's room pictures, knowing I could only decorate "baby's corner". Now that we'll be moving, I'm starting to get happier about it all happening, and just thrilled knowing we'll have a second bedroom. A whole different space!
So now we're thinking places to move close to Dad and our friends, because that's what really matters- well, that and my lazy ass being able to get home on the bus. :) Immersed in planning of our layouts and how exactly we'll give our notice, we're thrilled. As Paul said, "Now there is a light at the end of the tunnel." And yes, we'll have to file change of address forms, and change all our billing, and spend a few more hundred dollars a month, but in my opinion, it's worth it.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
All I Want for Christmas
I don't think I've blogged much about TTC lately, and trust me, it's a conscious effort to not drone on and on about it. I'm thinking I'm at the point where I'm focused on getting pregnant, but so tired with myself for not actually being pregnant. Is that even possible?
I'm staying away from my TTC forums, lurking on the bump.com, and failing at NOT reading anything baby related. Last night I wrapped most of the gifts for the kids in our families- folding those little baby shirts that I pored over for at least an hour to choose the right one (while at Culver City farmer's market, no less), realizing how tiny those little things are- and oh, how tiny the people they will be adorning are! I couldn't help but rub the soft material on my cheek, knowing and hoping that by this time next year I'll be folding my very own onesies and baby shirts. Yes, then I walked over to my secret drawer in my dresser, where I keep the only two things I've allowed myself to buy for our future baby- soft Carters onesies festooned with ducks. Never before have I felt an attraction to ducks- no, I'm more your giraffe/monkey/hippo kind of gal, but oh, these ducks. Tear your heart out with cuteness. On one we have a white background, with ducks all over, with yellow neckline and arm and leg holes. The other is white, with the same yellow neck and arm holes, but instead of the smattering of duckies, this one has just one duck, directly in the center of the chest- soft and yellow, with a wing you can flap up and down, made of the softest material known to man, almost like down feathers.
At least once a month I pull these onesies out, and lay them on my chest, pretending it's a real baby. When I'm around babies or toddlers, I just want to pull them toward me and hold them, breathe in the soft baby smell. Unfortunately, the babies/kids I'm around are getting big enough to not want to be held, and want to run and stomp with their cousins. It's so strange to me, I remember being at that age, having my cousins around to play with for holidays and celebrations, and now I'm watching a new generation do the same. Time really flies when you're not paying attention.
I really must put a stop to this searching for baby gear- for I already have our stroller picked out, which crib we'll buy is already ingrained in my brain, and just now, I have found an outfit Paul would adore:
Cute strikes again, with this Polar Bear ensemble by Bon Bebe, on sale for a mere SEVEN DOLLARS! I'd buy it myself, but Paul doesn't want us to jinx ourselves, which I can understand. Still it's SEVEN DOLLARS! See, I've seen cute things before (my cousin Lisa sent me a link ages ago to the dachshund themed outfits at one of those too cute for words baby stores, and although I wanted them all so badly- and they were also on sale, I resisted), but this- this polar bear set is a sign. The polar bear is Paul's favorite animal in the whole world. And part of me, the silly makes-no-sense part of me, thinks that if I had it, if somehow we owned something this cute and this perfect for us, that perhaps we'd get lucky, and get pregnant. I know, it's ridiculous.
So, as we pass into 2009 (!), I hope that new and better days are coming. I hope I'll spend most of 2009 pregnant, and that at this time next year, I'll have a polar bear wearing baby to bounce on my hip. You hear that, God? I'm putting in a request, please. If not God, can you hear me Santa? I've been especially good this year, minus the few random snarks I let come out here and there.
I'm staying away from my TTC forums, lurking on the bump.com, and failing at NOT reading anything baby related. Last night I wrapped most of the gifts for the kids in our families- folding those little baby shirts that I pored over for at least an hour to choose the right one (while at Culver City farmer's market, no less), realizing how tiny those little things are- and oh, how tiny the people they will be adorning are! I couldn't help but rub the soft material on my cheek, knowing and hoping that by this time next year I'll be folding my very own onesies and baby shirts. Yes, then I walked over to my secret drawer in my dresser, where I keep the only two things I've allowed myself to buy for our future baby- soft Carters onesies festooned with ducks. Never before have I felt an attraction to ducks- no, I'm more your giraffe/monkey/hippo kind of gal, but oh, these ducks. Tear your heart out with cuteness. On one we have a white background, with ducks all over, with yellow neckline and arm and leg holes. The other is white, with the same yellow neck and arm holes, but instead of the smattering of duckies, this one has just one duck, directly in the center of the chest- soft and yellow, with a wing you can flap up and down, made of the softest material known to man, almost like down feathers.
At least once a month I pull these onesies out, and lay them on my chest, pretending it's a real baby. When I'm around babies or toddlers, I just want to pull them toward me and hold them, breathe in the soft baby smell. Unfortunately, the babies/kids I'm around are getting big enough to not want to be held, and want to run and stomp with their cousins. It's so strange to me, I remember being at that age, having my cousins around to play with for holidays and celebrations, and now I'm watching a new generation do the same. Time really flies when you're not paying attention.
I really must put a stop to this searching for baby gear- for I already have our stroller picked out, which crib we'll buy is already ingrained in my brain, and just now, I have found an outfit Paul would adore:
Cute strikes again, with this Polar Bear ensemble by Bon Bebe, on sale for a mere SEVEN DOLLARS! I'd buy it myself, but Paul doesn't want us to jinx ourselves, which I can understand. Still it's SEVEN DOLLARS! See, I've seen cute things before (my cousin Lisa sent me a link ages ago to the dachshund themed outfits at one of those too cute for words baby stores, and although I wanted them all so badly- and they were also on sale, I resisted), but this- this polar bear set is a sign. The polar bear is Paul's favorite animal in the whole world. And part of me, the silly makes-no-sense part of me, thinks that if I had it, if somehow we owned something this cute and this perfect for us, that perhaps we'd get lucky, and get pregnant. I know, it's ridiculous.
So, as we pass into 2009 (!), I hope that new and better days are coming. I hope I'll spend most of 2009 pregnant, and that at this time next year, I'll have a polar bear wearing baby to bounce on my hip. You hear that, God? I'm putting in a request, please. If not God, can you hear me Santa? I've been especially good this year, minus the few random snarks I let come out here and there.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
My Pantwiener
Somehow, someway, my pants arrived at the store with the outline of a cartoon penis (ala Superbad) on them. And after wearing them for weeks (not all at once), I only noticed today.
Getting Down to Business (repost)
As most of you know, I blogged as Mrs. Kiwi on Weddingbee. Today I received a comment on a post from over a year ago, written just two weeks after our wedding. I honestly had totally forgotten I'd written it, but when I went back to see what the comment ("thank you") was referring to, I felt kind of proud of myself, because I'm very glad I wrote (and read) this post below.
Mr. Kiwi and I have been married for two weeks now. People are still coming up to us and telling us how much they enjoyed the ceremony, and how beautiful the wedding was (pictures are coming, I swear). Other than that, nothing much has changed. Sure, there is the whole having to change my name over thing, and the “how’s married life?” questions to answer (wait: there is supposed to be a difference?), but that’s about it.
It’s strange because this is one of the hugest decisions you will likely make in your life. Despite what the celebrities are showing us, splitting up isn’t so easy after a marriage, and who goes into a marriage relying on the idea that divorce is always an option? I said it was strange because although it is such a huge step, the actual marriage part isn’t as different as I thought it’d be. The “Hot Thread” post from yesterday got me thinking about this little (big) thing called marriage.
Much like the poster, I also experienced some major what-ifs. Mr. Kiwi and I have been together for four years as well, with things between us more of a steady love, and less the “on-fire” type of love you seem to see all over the place. We’re getting married, right? Should we be more excited? Since day one of our reunion, I’ve known we’d end up married. Apparently, so did Mr. Kiwi. I’ve mentioned that we dated a decade ago, and throughout the years apart we grew up and became a little more stable, and wanted someone with the same ideals.
A year after we began dating we moved in together. Three months after that we got a dog. We were now part of a routine, and we had our own little family. Sure, the passionate times of the first year or so had faded a bit, but what replaced it? Growing up in a home without parents who loved each other led me to be scared of any relationship that wasn’t full of passionate embraces and breathless nights. I didn’t want to turn into a cold couple who didn’t exhibit any signs of romance, because surely that couldn’t be good for your life in the future, right?
Glancing around at various friends and family, I tried to see if there was a difference between the marrieds and the dating or soon to be marrieds. I couldn’t find the difference that I was scared of seeing, certain couples are more loving in public, and others a bit standoffish. Although it is possibly pointless to compare yourself and your BF/FI/Husband to other couples, it actually helped me. While it doesn’t help you to compare your coupleness to a previous romance (which I did), I think that we can learn a lot from what we’re surrounded by.
My rambling point is, don’t be afraid for your future. Just because you may have to decide that “we should probably have sex at some point this week”, your relationship isn’t in danger. Once the wedding has passed, once all the planning has finished and your lives are back to normal, you’ll see what you had been building all along. Most people say they’re marrying their best friend- think about it for a sec- isn’t that what you’d want for the rest of your life? Someone that knows you backwards and forwards, someone who will hold your hand during a scary movie, and console you when your frog has died? So you’re not steaming up the windows three times a day… realize that love evolves. For me, all I want is someone who will evolve with me.
Mr. Kiwi and I have been married for two weeks now. People are still coming up to us and telling us how much they enjoyed the ceremony, and how beautiful the wedding was (pictures are coming, I swear). Other than that, nothing much has changed. Sure, there is the whole having to change my name over thing, and the “how’s married life?” questions to answer (wait: there is supposed to be a difference?), but that’s about it.
It’s strange because this is one of the hugest decisions you will likely make in your life. Despite what the celebrities are showing us, splitting up isn’t so easy after a marriage, and who goes into a marriage relying on the idea that divorce is always an option? I said it was strange because although it is such a huge step, the actual marriage part isn’t as different as I thought it’d be. The “Hot Thread” post from yesterday got me thinking about this little (big) thing called marriage.
Much like the poster, I also experienced some major what-ifs. Mr. Kiwi and I have been together for four years as well, with things between us more of a steady love, and less the “on-fire” type of love you seem to see all over the place. We’re getting married, right? Should we be more excited? Since day one of our reunion, I’ve known we’d end up married. Apparently, so did Mr. Kiwi. I’ve mentioned that we dated a decade ago, and throughout the years apart we grew up and became a little more stable, and wanted someone with the same ideals.
A year after we began dating we moved in together. Three months after that we got a dog. We were now part of a routine, and we had our own little family. Sure, the passionate times of the first year or so had faded a bit, but what replaced it? Growing up in a home without parents who loved each other led me to be scared of any relationship that wasn’t full of passionate embraces and breathless nights. I didn’t want to turn into a cold couple who didn’t exhibit any signs of romance, because surely that couldn’t be good for your life in the future, right?
Glancing around at various friends and family, I tried to see if there was a difference between the marrieds and the dating or soon to be marrieds. I couldn’t find the difference that I was scared of seeing, certain couples are more loving in public, and others a bit standoffish. Although it is possibly pointless to compare yourself and your BF/FI/Husband to other couples, it actually helped me. While it doesn’t help you to compare your coupleness to a previous romance (which I did), I think that we can learn a lot from what we’re surrounded by.
My rambling point is, don’t be afraid for your future. Just because you may have to decide that “we should probably have sex at some point this week”, your relationship isn’t in danger. Once the wedding has passed, once all the planning has finished and your lives are back to normal, you’ll see what you had been building all along. Most people say they’re marrying their best friend- think about it for a sec- isn’t that what you’d want for the rest of your life? Someone that knows you backwards and forwards, someone who will hold your hand during a scary movie, and console you when your frog has died? So you’re not steaming up the windows three times a day… realize that love evolves. For me, all I want is someone who will evolve with me.
Monday, December 15, 2008
A Few Observations
1.) The cartoonist for the "Marmaduke" cartoons is a terrible artist. It actually pains me to read the cartoons. Maybe it's my OCD talking, but can't the man take the extra second or two to color in the rest of the woman's shoe??
2.) This picture makes me laugh extremely hard. EXTREMELY.
3.) I have weird sex dreams involving people who aren't my husband. It's slightly off-putting, especially considering I have either a.) never met these people before, b.) haven't seen them in eons, c.) aren't even my people (You know, Paul has his people, I have mine?). I don't know if it's my conscience or not, but they always end at the "good" parts. When I wake up, I feel guilt!
4.) Some people are absolutely horrible. Someone broke into Paul's school, and stole the money boxes that were holding the money collected for the teacher's Christmas bonuses. The principal was apalled, yet for some reason decided to not let any parents give more money- so there will be NO BONUS for the teachers this year. Hopefully, and this may sound greedy, parents will contribute directly to the teachers. I think it's unfair that because the school was reckless with their collections containers, the teachers will not receive a bonus. SUCKS. Who would steal from a school? Heathens.
5.) I'd much rather bake than cook. Last night I made a Giada De Laurentis dish (and hated myself for it) for dinner, and wanted chocolate chip cookies instead.
6.) I like it when it rains, when I'm at home! At work the toes of my shoes get soaked and I freeze in the office, for some reason my boss likes it 60 degrees in here all the time. NO THANK YOU.
So far that's all I am pndering this morning!
2.) This picture makes me laugh extremely hard. EXTREMELY.
3.) I have weird sex dreams involving people who aren't my husband. It's slightly off-putting, especially considering I have either a.) never met these people before, b.) haven't seen them in eons, c.) aren't even my people (You know, Paul has his people, I have mine?). I don't know if it's my conscience or not, but they always end at the "good" parts. When I wake up, I feel guilt!
4.) Some people are absolutely horrible. Someone broke into Paul's school, and stole the money boxes that were holding the money collected for the teacher's Christmas bonuses. The principal was apalled, yet for some reason decided to not let any parents give more money- so there will be NO BONUS for the teachers this year. Hopefully, and this may sound greedy, parents will contribute directly to the teachers. I think it's unfair that because the school was reckless with their collections containers, the teachers will not receive a bonus. SUCKS. Who would steal from a school? Heathens.
5.) I'd much rather bake than cook. Last night I made a Giada De Laurentis dish (and hated myself for it) for dinner, and wanted chocolate chip cookies instead.
6.) I like it when it rains, when I'm at home! At work the toes of my shoes get soaked and I freeze in the office, for some reason my boss likes it 60 degrees in here all the time. NO THANK YOU.
So far that's all I am pndering this morning!
Thursday, December 11, 2008
I'm It!
Looks like I was Tagged by This Casita.
Here are the rules:
1. Link to the person that tagged you
2. Post the rules on your blog
3. Share six non-important things/habits/quirks about yourself
4. Tag six random people at the end of your post by linking to their blogs
5. Let each random person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their website.
6. Let your tagger know when your entry is up. (hehehe, tagger)
Okay, six random non-important things/habits/quirks.
1.) I have a very real fear that someday Paul will leave. Either due to illness, choice or something else I can't fathom at the moment. I'm not quite sure why, Paul has never ever threatened to leave, if anything, he threatens to stay. Even though I grew up with both parents in the same house, I have an astonishingly strong fear of abandonment. Who knows why these things happen.
2.) I am absolutely terrified of clowns. All clowns. Ones from Outer Space, or perhaps Cirque Du Soleil , even the creepy one who blows up balloons on the 3rd Street Promenade. I don't think I ever liked them, to be honest, but once I read Stephen King's "It", my terror was cemented.
3.) For being the most non-athletic person, I am so competitive. I hate losing at games, and even take away the instructions for video games (I also don't read them, but that's just laziness on my part) so Paul won't read them. I'm horrible. Sadly, I tend to lose most of the time anyway, which vexes me to no end.
4.) I cry super easily. Like, sappy commercials make me cry. When a book ended in a way that was not pleasing to me, I cried. When I think about how much I love Paul, I cry. I cry at those ASPCA commercials every time. I always cry at Juno, Armageddon, Love Actually, the ending of a Charlie Brown Christmas, and many songs.
5.) For years I'd see a "ghost" standing by our bed at night. I can tell you exactly what it looked like: black shadow only- no discernible features, wearing a black hat, like a bowler hat. It all started back at Paul's old home he rented in, his roommate's sister spent the last few painful months there while dying of cancer. Strange things happened in that house from orbs in pics to a battery operated thing that moved on its own for a week- with no batteries in it. Just WEIRD THINGS. Anyway, Paul was given his roommate's bed when she got a new one. At night I'd see the figure standing beside my bed, and I'd just think it was Paul (?), so I'd go back to sleep. THEN, one night still at the old place, I got tired of wondering what Paul came over for and asked him, "Babe? Are you looking for something?" I actually asked it out loud. When I heard him snoring beside me, I freaked out- pushed off the dresser next to the bed and slammed into Paul, shaking and whimpering. I couldn't fall back to sleep. So now speed ahead to us moving into our apartment... it's still happening, just sporadically. One night I actually got so scared I hid under the covers, shaking and sobbing. Just sobbing my eyes out. It was the weirdest thing. The last time it happened, I saw the face of the "ghost". No longer black, it was all white- including the hair, and it had the angriest face I have EVER seen. We finally got a new bed though, and I think it's a good sign that "ghostie" hasn't appeared since then.
6.) I have recently started biting my nails like mad. It was a habit I had given up, but now it's back! Ugh, I disgust myself.
Now, I'll add the rest of the tagging later, I have to go to bed!
Here are the rules:
1. Link to the person that tagged you
2. Post the rules on your blog
3. Share six non-important things/habits/quirks about yourself
4. Tag six random people at the end of your post by linking to their blogs
5. Let each random person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their website.
6. Let your tagger know when your entry is up. (hehehe, tagger)
Okay, six random non-important things/habits/quirks.
1.) I have a very real fear that someday Paul will leave. Either due to illness, choice or something else I can't fathom at the moment. I'm not quite sure why, Paul has never ever threatened to leave, if anything, he threatens to stay. Even though I grew up with both parents in the same house, I have an astonishingly strong fear of abandonment. Who knows why these things happen.
2.) I am absolutely terrified of clowns. All clowns. Ones from Outer Space, or perhaps Cirque Du Soleil , even the creepy one who blows up balloons on the 3rd Street Promenade. I don't think I ever liked them, to be honest, but once I read Stephen King's "It", my terror was cemented.
3.) For being the most non-athletic person, I am so competitive. I hate losing at games, and even take away the instructions for video games (I also don't read them, but that's just laziness on my part) so Paul won't read them. I'm horrible. Sadly, I tend to lose most of the time anyway, which vexes me to no end.
4.) I cry super easily. Like, sappy commercials make me cry. When a book ended in a way that was not pleasing to me, I cried. When I think about how much I love Paul, I cry. I cry at those ASPCA commercials every time. I always cry at Juno, Armageddon, Love Actually, the ending of a Charlie Brown Christmas, and many songs.
5.) For years I'd see a "ghost" standing by our bed at night. I can tell you exactly what it looked like: black shadow only- no discernible features, wearing a black hat, like a bowler hat. It all started back at Paul's old home he rented in, his roommate's sister spent the last few painful months there while dying of cancer. Strange things happened in that house from orbs in pics to a battery operated thing that moved on its own for a week- with no batteries in it. Just WEIRD THINGS. Anyway, Paul was given his roommate's bed when she got a new one. At night I'd see the figure standing beside my bed, and I'd just think it was Paul (?), so I'd go back to sleep. THEN, one night still at the old place, I got tired of wondering what Paul came over for and asked him, "Babe? Are you looking for something?" I actually asked it out loud. When I heard him snoring beside me, I freaked out- pushed off the dresser next to the bed and slammed into Paul, shaking and whimpering. I couldn't fall back to sleep. So now speed ahead to us moving into our apartment... it's still happening, just sporadically. One night I actually got so scared I hid under the covers, shaking and sobbing. Just sobbing my eyes out. It was the weirdest thing. The last time it happened, I saw the face of the "ghost". No longer black, it was all white- including the hair, and it had the angriest face I have EVER seen. We finally got a new bed though, and I think it's a good sign that "ghostie" hasn't appeared since then.
6.) I have recently started biting my nails like mad. It was a habit I had given up, but now it's back! Ugh, I disgust myself.
Now, I'll add the rest of the tagging later, I have to go to bed!
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Little Things
I'm a little bummed today. Our Disneyland passports are expiring next Friday, and we won't be able to go by then, and can't see spending the money on it until we pay off our Hawaii vacation (which was technically not too expensive, just the plane bill), which we put on credit. Yes, foolish, but we had rationalized our spending on that one vacation for many reasons I won't list here. One of them is not extending our passport until it's paid off. Hopefully I'll get a year-end bonus and I can apply that to the credit card, which will drastically cut down the bill.
Anyway, I'm not sad because we won't renew our passport before the year is up, I can understand why. I'm sad because Christmas is my favorite holiday, and spending one day of the holiday season at my favorite place is something I look forward to every year. It's when I get an ornament for our tree. We have years of ornaments from Disneyland, from the proposal ornament to our wedding ornament and this will be the first year I wasn't able to get one. So I'm not even really that sad about not going to Disneyland for Christmas (even though it's absolutely MAGICAL), and even though it would have been possible, if Paul would take a day off (like he did last year!). No, I'm just wishing Paul hadn't promised me we'd come back and get an ornament for our tree before the year ended, because I would have grabbed one while we were there.
I'm not from family with a lot of traditions, and that's why I cling to the Disneyland ornament tradition. I think about our children placing our fragile ornaments on their trees when we're gone, I think of our kids fighting over which ornament they get to hang when they're young. I can picture our daughter, studying the "Just Married Ornament" hoping for her own someday, and well... I was kind of hoping to go back and get one that states it's the "Our First Year Married" ornament. Oh well, I guess I'll have to work extra hard to pay off that bill, and hope that it's not too long before we're back.
Anyway, I'm not sad because we won't renew our passport before the year is up, I can understand why. I'm sad because Christmas is my favorite holiday, and spending one day of the holiday season at my favorite place is something I look forward to every year. It's when I get an ornament for our tree. We have years of ornaments from Disneyland, from the proposal ornament to our wedding ornament and this will be the first year I wasn't able to get one. So I'm not even really that sad about not going to Disneyland for Christmas (even though it's absolutely MAGICAL), and even though it would have been possible, if Paul would take a day off (like he did last year!). No, I'm just wishing Paul hadn't promised me we'd come back and get an ornament for our tree before the year ended, because I would have grabbed one while we were there.
I'm not from family with a lot of traditions, and that's why I cling to the Disneyland ornament tradition. I think about our children placing our fragile ornaments on their trees when we're gone, I think of our kids fighting over which ornament they get to hang when they're young. I can picture our daughter, studying the "Just Married Ornament" hoping for her own someday, and well... I was kind of hoping to go back and get one that states it's the "Our First Year Married" ornament. Oh well, I guess I'll have to work extra hard to pay off that bill, and hope that it's not too long before we're back.
Haven Kimmel
I want to be Haven Kimmel when I grow up. I was already a fan of her first collection of essays about her life: A Girl Named Zippy that when I found she had written a follow up called "She Got Up Off The Couch" I got right on that and started reading.
Some of what she says is just hilarious, heartbreaking and pensive. There is one paragraph in particular I MUST blog about. She's talking about her brother, a decade older than she.
"... I loved him, loved him, a little girl is helpless against her love for a brother. ... From a distance he seemed both cold and receding, a man whose most familiar feature was his back as he walked away as fast as he could. But there are pictures of him, many of them, holding me as a baby, standing with me as a little girl, and the eye of the camera sees what nearly everyone but Elaine (his wife) missed: a tenderness so wounded it had grown ferocious and fixed as the evening star. Really, I barely knew him. When our family's darkest days arrived he could not be reached, he demanded to be left alone, he wanted no part of it, and for years I believed he hated us. I thought he simply wandered into the wrong family in the first place, like a toddler at a strange picnic who grew into the handomest of princes but remained bound by name and history to the peasants who lured him with potato salad and a tricycle."
So many parts of her novel make me cry with laughter, cry with sadness, and this last part, just made me feel like there was someone out there who had the same brother I did.
Some of what she says is just hilarious, heartbreaking and pensive. There is one paragraph in particular I MUST blog about. She's talking about her brother, a decade older than she.
"... I loved him, loved him, a little girl is helpless against her love for a brother. ... From a distance he seemed both cold and receding, a man whose most familiar feature was his back as he walked away as fast as he could. But there are pictures of him, many of them, holding me as a baby, standing with me as a little girl, and the eye of the camera sees what nearly everyone but Elaine (his wife) missed: a tenderness so wounded it had grown ferocious and fixed as the evening star. Really, I barely knew him. When our family's darkest days arrived he could not be reached, he demanded to be left alone, he wanted no part of it, and for years I believed he hated us. I thought he simply wandered into the wrong family in the first place, like a toddler at a strange picnic who grew into the handomest of princes but remained bound by name and history to the peasants who lured him with potato salad and a tricycle."
So many parts of her novel make me cry with laughter, cry with sadness, and this last part, just made me feel like there was someone out there who had the same brother I did.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Friendships
Yesterday was a great day. Not only did I get new boots and a new purse in the mail, but I also got a haircut on Saturday, and it feels great. Not too much shorter, just enough inches off that it feels healthy. I also spent yesterday evening with an old friend of mine, Rina.
Rina and I were classmates since kindergarten, and best friends throughout high school. I loved being with her family, and we always had such a good time together. Around the end of high school, we began to drift apart. When I got a job post high school, we grew even further apart. At one point, we just stopped talking altogether, and went on to live our lives. I always wondered about her, searched for her a bit (I'm savvy at online stalking), to no avail.
Recently one evening, I was talking online with my friend Will, who actually had a crush on Rina back when we were Sophomores in high school- a crush that wasn't reciprocated. Will asked me if I had seen her around or heard anything about her. Other than hearing about this place she worked at some point, no, I hadn't heard anything. We searched on networking giant, Facebook, to see if we could find anything. We found someone in my grade, in our city, with her first name and a Japanese middle name. Could it be her, Will asked. I remembered that middle name, and said YES! My stomach was a ball of nerves just thinking about getting in contact with someone I had previously been so close with, the ending of a friendship that had no real reason it ended. Will, being bolder than I, sent her a friend request. Meekly, I sent her a message with the usual, "Hi, how are you? You look great!" theme.
Weeks went by and I heard nothing. Figured she probably didn't give a crap about me, which was fine. I got emails from Will telling me that he hadn't heard from her either. Time passed. Suddenly, I got a friend request from Rina. Wow, she completely bypassed the exploratory email! When I accepted her request, she sent me a message saying, "Wow! You're MARRIED!" Side note: I hear that a lot from people I knew back in the days. Why is it so hard to believe that Amber Brown got married? Is it because I'm insane? Maybe.
Anyway, we traded messages back and forth, catching up on the small details when she mentioned possibly getting together. What? This is moving too fast for me (Perhaps THAT'S why people are shocked I'm married? I can't make a decision?)! Still, I agreed and we set up a early evening dinner to catch up. I planned out carefully what I'd wear: my new brown boot cut cords, my teal v-neck sweater, my brown leather Coach bag, my Bulova watch, and my kickass new black boots. I wanted to look cute. I even went to far as to get my hair done. Okay, I'd needed a cut for ages, and decided now was a great time with Thanksgiving on the horizon as well. All day I was nervous, wondering how we'd act. Would it be awkward? Would it be like nothing changed? Would we be fake?
The time finally arrived. I clomped down the office's stairwell in my 4 inch high boots, and prepared to meet my past face to face. I heard a car beep, walked further out there and watched a girl walk away from the car. Tiny, asian, peppy. Could that be Rina? She turned around and yelled, "Amber!?" I waved and yelled, "HI RINA!" we stomped over to each other (we were both wearing heels) and immediately hugged. We got in the car and began to drive (She picked me up because I'm a loser who doesn't drive). As we gabbed about what's new ("You're MARRIED! OH MY GOD!"), we realized we really didn't have a set plan, and ended up at the Promenade. We settled on a deli and got comfortable.
We talked about the last ten years, and what we'd been up to. We remarked on accidental run-ins with former classmates, and the random relationships we had with old classmates ("No WAY you dated that guy!"), just the little things. We talked and talked, laughed and exclaimed over things each had done over the time that had passed. I haven't laughed like that in ages! Oddly, there were no other patrons in the deli with us, and we were making a bit of noise, talking and gossiping as we used to.
Most people who know me know that I don't have very many friends, much less women friends. I'm one of those people who has a ton of random "How's it going" friends, but no real good friends to hang out with. All throughout dinner we brought up things we had done together, things we remembered, people we remembered, and brought up the back stories of other events in our friendship. I had a great time, and we promised we'd meet up again really soon, possibly Monday. How cool would it be if I had Monday get-togethers with her?
This whole thing is so interesting to me. It's like how I got back together with Paul. He already knew so much from my life, because at one point he was part of it. This makes it so easy to be YOU around them. Sure, I dressed all cute, but it wasn't stuff I didn't already own, ya know? It was nice talking about things so far in the past that even Paul wouldn't know about it- but Rina did. We had a history, we have a friendship to build on. That's really cool.
Rina and I were classmates since kindergarten, and best friends throughout high school. I loved being with her family, and we always had such a good time together. Around the end of high school, we began to drift apart. When I got a job post high school, we grew even further apart. At one point, we just stopped talking altogether, and went on to live our lives. I always wondered about her, searched for her a bit (I'm savvy at online stalking), to no avail.
Recently one evening, I was talking online with my friend Will, who actually had a crush on Rina back when we were Sophomores in high school- a crush that wasn't reciprocated. Will asked me if I had seen her around or heard anything about her. Other than hearing about this place she worked at some point, no, I hadn't heard anything. We searched on networking giant, Facebook, to see if we could find anything. We found someone in my grade, in our city, with her first name and a Japanese middle name. Could it be her, Will asked. I remembered that middle name, and said YES! My stomach was a ball of nerves just thinking about getting in contact with someone I had previously been so close with, the ending of a friendship that had no real reason it ended. Will, being bolder than I, sent her a friend request. Meekly, I sent her a message with the usual, "Hi, how are you? You look great!" theme.
Weeks went by and I heard nothing. Figured she probably didn't give a crap about me, which was fine. I got emails from Will telling me that he hadn't heard from her either. Time passed. Suddenly, I got a friend request from Rina. Wow, she completely bypassed the exploratory email! When I accepted her request, she sent me a message saying, "Wow! You're MARRIED!" Side note: I hear that a lot from people I knew back in the days. Why is it so hard to believe that Amber Brown got married? Is it because I'm insane? Maybe.
Anyway, we traded messages back and forth, catching up on the small details when she mentioned possibly getting together. What? This is moving too fast for me (Perhaps THAT'S why people are shocked I'm married? I can't make a decision?)! Still, I agreed and we set up a early evening dinner to catch up. I planned out carefully what I'd wear: my new brown boot cut cords, my teal v-neck sweater, my brown leather Coach bag, my Bulova watch, and my kickass new black boots. I wanted to look cute. I even went to far as to get my hair done. Okay, I'd needed a cut for ages, and decided now was a great time with Thanksgiving on the horizon as well. All day I was nervous, wondering how we'd act. Would it be awkward? Would it be like nothing changed? Would we be fake?
The time finally arrived. I clomped down the office's stairwell in my 4 inch high boots, and prepared to meet my past face to face. I heard a car beep, walked further out there and watched a girl walk away from the car. Tiny, asian, peppy. Could that be Rina? She turned around and yelled, "Amber!?" I waved and yelled, "HI RINA!" we stomped over to each other (we were both wearing heels) and immediately hugged. We got in the car and began to drive (She picked me up because I'm a loser who doesn't drive). As we gabbed about what's new ("You're MARRIED! OH MY GOD!"), we realized we really didn't have a set plan, and ended up at the Promenade. We settled on a deli and got comfortable.
We talked about the last ten years, and what we'd been up to. We remarked on accidental run-ins with former classmates, and the random relationships we had with old classmates ("No WAY you dated that guy!"), just the little things. We talked and talked, laughed and exclaimed over things each had done over the time that had passed. I haven't laughed like that in ages! Oddly, there were no other patrons in the deli with us, and we were making a bit of noise, talking and gossiping as we used to.
Most people who know me know that I don't have very many friends, much less women friends. I'm one of those people who has a ton of random "How's it going" friends, but no real good friends to hang out with. All throughout dinner we brought up things we had done together, things we remembered, people we remembered, and brought up the back stories of other events in our friendship. I had a great time, and we promised we'd meet up again really soon, possibly Monday. How cool would it be if I had Monday get-togethers with her?
This whole thing is so interesting to me. It's like how I got back together with Paul. He already knew so much from my life, because at one point he was part of it. This makes it so easy to be YOU around them. Sure, I dressed all cute, but it wasn't stuff I didn't already own, ya know? It was nice talking about things so far in the past that even Paul wouldn't know about it- but Rina did. We had a history, we have a friendship to build on. That's really cool.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
How I Spent My Saturday
After a long day of shopping with my dad, I came home exhausted, but still anticipating the night ahead: possibly baking the Sprinkles cupcake mix I picked up(and making my own buttercream) or baking the pumpkin cobbler recipe from Williams Sonoma. Unfortunately, something else was in store for me.
Falling on my face. Literally, falling on my face. Luckily my knee would break the fall, and no bloody gashes or abrasions would mar my pretty face/hands. No, my knee would take one for the team, so to speak, and cushion my fall.
The night began like any other Saturday night, with me begging Paul to go out to eat because I hate cooking on a weekend, especially since I had just spent all day slaving away at the malls. Ha ha.
Finally, after harassing my dear husband long enough, he gave in to trying out this new Mexican place a few blocks away, enough blocks to not want to walk. So I put some yoga pants on (Paul had just washed them, isn't ge a great husband?), and being lazy I decided to forgo the actual act of putting on shoes, and slipped on a pair of crocs (mary jane style, which is still no excuse for being an adult and owning crocs, I know) and headed out with Paul.
The Mexican place was on a street that has a popular bar (Paul's been there many times as his friends hang out there) and a few good Chinese places, so we had to park around the corner and across the street. As we were walking to the restaurant to order our food to go, we passed by a store called "My Baby Jo", a vintage store that has some pretty cool stuff, including a vintage cardigan with kittens embroidered on it that i couldn't take my eyes off of. It was precisely as I was looking back at the sweater and calling to Paul, "Honey! It's a sweater with KITTIES on it!" when my stupid clunky croc hit a ledge in the concrete (the cement had been broken, so there was a hole AND a ledge) and I pivoted onto my face, spreading out like a water balloon on contact with a sidewalk. My purse was still somehow on my shoulder, only like the rest of me, it had sprawled out across the sidewalk.
It took seconds to fall, but felt like milliseconds. One moment I was coveting a sweater, the next I heard a smacking sound and felt the ground on my face. Paul was standing beside me, looking down at me with his mouth open, incredulous. He told me to get up, because I had beefed it in an alley and a car was waiting to turn. Since the option of being swallowed into the ground was unavailable at that time, I had to have Paul heft me to my feet, as I started to black out. That damn vasovagal syncope began to rear it's "medical oddity" face, and I got woozy. My knee hurt, my hands stung and I was about to be sick, right across the street from where Paul's friends hang out. On a Saturday night. The horror.
I told Paul I was going to black out, and he made me breathe in and out as I staggered to the restaurant, only a few yards away. We got inside, I leaned on the counter and laughed my ass off. It's one of my coping mechanisms- before I began to pass out when hurt, my go-to move was laughing in the face of extreme pain. Ha ha on YOU, sprained ankle! Now the joke's on me, "you laugh at my pain?", the ankle said, "I make the blood drain out of your head and you fall down. How do you like THAT?"
We ordered our food to go and I sat down to inspect the damage. One busted knee, two red, stinging palms and a swimming head. Sadness. More than anything I was angry because the pants were newly washed, and now I had to go and get blood and bits of skin on the inside. Way to go, Amber. I couldn't bend my knee, and it was starting to swell already. My leg began to hurt from my knee to my hip bone, and I couldn't help but feel sorry for myself. I really began the pity party when Paul started laughing at me. "Why didn't you call out or reach for me? I feel bad that I didn't catch you", he said. I had to remind him that had I KNOWN I was falling I could probably have done something about it, ya know? He marveled on how bad my hand-eye coordination is, and said, "You know, most people could catch themselves". I said, "Most people aren't morons, then".
Finally our order was ready, and I hobbled back to the car, Paul's hand on mine with the reminder to not look at anything other than the floor. It was then I saw the shattered remains of a packet of saltines, one of four that I had filched from Dad's lunch that day. Seeing it on the floor like that, its plastic wrapper looking so dejected and unloved, I actually contemplated picking it back up. Heck, I knew where it had been (before the sprawl), and I'll be honest, I was quite looking forward to snacking on it at work the following Monday. Still, my paranoia about bending down and eating floor crackers got the best of me, and I apologized for wasting its precious salty life and moved on. Slowly.
When we got back to the car, Paul immediately put the food in the backseat, and grabbed the first aid kit out of the trunk. Not just any first aid kit, this one is one Paul created for all the various sports injuries he has to deal with. So, he swabbed my knee with alcohol (oh my god, I almost passed out again from that pain alone), covered it with a large bandage, and then grabbed an instant ice pack and saran-wrapped it to my knee. Seriously. He has a neat little stick thing that the wrap goes on so it's easy to wrap knees and ankles and such. If there is ever an accident, you can trust my husband- fluent in first aid!
At home, I hobbled up the stairs to our apartment and fell onto the couch, where my loving husband laughed at me ("I'm sorry honey, it's funny!") and brought me my food, drinks and silverware. The pain was no longer the burning pain of an abrasion, now it was the throbbing pain of a swollen knee, how fun this was. I took three Tylenols, one rapid release and two nighttime, and got comfortable. That night's sleep was miserable.
The next morning we were going out for breakfast so I had to get dressed. I tried to put pants on, but with a knee that won't bend and a hot day combined, I just put on a pair of denim shorts. It wasn't pretty, but at least I could walk without grimacing when the fabric brushed my knee.
Now it's been almost 5 days since "the incident", and my knee doesn't hurt as much. it's still hard to bend, but only because it's scabbed over by now, and anything that causes my knee to bend pulls on the scabs. Disgusting. The bruises are darker and my leg has stopped aching, the swelling is mostly gone. What a day I had.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
fourwayfree
I love music. It's like books, where you can find one that means exactly what you've been trying to say, without actually saying it. That's why there existed the Mix Tape. When tapes began to fade away into obscurity, Mix CDs came about (and I made quite a few of those myself), and now you can literally send people itunes song lists. Gotta love technology.
Today Laura and I were talking about a friend of hers who has an indie music career, selling music on MySpace and CD Baby. That reminded me of my old high school crush, Genji Nakano, who also has a band named FourWayFree, and a page on CD Baby , where you can hear/buy some of his/their beautiful songs. When I hear them, I remember our high school days, hanging out with him, adoring him from afar while he dated around, so sure that someday I'd get him for my own (and I kind of did, later).
As I listen to the first few words of "Gasoline", "You said, is she pretty, would you like me better if I looked like that", I am taken back to the days when he used to call me at night, playing the piano (he had this knack for playing a song without even needing the music) and singing me little songs. How do you not fall for a guy like that? Anyway, "Gasoline" plays and I just nod my head, YES. This song is what every woman wants to hear, "Trust me, she's not you". Even though Genji and I have more than lost touch (aside from one day he gave me a ride from the bus stop, one of those random things just happen oddly), I'm so proud of him, I know he wanted this for as long as I've known him.
These songs bring me back to the era of mix tapes and going to school all with the sole intent on seeing that one person. Then I remember his comment in high school, "Your cousin is beautiful, did you know that?" Ah. Yes. Thank you, I did know that. It doesn't hurt as much now as it did then, because at the end of the day, I was the one he used to joke with and call late at night. Still, what is better? Being the beautiful one, or the one to rely on for advice? Ha. Ahhh, I guess you never grow out of being completely self-conscious.
Okay, okay, enough reminiscing about the days of old, the days of high school (how did that become days of old?? Good lord), the days when we used to hang out and joke and watch tv together. As the last edition of the Culver High newspaper read, "We'll always have breakfast" (they let you give little "shout outs" to people who meant something to you). Inside jokes are the best, no?
Congrats Genji, I wish you and the boys the very best of luck, and thanks for "Gasoline", it really touches my heart.
Readers: you should really listen to their songs, they're fabulous. And I'm not just saying that from the point of view of a girl who used to love one of the singers!
Today Laura and I were talking about a friend of hers who has an indie music career, selling music on MySpace and CD Baby. That reminded me of my old high school crush, Genji Nakano, who also has a band named FourWayFree, and a page on CD Baby , where you can hear/buy some of his/their beautiful songs. When I hear them, I remember our high school days, hanging out with him, adoring him from afar while he dated around, so sure that someday I'd get him for my own (and I kind of did, later).
As I listen to the first few words of "Gasoline", "You said, is she pretty, would you like me better if I looked like that", I am taken back to the days when he used to call me at night, playing the piano (he had this knack for playing a song without even needing the music) and singing me little songs. How do you not fall for a guy like that? Anyway, "Gasoline" plays and I just nod my head, YES. This song is what every woman wants to hear, "Trust me, she's not you". Even though Genji and I have more than lost touch (aside from one day he gave me a ride from the bus stop, one of those random things just happen oddly), I'm so proud of him, I know he wanted this for as long as I've known him.
These songs bring me back to the era of mix tapes and going to school all with the sole intent on seeing that one person. Then I remember his comment in high school, "Your cousin is beautiful, did you know that?" Ah. Yes. Thank you, I did know that. It doesn't hurt as much now as it did then, because at the end of the day, I was the one he used to joke with and call late at night. Still, what is better? Being the beautiful one, or the one to rely on for advice? Ha. Ahhh, I guess you never grow out of being completely self-conscious.
Okay, okay, enough reminiscing about the days of old, the days of high school (how did that become days of old?? Good lord), the days when we used to hang out and joke and watch tv together. As the last edition of the Culver High newspaper read, "We'll always have breakfast" (they let you give little "shout outs" to people who meant something to you). Inside jokes are the best, no?
Congrats Genji, I wish you and the boys the very best of luck, and thanks for "Gasoline", it really touches my heart.
Readers: you should really listen to their songs, they're fabulous. And I'm not just saying that from the point of view of a girl who used to love one of the singers!
Monday, November 10, 2008
Forgive me, for I have sinned.
I have a confession: I have eaten two cans worth of French's Fried Onions in as many weeks. I had bought the first can with the intention of making the world's best side dish ever- the Green Bean Casserole. Then I got hungry. And ate the whole can (shared a few rings with Paul, though). Had to go to the store and get a new can. And ate it yesterday for breakfast.
I'm disgusting.
And now I'm out of stuff to make green bean casserole, and I'm afraid to buy more cans.
I'm disgusting.
And now I'm out of stuff to make green bean casserole, and I'm afraid to buy more cans.
Can't hear you, lost my voice
It's been five days since I've lost my voice. Well, technically, I haven't lost it. It's just not up to it's usual... ability to work. It kind of sucks. I feel perfectly fine. No coughing, sneezing, any signs of any sickness at all. I just HAVE NO VOICE. I'm speechless. For those of you who know me in actual life, you know that this is one of the worst things to happen to me! I talk all the time- to myself, to other people, to the radio, on the phone. I feel otherwise normal, which is probably why it surprises me whenever I attempt to talk. My voice sure would have come in handy this weekend, when I was treated to lunch at The SOUTH PARK STUDIOS!
Remember I mentioned the parent at Paul's school who is a producer for South Park? Well, since Paul was coaching as well as working the football playoffs on Saturday, he didn't want me to have to be there all day long like he was going to have to, but he knew I wanted to watch his team play what would probably be their last game. So I asked the wife of the producer who lives near us if I could get a ride home with her, as she had asked me millions of times if I needed a ride to just call her. She told me she'd love to have me, and if I wasn't pressed for time, we'd go to lunch (she and I, and her 11 year old daughter).
After the game (they lost, sadly), we got ready to go, and she asked me where I'd like to eat. We tossed around a few ideas, and her daughter mentioned, "Why don't we have lunch at South Park?" Inside I was thrilled, but didn't want to appear too stalkery, and said nonchalantly, "Yeah, that's fine with me". They get Gourmet Catering there, and since a large portion of the staff were vegetarians, there was a good chance I could get something good to eat. We showed up and saw it was Mexican day, and I ordered a lunch of vegetarian enchiladas and rice. With a side of cookies and fruit. :) I poured myself a glass of lemonade (they had pitchers of iced tea and lemonade), and followed the daughter into the studio, where I saw all sorts of memorabilia and framed posters celebrating their 10th anniversary and things like that. I met various people working there, sound techs and animation gurus. We settled into the producer's office and ate our lunch. As we were eating, guess who walked in? Trey Parker, one of the creators of South Park. Of course I was stunned, and shook his hand, and tried to speak, but all that came out was a horrid, "Nice to meet you" interspersed with squeaks and croaks. Fantastic. So that was appalling. To make me feel better, the daughter took me on a tour of the studios, where I saw the room dedicated to CANDY, the drawers filled with gums of all kinds (sugar-free and regular), the tubs filled with individual cookies and snacks. There were two refrigerators, one for the regular food items, and the other for drinks only. It was heaven. Before we left, the producer took us into an editing bay where we heard/saw the rough shots of this upcoming week's episode. Running on Wednesday, they were not even close to finishing, so they've been pulling all-nighters trying to get it done.
It was seriously one of the funnest places I've ever been, and when I was saying goodbye to the producer he said I was very lucky, as not many people have met Trey Parker! It was a lucky day for me, for sure.
On another note, as I was washing dishes last night (oddly enough, even though I FEEL normal, this voice thing really exhausts me. When I try too hard to talk, I feel this pressure in my ears and throat, and it's just not FUN! I mention it now because I've been very lazy dish-wise lately- I've had no extra energy at all), I began to think about how I want to be a writer. I'm almost 30 now, why not finally get started on that novel I've always wanted? After posting this , and this and then this , I thought about our relationship, and how many things happened to get us here. I then thought that despite my preference to be a poor man's David Sedaris, writing short non-fiction stories about my life, I may do better writing this story as fiction that well, isn't fiction. So, I'm going to start on that right now.
Remember I mentioned the parent at Paul's school who is a producer for South Park? Well, since Paul was coaching as well as working the football playoffs on Saturday, he didn't want me to have to be there all day long like he was going to have to, but he knew I wanted to watch his team play what would probably be their last game. So I asked the wife of the producer who lives near us if I could get a ride home with her, as she had asked me millions of times if I needed a ride to just call her. She told me she'd love to have me, and if I wasn't pressed for time, we'd go to lunch (she and I, and her 11 year old daughter).
After the game (they lost, sadly), we got ready to go, and she asked me where I'd like to eat. We tossed around a few ideas, and her daughter mentioned, "Why don't we have lunch at South Park?" Inside I was thrilled, but didn't want to appear too stalkery, and said nonchalantly, "Yeah, that's fine with me". They get Gourmet Catering there, and since a large portion of the staff were vegetarians, there was a good chance I could get something good to eat. We showed up and saw it was Mexican day, and I ordered a lunch of vegetarian enchiladas and rice. With a side of cookies and fruit. :) I poured myself a glass of lemonade (they had pitchers of iced tea and lemonade), and followed the daughter into the studio, where I saw all sorts of memorabilia and framed posters celebrating their 10th anniversary and things like that. I met various people working there, sound techs and animation gurus. We settled into the producer's office and ate our lunch. As we were eating, guess who walked in? Trey Parker, one of the creators of South Park. Of course I was stunned, and shook his hand, and tried to speak, but all that came out was a horrid, "Nice to meet you" interspersed with squeaks and croaks. Fantastic. So that was appalling. To make me feel better, the daughter took me on a tour of the studios, where I saw the room dedicated to CANDY, the drawers filled with gums of all kinds (sugar-free and regular), the tubs filled with individual cookies and snacks. There were two refrigerators, one for the regular food items, and the other for drinks only. It was heaven. Before we left, the producer took us into an editing bay where we heard/saw the rough shots of this upcoming week's episode. Running on Wednesday, they were not even close to finishing, so they've been pulling all-nighters trying to get it done.
It was seriously one of the funnest places I've ever been, and when I was saying goodbye to the producer he said I was very lucky, as not many people have met Trey Parker! It was a lucky day for me, for sure.
On another note, as I was washing dishes last night (oddly enough, even though I FEEL normal, this voice thing really exhausts me. When I try too hard to talk, I feel this pressure in my ears and throat, and it's just not FUN! I mention it now because I've been very lazy dish-wise lately- I've had no extra energy at all), I began to think about how I want to be a writer. I'm almost 30 now, why not finally get started on that novel I've always wanted? After posting this , and this and then this , I thought about our relationship, and how many things happened to get us here. I then thought that despite my preference to be a poor man's David Sedaris, writing short non-fiction stories about my life, I may do better writing this story as fiction that well, isn't fiction. So, I'm going to start on that right now.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Why I love my husband
There are a trio of special days this week, yesterday was our anniversary, today is election day, and tomorrow is my 29th birthday. It's funny when you think about it, how things are so different between your family and your husband's family. Take for example, our anniversary.
Now, I'm not making a case out of this because I dislike my in-laws. I adore them, but as with any new family members, you're not really sure where you stand. As of November 1st, I've been with Paul for five years. His mom and I are quite good friends, always chatting via email, and going to family things together. Paul is eight years behind his brother, and 7 years behind his sister, and is often treated like a child, despite the fact of being the only one to move out permanently when he was 18, and paying for his own high school education at a private school, and actually helping to FUND his sister's wedding, while in high school. It's odd to me, that although he may not have a college degree, he's the only sibling who has worked his butt off for ten years doing whatever he can to provide for himself, yet they still treat him like a charity case. It's easy to lord your college education over your brother when you didn't have to pay for it yourself. Maybe if he had been given the chance, Paul would have gone to UCLA, or CAL like his siblings. He wasn't given that chance. That's why it incenses me to think about how he's treated. When it comes to dinners with the family, we were recently upgraded from napkins to rolls, because how can we screw up bread?
The difference between our families is obvious to me, but he tends to not think about it. My family called, emailed and sent cards on our anniversary, recognizing that yes, one year of marriage is a milestone! Congratulations, you two! Even my blogger friends left us congratulations on various forums. Paul's family? Not a peep. Not a card, email, phone call, text message. Nothing. It kind of breaks my heart, because I've seen the contrast in how our anniversary was celebrated, and how my brother and sister in laws anniversaries are celebrated. They get cards, phone calls, VISITS, and my MIL will take a day off work to go visit them, and take the kids off their hands for a little alone time. And perhaps this is childish of me, as any anniversary is special, but isn't a first anniversary more special than a 6 year anniversary?
I hate to sound self-absorbed, I really do, but I feel bad for Paul. It seems that no matter what he does, people don't recognize how amazing and loving he is. He's by far the most emotional of the siblings, easily hurt but not quite willing to say anything, and part of me really wants to say something to his mom, because she's the list keeper in the family, she's the one who makes the big deal of things. Why can't Paul just get a little bit of recognition that he needs? That he DESERVES?
We talked about this last night at dinner, how although my brother is now living in Australia, my dad now has Paul as a surrogate son. Sure, he's a lot sportier and manly than my brother was (no offense Shawn), but I've heard my Dad gloat about Paul, and it makes me happy and sad for Paul. Dad likes to tell people about his son-in-law who is a teacher. He's a coach, and inspired by John Wooden. He's a good guy, 6 foot 4! Huge! A big teddy bear, he says. Paul's family? "He's just baby Paul". No one brags about how he's instrumental in children's lives. Not a peep about how he's supported himself on his own, after his dad passed away when he was 19. No, they just criticize him about his weight, and lack of college education.
Sometimes I just wish we only had my family. I'm not saying his family doesn't love him beneath the hurtful comments, but how hard is it to tell your son, or your brother than you're proud of him? That's all he needs. And perhaps a little "Congrats on one year" would have been nice too. After all, we are the only siblings to have paid for our entire wedding ourselves. Sure it wasn't a fancy Yacht Club shindig, nor was it a Bel-Air Country club fete, but it was in our budget, and we were able to save for years to put it on. Now how about a little recognition for how hard Paul works for this, in-laws?
Now, I'm not making a case out of this because I dislike my in-laws. I adore them, but as with any new family members, you're not really sure where you stand. As of November 1st, I've been with Paul for five years. His mom and I are quite good friends, always chatting via email, and going to family things together. Paul is eight years behind his brother, and 7 years behind his sister, and is often treated like a child, despite the fact of being the only one to move out permanently when he was 18, and paying for his own high school education at a private school, and actually helping to FUND his sister's wedding, while in high school. It's odd to me, that although he may not have a college degree, he's the only sibling who has worked his butt off for ten years doing whatever he can to provide for himself, yet they still treat him like a charity case. It's easy to lord your college education over your brother when you didn't have to pay for it yourself. Maybe if he had been given the chance, Paul would have gone to UCLA, or CAL like his siblings. He wasn't given that chance. That's why it incenses me to think about how he's treated. When it comes to dinners with the family, we were recently upgraded from napkins to rolls, because how can we screw up bread?
The difference between our families is obvious to me, but he tends to not think about it. My family called, emailed and sent cards on our anniversary, recognizing that yes, one year of marriage is a milestone! Congratulations, you two! Even my blogger friends left us congratulations on various forums. Paul's family? Not a peep. Not a card, email, phone call, text message. Nothing. It kind of breaks my heart, because I've seen the contrast in how our anniversary was celebrated, and how my brother and sister in laws anniversaries are celebrated. They get cards, phone calls, VISITS, and my MIL will take a day off work to go visit them, and take the kids off their hands for a little alone time. And perhaps this is childish of me, as any anniversary is special, but isn't a first anniversary more special than a 6 year anniversary?
I hate to sound self-absorbed, I really do, but I feel bad for Paul. It seems that no matter what he does, people don't recognize how amazing and loving he is. He's by far the most emotional of the siblings, easily hurt but not quite willing to say anything, and part of me really wants to say something to his mom, because she's the list keeper in the family, she's the one who makes the big deal of things. Why can't Paul just get a little bit of recognition that he needs? That he DESERVES?
We talked about this last night at dinner, how although my brother is now living in Australia, my dad now has Paul as a surrogate son. Sure, he's a lot sportier and manly than my brother was (no offense Shawn), but I've heard my Dad gloat about Paul, and it makes me happy and sad for Paul. Dad likes to tell people about his son-in-law who is a teacher. He's a coach, and inspired by John Wooden. He's a good guy, 6 foot 4! Huge! A big teddy bear, he says. Paul's family? "He's just baby Paul". No one brags about how he's instrumental in children's lives. Not a peep about how he's supported himself on his own, after his dad passed away when he was 19. No, they just criticize him about his weight, and lack of college education.
Sometimes I just wish we only had my family. I'm not saying his family doesn't love him beneath the hurtful comments, but how hard is it to tell your son, or your brother than you're proud of him? That's all he needs. And perhaps a little "Congrats on one year" would have been nice too. After all, we are the only siblings to have paid for our entire wedding ourselves. Sure it wasn't a fancy Yacht Club shindig, nor was it a Bel-Air Country club fete, but it was in our budget, and we were able to save for years to put it on. Now how about a little recognition for how hard Paul works for this, in-laws?
Monday, November 3, 2008
On this day...
On this day in 1912, Ora Durham was born. She was to become Ora D. Brown when married, have four children, six grandchildren, and four great-grandchildren, with three more on the way (seriously). Also on this day, ninety-five years after her birth, her youngest grandchild would be married. That would be me.
As most people know, Grandma was the only grandma I had growing up. Past the age of 7 or so, she was the only grandparent left as well. She sure made of for the lack of grandparents, by being everything and everywhere for us. Even though she had passed on in 1996, there isn't a day that goes by without thinking of her. It's because of that, Paul and I decided to get married on her birthday. Now I have something to share with her for the rest of our lives (other than the fact that I was born two days after her birthday).
On this day last year, at this very moment, I was walking with my dad down the aisle. We'd had a momentary freak-out, when he pulled his bedazzled sunglasses off his eyes (he'd picked them up without anyone else knowing, when usually I'm there to tell him which ones are feminine) while we were waiting for the "great unveiling" of the bride and father. He was unsure of where to put his glasses, so we had to hustle for a bit and cram them in his inside jacket pocket. I swear, literally at the last second before the doors were opened, my dad was stuffing those glasses into his pocket.
Now that it's taken me a half an hour to get here from the last paragraph (ah, the joys of blogging while at work), at this very moment last year, I was sitting on the chairs at the altar, tears silently falling down my cheeks. I had just passed by my aunts and uncles, my cousins and nieces and nephews, all people who had seen me grow up, and now were watching me get married- the baby in the family. I saw my aunt Sharon crying (although smiling as she did it), and when I saw that, I knew my Grandma was watching. I knew that she was proud of me, and proud of who I was about to marry. As the childrens choir began to sing the songs we had picked out, I heard a girl's voice begin singing "The Rose", a song that brings me to tears every time I hear it. Hearing that angelic voice singing at our wedding just caused the tears to begin to flow, and my vision to blur. One of our altar servers (who was also the star player on Paul's A Boys Football team) saw me crying, and began to make faces and mimic a scene from Napoleon Dynamite, with "The Rose" spelled out in sign language. With that, I started laughing, shoulders shaking as I mouthed a "Thank you" to one of my favorite students ever.
At this point you should know that Patrick wasn't just asked to be an altar boy. No, we had specifically chosen him when we got engaged, and had also invited his family to the wedding reception. For weeks leading up the wedding, he would do the countdown whenever he saw me. "Hey Amber, 3 weeks and 4 days until the big day!" His mom would tell me about how excited he was to be going to the wedding, and taking part in such a huge day for us. I never thought about it, but at Paul's school he's a bit of a celebrity, and our wedding was announced in the church's weekly paper, inviting all members of the parish to attend. The church can hold hundreds of people, and we had at least 300 there, students and families who had come to watch and celebrate with us- watching their beloved "Coach Paul" finally tie the knot.
So many things happened that people didn't see. Another family at Paul's school, of Polish descent stood in the vestry with my dad and I, waving at us and smiling. After the wedding they would come up to me with a bouquet of red and white roses, telling me that it's a tradition in their culture to give the bride roses for her wedding. They're already one of the sweetest families ever, and that just added to our adoration for them. When Paul and I were standing outside the church, finally married, one of his kindergartners was standing outside with her friend, and the friend said, "Which one is the bride?" and the student said, "The one who isn't Coach Paul, duh!". Things come back to my memory, and I just smile- it was the best day of my life, despite how ambivalent I am about that dress (which I will be trying on tonight before I finally box it up).
That day was so special for us. We became a new family, we got to celebrate with all our family and friends, and Paul's team won their first playoff game- without Paul. Patrick's mom (who is now art teacher at Paul's school) told Paul that it was amazing to see so many people who had gone straight from our reception (leaving in the middle) to their playoff game, all dressed in their fancy church/wedding clothes. The boys were dressed in suits, and quickly changed in the school's bathrooms to be ready to win one for Coach Paul, as were my orders to each of them as they came up to say goodbye at the wedding. Another of our altar servers, Marty, said to us when we came up to the teenager's table, "This food is GOOD". His own mom had gotten married there just 7 months before, and had the same food, so I said, "This is what your mom had, what did YOU eat?" Apparently she had given him chicken fingers, the kid's plate, and he was honored to have the grownup's food. It's little things like that that we'll remember for a lifetime.
So, on this day last year, I became a wife. And on this day last year, I was given a whole new set of memories to cherish, and today I will taste the top tier of our wedding cake, because I'm sure it's going to be pretty terrible. Good thing we're going to the Cheesecake Factory for dinner! I'll have to pick up a tasty cheesecake for dessert.
As most people know, Grandma was the only grandma I had growing up. Past the age of 7 or so, she was the only grandparent left as well. She sure made of for the lack of grandparents, by being everything and everywhere for us. Even though she had passed on in 1996, there isn't a day that goes by without thinking of her. It's because of that, Paul and I decided to get married on her birthday. Now I have something to share with her for the rest of our lives (other than the fact that I was born two days after her birthday).
On this day last year, at this very moment, I was walking with my dad down the aisle. We'd had a momentary freak-out, when he pulled his bedazzled sunglasses off his eyes (he'd picked them up without anyone else knowing, when usually I'm there to tell him which ones are feminine) while we were waiting for the "great unveiling" of the bride and father. He was unsure of where to put his glasses, so we had to hustle for a bit and cram them in his inside jacket pocket. I swear, literally at the last second before the doors were opened, my dad was stuffing those glasses into his pocket.
Now that it's taken me a half an hour to get here from the last paragraph (ah, the joys of blogging while at work), at this very moment last year, I was sitting on the chairs at the altar, tears silently falling down my cheeks. I had just passed by my aunts and uncles, my cousins and nieces and nephews, all people who had seen me grow up, and now were watching me get married- the baby in the family. I saw my aunt Sharon crying (although smiling as she did it), and when I saw that, I knew my Grandma was watching. I knew that she was proud of me, and proud of who I was about to marry. As the childrens choir began to sing the songs we had picked out, I heard a girl's voice begin singing "The Rose", a song that brings me to tears every time I hear it. Hearing that angelic voice singing at our wedding just caused the tears to begin to flow, and my vision to blur. One of our altar servers (who was also the star player on Paul's A Boys Football team) saw me crying, and began to make faces and mimic a scene from Napoleon Dynamite, with "The Rose" spelled out in sign language. With that, I started laughing, shoulders shaking as I mouthed a "Thank you" to one of my favorite students ever.
At this point you should know that Patrick wasn't just asked to be an altar boy. No, we had specifically chosen him when we got engaged, and had also invited his family to the wedding reception. For weeks leading up the wedding, he would do the countdown whenever he saw me. "Hey Amber, 3 weeks and 4 days until the big day!" His mom would tell me about how excited he was to be going to the wedding, and taking part in such a huge day for us. I never thought about it, but at Paul's school he's a bit of a celebrity, and our wedding was announced in the church's weekly paper, inviting all members of the parish to attend. The church can hold hundreds of people, and we had at least 300 there, students and families who had come to watch and celebrate with us- watching their beloved "Coach Paul" finally tie the knot.
So many things happened that people didn't see. Another family at Paul's school, of Polish descent stood in the vestry with my dad and I, waving at us and smiling. After the wedding they would come up to me with a bouquet of red and white roses, telling me that it's a tradition in their culture to give the bride roses for her wedding. They're already one of the sweetest families ever, and that just added to our adoration for them. When Paul and I were standing outside the church, finally married, one of his kindergartners was standing outside with her friend, and the friend said, "Which one is the bride?" and the student said, "The one who isn't Coach Paul, duh!". Things come back to my memory, and I just smile- it was the best day of my life, despite how ambivalent I am about that dress (which I will be trying on tonight before I finally box it up).
That day was so special for us. We became a new family, we got to celebrate with all our family and friends, and Paul's team won their first playoff game- without Paul. Patrick's mom (who is now art teacher at Paul's school) told Paul that it was amazing to see so many people who had gone straight from our reception (leaving in the middle) to their playoff game, all dressed in their fancy church/wedding clothes. The boys were dressed in suits, and quickly changed in the school's bathrooms to be ready to win one for Coach Paul, as were my orders to each of them as they came up to say goodbye at the wedding. Another of our altar servers, Marty, said to us when we came up to the teenager's table, "This food is GOOD". His own mom had gotten married there just 7 months before, and had the same food, so I said, "This is what your mom had, what did YOU eat?" Apparently she had given him chicken fingers, the kid's plate, and he was honored to have the grownup's food. It's little things like that that we'll remember for a lifetime.
So, on this day last year, I became a wife. And on this day last year, I was given a whole new set of memories to cherish, and today I will taste the top tier of our wedding cake, because I'm sure it's going to be pretty terrible. Good thing we're going to the Cheesecake Factory for dinner! I'll have to pick up a tasty cheesecake for dessert.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Oops
Paul has been playing a video game called "Star Wars Battlefront". It's got the most annoying soundtrack with a lot of "Beepbeepbeep... boopboopboop" noises that are liable to drive whoever isn't playing insane. Lately he's been very courteous about that noise, and mutes the game when he knows it's going to appear. This is quite lovely, and I truly don't even care that he's playing that video game or one like it.
Since he's been on a scary movie kick lately (all in the buildup to Halloween), we've been trying to rent movies from Netflix that are scary or spooky. Unfortunately we had given Dad "Run Fatboy Run" before we set out on our spook-athon, and had to get that back and watch it before we saw got our next movie.
The movie was really great, I adore Simon Pegg! I set about putting the movie in it's sleeve and sealing it- then sent it in yesterday morning. When I got home after my flu shot (which hurts like a bitch right now, btw), I saw we had another movie, a 1987 gem called "The Monster Squad", one of those movies from your past that you can't believe finally made it onto DVD. To keep our movie rotation going, we watched "The Monster Squad" and had it all set to send out today. Paul decided he wanted to play "Star Wars Battlefront", but what's this? "Run FatBoy Run"? Why is that... uh oh.
I mailed Paul's not-made-anymore video game instead of the movie. CRAP. So I called netflix to notify them of the error and the guy said we'll most likely get it back. I felt a little better about it, but man, how guilty do I look? I had just complained about it and then sent it in. Dang.
This morning I got an email from Netflix, saying my envelope had been received, but empty. CRAP. So I call again to tell them that it's been sent in with a personal DVD instead, and the girl tells me that she'll make a note of it, and hopefully they'll find it. I KNOW there was a movie-ish type of thing inside that envelope, so it wasn't empty, but perhaps someone stole it! I know, I know. Totally insane. I guess I've never really gotten over Paul's wedding band (v.1) being stolen from UPS.
Keep your fingers crossed that his video game will return!
Since he's been on a scary movie kick lately (all in the buildup to Halloween), we've been trying to rent movies from Netflix that are scary or spooky. Unfortunately we had given Dad "Run Fatboy Run" before we set out on our spook-athon, and had to get that back and watch it before we saw got our next movie.
The movie was really great, I adore Simon Pegg! I set about putting the movie in it's sleeve and sealing it- then sent it in yesterday morning. When I got home after my flu shot (which hurts like a bitch right now, btw), I saw we had another movie, a 1987 gem called "The Monster Squad", one of those movies from your past that you can't believe finally made it onto DVD. To keep our movie rotation going, we watched "The Monster Squad" and had it all set to send out today. Paul decided he wanted to play "Star Wars Battlefront", but what's this? "Run FatBoy Run"? Why is that... uh oh.
I mailed Paul's not-made-anymore video game instead of the movie. CRAP. So I called netflix to notify them of the error and the guy said we'll most likely get it back. I felt a little better about it, but man, how guilty do I look? I had just complained about it and then sent it in. Dang.
This morning I got an email from Netflix, saying my envelope had been received, but empty. CRAP. So I call again to tell them that it's been sent in with a personal DVD instead, and the girl tells me that she'll make a note of it, and hopefully they'll find it. I KNOW there was a movie-ish type of thing inside that envelope, so it wasn't empty, but perhaps someone stole it! I know, I know. Totally insane. I guess I've never really gotten over Paul's wedding band (v.1) being stolen from UPS.
Keep your fingers crossed that his video game will return!
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Stay tuned for next week's episode....
On the brighter side: does anyone watch "How I Met Your Mother"? I love this show, but MAN, it seems every episode ends with a cliffhanger! I haven't watched last night's episode yet (DVR is waiting for me!), but I don't know if I can take it! I've never been good with cliffhangers, and have despised season finales for that very reason- most end in cliffhangers- Jim and Pam anyone???!!!
I think it's part of being impatient. I just can't sit there and wait a week, month, or season without needing to know what happens. In part, I've started reading ahead in some of my books. If I suspect an ending that I find unsavory, I will actually stop reading the book. I'm serious. I will put it down, give it away, return it to the library. I want everything to have a happy ending. I wonder if that means that despite my TTC rants and raves that I'm characteristically an optimistic person who just wants the best for all?
Eh. I just want everyone to be with the person they love, I think.
I think it's part of being impatient. I just can't sit there and wait a week, month, or season without needing to know what happens. In part, I've started reading ahead in some of my books. If I suspect an ending that I find unsavory, I will actually stop reading the book. I'm serious. I will put it down, give it away, return it to the library. I want everything to have a happy ending. I wonder if that means that despite my TTC rants and raves that I'm characteristically an optimistic person who just wants the best for all?
Eh. I just want everyone to be with the person they love, I think.
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