Housekeeping first: one very important thing I forgot to say about Mike, which LA pointed out, is that he's a total babe. That's how much I take it for granted. I think anyone who's seen him takes it for granted too which I guess is why I didn't manage to make a big deal about it. He can't help that he was born looking the way he does, but he does have control over being an upstanding person so that's more noteworthy. Anyway though, as I stated, he reminds me all the time that he thinks I'm pretty to his eyes, and it could not hurt for me to do the same for him. Who doesn't appreciate hearing that they're attractive? And though I think it all the time, he can't read my thoughts. Or can he by now? Eek.
I'm on top of a huge inspiration bubble after hearing my author/poet cousin read some of his poems on the radio the other night and talking to him last night about his manuscript. It was so fun to talk about writing like that, especially with somebody so talented. To put a selfish slant on it, it helped me see how getting good work done is possible and not only that, it got me reinvigorated about my love of writing and made me want to make writing dates with myself and stick to them. Also, to not abandon my current WIP which was my instinct. So thanks, cousin! No more excuses. Let's do this.
When I feel excited about the process like this, it inevitably opens my mind to all my other dream projects like writing a screenplay and/or a TV comedy (fine, I just want to be Liz Lemon). And songs. I heard Meatloaf's "Two Out of Three Ain't Bad" yesterday (bear with me)-- and I couldn't stop thinking about the genius in its construction. It's one of those songs, like "Escape (The Pina Colada Song)" and "Brandy (You're a Fine Girl)" that seem to belong to the 1970s, mostly. These songs that tell a story, often ending in the same place it began but with a new perspective. If I had to think of a current song that accomplishes this, maybe it's Carrie Underwood's "Before He Cheats"? Anyway, the perfect pop song is a singular piece of artistry. I'd give up all the other talents if I could master this one. But first things first eh?
In other news, I'm feeling quite fit these days and I'll tell you why. Back when I was the only body I had to worry about, I used to take this killer class at the gym called Punk Rope. It was super fun, but it also kicked my ass. I loved it. Jumping rope is a great workout. So I bought a jump rope and I've been doing mini sessions every time I take a pump break. So I get in 200 jumps, push-ups and crunches three times a day. It doesn't take up that much extra time, and it really adds up, workout-wise. Until I can get back to regular running and yoga, the jump rope is my fitness secret weapon. I highly recommend it. But I will issue a warning to my lady friends (this is going to be TMI and probably shatter your image of me as a person you want to be around so look away if you're offended by bodily functions): jumping rope makes you pee. It's uncontrollable. It was true before, and it's double true now that my urethra has been messed with. So just, er, take precautions. The payoff is worth a little leakage.
And with that, I leave you for today.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
More Than Toast
Picture it, the summer of 1995 in the shittiest student-housing shithole of all of Brighton. Ah, the haus of many subletters, two of whom being your heroine (moi) and her yet-unmasked hero (Mike). My friend K and I wanted to spend the summer in the city so we found this deal wherein we would share a bedroom for wicked cheap and not have to go home to the sticks in between college semesters. There's another leg to this story wherein the summer went off the rails, friendship-wise, but it's too sad to recount, and yet another about how we found out about the sublet, but that part will give you Type 2 diabetes to read it so I'll leave it out for now. The point is, K and I moved in, and I promptly abandoned her to go home for a week to have my wisdom teeth removed. I called her post-surgery to get the feel of the house (there were 10 of us at any given time, and besides us everyone was of the dude persuasion).
"This one guy, Mike," she said. "You're gonna love him. You're gonna marry him."
So I did. I mean, I'm not that suggestible. It's just that she was right, we ended up being perfect for each other. And without further ado, 12 reasons to celebrate my husband, one for each year of our union.
-He is patient and level-headed and approaches issues from a calm, logical place. His has talked me down from many an emotional tizzy.
-He loves his family, but loves mine just as much.
-He makes me laugh, daily if not hourly.
-He is kind and generous, almost to a fault. Sometimes I think his overwhelming sense of compassion is going to be the end of him.
-He is an amazing cook and quite the little housekeeper.
-He's the king of unsolicited compliments, and never stops telling me that I'm beautiful and sexy, even when I'm not feeling it.
-He is a lifetime Red Sox fan. Let the importance of this never be underestimated.
-He has good (read: similar to my) taste in music, movies and TV shows. Part of K's theory that Mike and I should be playing house forever was based on his interest in the artifacts installed in my side of the room such as a Beastie Boys poster and a VHS copy of Dazed and Confused. They say opposites attract, but that Paula Abdul is a drug addict who has been known to hallucinate dancing cats, so who are you going to believe? There's no need to be twinsies in every aspect, but it just makes sense that good partnerships are rooted in having things that you share and enjoy together. Like beer and nachos (which are the official food of this marriage) and the ability to have conversations composed exclusively of Family Guy quotations. So Mike will never not be disgusted with my love of So You Think You Can Dance or penchant for singing Wu Tang Clan to the baby. I will never get on board with Air Supply as a *thing* or share his excitement for JFK conspiracy theories. A little conflict is necessary to keep things from getting boring. But we're friends as well as partners. We enjoy each other's company. And for the most part this simpatico existence keeps it fun.
-We are politically like-minded. And he might not come out and say he's a feminist, but it's all in his actions.
-Despite his better judgment/social conscience/extreme neurosis, he acquiesced and entered the adventure of parenthood with me. I suspected that he would be a stellar parent, and my premonition is proving to be true. You know that whole privilege paradigm dealie that can be applied to whoever is the minority in any situation? I'm thinking in this instance about the man/woman power dynamic and the notion that women are expected to be perfect mothers while men get extra credit for marginal competence? Well that's a moot point in our home. Mike's not just an involved and engaged dad, but a really good parent by any standards. HR is the center of his universe.
-He's super, super smart. He doesn't just possess the kind of broad intelligence that, say, wins Jeopardy twice, but he's also grounded in the real world with a double dose of common sense.
-He's a workhorse who does what he needs to do for our family and never complains.
As I wrap this up I realize I could never do this man justice with only twelve examples. Which, I guess, is a good reason to keep him.
Happy Belated Anniversary, Mikey. I love you and the life we've built together. I'm sorry if I ever take you for granted, but please know I'm aware that I hit the jackpot when you came into my life.
"This one guy, Mike," she said. "You're gonna love him. You're gonna marry him."
So I did. I mean, I'm not that suggestible. It's just that she was right, we ended up being perfect for each other. And without further ado, 12 reasons to celebrate my husband, one for each year of our union.
-He is patient and level-headed and approaches issues from a calm, logical place. His has talked me down from many an emotional tizzy.
-He loves his family, but loves mine just as much.
-He makes me laugh, daily if not hourly.
-He is kind and generous, almost to a fault. Sometimes I think his overwhelming sense of compassion is going to be the end of him.
-He is an amazing cook and quite the little housekeeper.
-He's the king of unsolicited compliments, and never stops telling me that I'm beautiful and sexy, even when I'm not feeling it.
-He is a lifetime Red Sox fan. Let the importance of this never be underestimated.
-He has good (read: similar to my) taste in music, movies and TV shows. Part of K's theory that Mike and I should be playing house forever was based on his interest in the artifacts installed in my side of the room such as a Beastie Boys poster and a VHS copy of Dazed and Confused. They say opposites attract, but that Paula Abdul is a drug addict who has been known to hallucinate dancing cats, so who are you going to believe? There's no need to be twinsies in every aspect, but it just makes sense that good partnerships are rooted in having things that you share and enjoy together. Like beer and nachos (which are the official food of this marriage) and the ability to have conversations composed exclusively of Family Guy quotations. So Mike will never not be disgusted with my love of So You Think You Can Dance or penchant for singing Wu Tang Clan to the baby. I will never get on board with Air Supply as a *thing* or share his excitement for JFK conspiracy theories. A little conflict is necessary to keep things from getting boring. But we're friends as well as partners. We enjoy each other's company. And for the most part this simpatico existence keeps it fun.
-We are politically like-minded. And he might not come out and say he's a feminist, but it's all in his actions.
-Despite his better judgment/social conscience/extreme neurosis, he acquiesced and entered the adventure of parenthood with me. I suspected that he would be a stellar parent, and my premonition is proving to be true. You know that whole privilege paradigm dealie that can be applied to whoever is the minority in any situation? I'm thinking in this instance about the man/woman power dynamic and the notion that women are expected to be perfect mothers while men get extra credit for marginal competence? Well that's a moot point in our home. Mike's not just an involved and engaged dad, but a really good parent by any standards. HR is the center of his universe.
-He's super, super smart. He doesn't just possess the kind of broad intelligence that, say, wins Jeopardy twice, but he's also grounded in the real world with a double dose of common sense.
-He's a workhorse who does what he needs to do for our family and never complains.
As I wrap this up I realize I could never do this man justice with only twelve examples. Which, I guess, is a good reason to keep him.
Happy Belated Anniversary, Mikey. I love you and the life we've built together. I'm sorry if I ever take you for granted, but please know I'm aware that I hit the jackpot when you came into my life.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
A Dozen
Great, great long weekend. Not that I can remember what we did or that we did all that much, it was just so nice to be with HR all the time and even have some all-three-of-us family time. Yesterday was our anniversary, and we celebrated by going to the zoo, going out for nachos and ending the evening with take-out and DVR shows after Mr. Pants went to bed. Yep, still got it after all these years. Along the way we introduced rice cereal into the boy's diet (I think he thinks we might be crazy, but points to him for going along with it) and got him in the exersaucer which is fantastic. You pop him in there and he just loses his mind. It's hilarious to observe, and one of the best infant-related inventions so far, rivaling the boppy, the Itzbeen and the bumbo seat.
I have a huge entry about my husband waiting to be written that I wanted to get in here in time for our 12-year milestone (we've been together 15 in all) but that will have to wait until I have the time it deserves. In other words, not this busy day.
But here's the blog of the week, for your reading and viewing pleasure: Kari and her husband are two of my favorite people in the world and though I've yet to go to their home (I stress YET) I feel like I've been there thanks to this amazing project. Miss you dearly, my darling Johnsons.
I have a huge entry about my husband waiting to be written that I wanted to get in here in time for our 12-year milestone (we've been together 15 in all) but that will have to wait until I have the time it deserves. In other words, not this busy day.
But here's the blog of the week, for your reading and viewing pleasure: Kari and her husband are two of my favorite people in the world and though I've yet to go to their home (I stress YET) I feel like I've been there thanks to this amazing project. Miss you dearly, my darling Johnsons.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Take a Pill, Lady
I got a decent night's sleep last night (HR only woke up once between 8 p.m. and 6 a.m.) so I am on point today. Maybe a little over-caffeinated on top of that, so I'm having the opposite issue from yesterday and it's that my mind is racing and I don't have the time to dedicate to everything I want to address.
Topic the first: I held a four-day-old baby last night and it was like holding a warm, adorable puff of air. As infants go, mine isn't all that heavy, but the difference between 16 pounds and 7 pounds is quite striking when you have immediate comparison. HR is still little-little enough that I get my fix from him, but I can see how I will be very susceptible to baby fever down the line. I caught myself being nostalgic for his first days-- the days when I was getting NO sleep and stressing every moment about whether I was starving him. Of course those parts fall away when you look into that sweet sleeping newborn face. It's a sort of mental illness, but probably has a lot to do with propagation of the species.
The other thing that is twisting around my brain like the treatment for the world's most useless dissertation is pop radio, specifically songs that reference alcohol. I'll back up a little. The other day I heard Tone Loc's "Funky Cold Medina" and in the midst to totally dorking out to it, it occurred to me that it belongs to a special strain of music that I will classify as "roofie ballads." The Beasties' "Brass Monkey" is in there too, as well as Jamie Foxx's ridiculously catchy "Blame It." Is it really acceptable to make danceable songs about drugging girls so they'll want to have sex with you? Of course not. Is it good humor to sing about your own comeuppance in the same song in the form of unknowingly drugging a transvestite, or just homophobia? Maybe when it wasn't the '80s he branched out from being "down with the ladies," but there's no sequel as far as I know. And even though I decided that "Blame It" is ultimately a celebration of a case of mutual beer goggles vs. a one-sided takedown, there's still a goldmine of gender politics as well as rape apology in popular music. It's a good thing education's so expensive or else I'd seriously be getting my PhD in shit like this.
Also on my mind: T-Pain and his auto-tune revolution is a) ruining music as we know it, b) acting as pied piper in the inevitable turn of humans into cyborgs or c) both? Discuss. Oh, and, don't you think Timbaland should have quit when he was ahead (i.e. stuck with Justin Timberlake) because he was the precursor to all this wasn't he? I acknowledge that this is the kind of hysteria people espoused during the birth of rock and roll and I accept that my rantings are those of an old fogey. If I had a lawn, I'd be yelling at you kids to get off it. I really need to start listening to books on tape.
Oh, but furthermore to the acceptance of my oldening: Monday is my 12-year wedding anniversary which is, frankly, preposterous. I'll be off that day, but when I get back I've got a 12-point salute to my saint-worthy husband in mind. Stay tuned.
Topic the first: I held a four-day-old baby last night and it was like holding a warm, adorable puff of air. As infants go, mine isn't all that heavy, but the difference between 16 pounds and 7 pounds is quite striking when you have immediate comparison. HR is still little-little enough that I get my fix from him, but I can see how I will be very susceptible to baby fever down the line. I caught myself being nostalgic for his first days-- the days when I was getting NO sleep and stressing every moment about whether I was starving him. Of course those parts fall away when you look into that sweet sleeping newborn face. It's a sort of mental illness, but probably has a lot to do with propagation of the species.
The other thing that is twisting around my brain like the treatment for the world's most useless dissertation is pop radio, specifically songs that reference alcohol. I'll back up a little. The other day I heard Tone Loc's "Funky Cold Medina" and in the midst to totally dorking out to it, it occurred to me that it belongs to a special strain of music that I will classify as "roofie ballads." The Beasties' "Brass Monkey" is in there too, as well as Jamie Foxx's ridiculously catchy "Blame It." Is it really acceptable to make danceable songs about drugging girls so they'll want to have sex with you? Of course not. Is it good humor to sing about your own comeuppance in the same song in the form of unknowingly drugging a transvestite, or just homophobia? Maybe when it wasn't the '80s he branched out from being "down with the ladies," but there's no sequel as far as I know. And even though I decided that "Blame It" is ultimately a celebration of a case of mutual beer goggles vs. a one-sided takedown, there's still a goldmine of gender politics as well as rape apology in popular music. It's a good thing education's so expensive or else I'd seriously be getting my PhD in shit like this.
Also on my mind: T-Pain and his auto-tune revolution is a) ruining music as we know it, b) acting as pied piper in the inevitable turn of humans into cyborgs or c) both? Discuss. Oh, and, don't you think Timbaland should have quit when he was ahead (i.e. stuck with Justin Timberlake) because he was the precursor to all this wasn't he? I acknowledge that this is the kind of hysteria people espoused during the birth of rock and roll and I accept that my rantings are those of an old fogey. If I had a lawn, I'd be yelling at you kids to get off it. I really need to start listening to books on tape.
Oh, but furthermore to the acceptance of my oldening: Monday is my 12-year wedding anniversary which is, frankly, preposterous. I'll be off that day, but when I get back I've got a 12-point salute to my saint-worthy husband in mind. Stay tuned.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow
Another chilly, rainy, yucky day, perfect for writing. So of course I've got nothing I'm interested in writing about. When in doubt, I just make a list of loosely-themed junk.
Three things I enjoy but rarely do:
-Eat cereal. I love all the kinds, sugary as well as healthful. I was really into Lucky Charms when I was pregnant. This is no good as a breakfast option, though, since it leaves me hungry again in five minutes. So I just don't buy it anymore because the box goes stale once it's opened and I hate waste. Every once in awhile though, man, cereal is the only thing.
-Go to the movies. Even before baby came along and presented an obstacle I hardly ever went. I love movie theaters and their popcorn smell and the communal experience of watching a film, especially when the weather gets cold. I don't even get all that het up about the price of tickets. But aside from really major exceptions it seems like everything comes out on DVD before I get around to seeing the first run, or nothing's that appealing that I have to see it right then. I missed the last Harry Potter, which is usually one I'd make a point to see. I feel like I'm contributing to the decline of this bit of culture. But oh well, can't hold up every pillar. That does remind me I should lock down a babysitter now for when The Deathly Hallows comes out.
-Go dancing. I'm always bitching about never going dancing. If I went dancing every day it wouldn't be enough. The dance parties I constantly hold in my house count for a lot, but there's nothing like cutting loose on an actual dance floor. I just realized I am so going to be that mom with her mom friends in our going-out clothes getting wrecked on two cocktails and harassing the DJ to play Wreckx in Effect. That actually sounds like the most fun of all time-- it's been so liberating since I stopped caring about being cool.
I don't know how to wrap this up so I'll just go.
Three things I enjoy but rarely do:
-Eat cereal. I love all the kinds, sugary as well as healthful. I was really into Lucky Charms when I was pregnant. This is no good as a breakfast option, though, since it leaves me hungry again in five minutes. So I just don't buy it anymore because the box goes stale once it's opened and I hate waste. Every once in awhile though, man, cereal is the only thing.
-Go to the movies. Even before baby came along and presented an obstacle I hardly ever went. I love movie theaters and their popcorn smell and the communal experience of watching a film, especially when the weather gets cold. I don't even get all that het up about the price of tickets. But aside from really major exceptions it seems like everything comes out on DVD before I get around to seeing the first run, or nothing's that appealing that I have to see it right then. I missed the last Harry Potter, which is usually one I'd make a point to see. I feel like I'm contributing to the decline of this bit of culture. But oh well, can't hold up every pillar. That does remind me I should lock down a babysitter now for when The Deathly Hallows comes out.
-Go dancing. I'm always bitching about never going dancing. If I went dancing every day it wouldn't be enough. The dance parties I constantly hold in my house count for a lot, but there's nothing like cutting loose on an actual dance floor. I just realized I am so going to be that mom with her mom friends in our going-out clothes getting wrecked on two cocktails and harassing the DJ to play Wreckx in Effect. That actually sounds like the most fun of all time-- it's been so liberating since I stopped caring about being cool.
I don't know how to wrap this up so I'll just go.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
YAWN
If something happens more than three nights in a row, it's officially a trend yes? Well what we've got going isn't one of those good trends - after a relatively long stretch of nights where HR was up for one early morning feeding, we're back to waking up not once, not twice, but THRICE between bedtime and official wakey-wakey time. I'm sure the little tooth nubs in his bottom gums have something to do with this, but I'm also thinking this could be a sign that it's time to give solid foods a try. I was going to wait until six months because there was no reason not to, but what's a few weeks in the scheme of things? It might not help, but I figure it can't hurt. Rice cereal: the next frontier.
It's hard not to feel inadequate sometimes, because I read so much either in books or on blogs about other people's babies' progress. It's enough to drive me to mama meltdown when I read about people who actually have to wake up their babies in the morning to feed them-- babies that are younger than my own. But I'm a logical person at my core, and I know it's useless to compare my own milkhound to his age-mates. I have to make sure to go with my instincts instead of being envious of other peoples' situations. He's doing what he's doing, and that's what I've got to work with. And really, what I've got to work with is a totally excellent baby on the whole. He's so wonderful and beautiful it astounds me on an hourly basis. It helps when Mike reminds me that our job as parents right now is to meet his needs, his own specific needs which include extra feedings, so that's what we're doing. He's a happy boy almost all the time, which I suppose is a testament that we're doing OK. Maybe someday he'll catch up with the good sleepers. Or he won't. But it's comforting to know (in a benevolent, non-nasty way) that even the exemplary munchkins come around with a little challenge somewhere down the line. Babies are babies, and if it's not nursing or sleeping or diaper issues it's something else.
Children, jeez. Lucky they're so fun to dress up in tiny clothing.
The blog of the week is one of my all-time favorites, and needs no explanation.
It's hard not to feel inadequate sometimes, because I read so much either in books or on blogs about other people's babies' progress. It's enough to drive me to mama meltdown when I read about people who actually have to wake up their babies in the morning to feed them-- babies that are younger than my own. But I'm a logical person at my core, and I know it's useless to compare my own milkhound to his age-mates. I have to make sure to go with my instincts instead of being envious of other peoples' situations. He's doing what he's doing, and that's what I've got to work with. And really, what I've got to work with is a totally excellent baby on the whole. He's so wonderful and beautiful it astounds me on an hourly basis. It helps when Mike reminds me that our job as parents right now is to meet his needs, his own specific needs which include extra feedings, so that's what we're doing. He's a happy boy almost all the time, which I suppose is a testament that we're doing OK. Maybe someday he'll catch up with the good sleepers. Or he won't. But it's comforting to know (in a benevolent, non-nasty way) that even the exemplary munchkins come around with a little challenge somewhere down the line. Babies are babies, and if it's not nursing or sleeping or diaper issues it's something else.
Children, jeez. Lucky they're so fun to dress up in tiny clothing.
The blog of the week is one of my all-time favorites, and needs no explanation.
Monday, October 4, 2010
Comin' Up October
How are you this sopping gray Monday morning in October? I'm just wonderful. Another joyberry has been added to the pie in the form of my best girl's baby boy, who was born on Saturday. I have yet to meet the little viking, but I will tout de suite and I cannot, cannot wait for to eat him up.
My own little edible buddy did not get a gold star in sleeping last night, but I really couldn't hold it against him as we cuddled in the big warm bed early this morning and listened to the rain come down and Mike made us a lovely pot of pumpkin spice coffee (well he made it for him and me, but baby will inevitably get some down the line). I did lots of imagining how things would be before he came along, but it turns out that things are better than I even ever hoped they would be when we embarked on this making-a-family adventure.
We also saw our bean of a niece over the weekend. What a precious little girlie - she's a fighter, and hopefully she'll fight herself out of the hospital sometime in the coming weeks.
Lots to do today so I can't linger, which is really all I want to do. Alas. Here's a baby:
My own little edible buddy did not get a gold star in sleeping last night, but I really couldn't hold it against him as we cuddled in the big warm bed early this morning and listened to the rain come down and Mike made us a lovely pot of pumpkin spice coffee (well he made it for him and me, but baby will inevitably get some down the line). I did lots of imagining how things would be before he came along, but it turns out that things are better than I even ever hoped they would be when we embarked on this making-a-family adventure.
We also saw our bean of a niece over the weekend. What a precious little girlie - she's a fighter, and hopefully she'll fight herself out of the hospital sometime in the coming weeks.
Lots to do today so I can't linger, which is really all I want to do. Alas. Here's a baby:
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