Tag Archive: marital bliss

Affirmation {Songs & Meaning}

March 1, 2010 | about mommygeekology, married life, philosophy | Tags: , , , , ,
12 Spoke Up - Say Something

About a kajillion years ago, in 1999, when the dinosaurs roamed the earth, Savage Garden came out with a song that rocked me to my core. Affirmation. This song is everything I’ve ever thought. This song is like my mission statement. This song is my prayer. This song weaves melody and words into the intricate patterns that make up the tapestry of my heart and soul.

“I believe the sun should never set upon an argument”

This is a rule in my home, and I try to adhere to it as much as possible. Don’t go to bed angry, my grandmother and my mother have always said. It’s a way to make sure we make an effort to make it right. It’s how we ensure that resentment and anger don’t fester overnight, flooding our dreams, filling us will anxiety. It’s an affirmation of our love and devotion to each other as a family or as friends, a way to say this means something to me.

“I believe we place our happiness in other people’s hands…I believe I’m loved when I’m completely by myself alone”

We look too often to outside sources for happiness and confidence. We rely heavily on our friendships, social standing, careers or otherwise to provide us the happiness that we crave and deserve. It’s not always bad. A community, friendships, careers, these are all great things. But I also believe that we need to reach deep down within ourselves and find a happiness there. A happiness in just being alive, a happiness in being ourselves regardless of our circumstances, our friendships or status symbols. We need some joy in ourselves, and we need to protect it like the most precious gem. There will always be times of hardship, and that gem may save us and give us the strength to rise above.

“I believe your parents did the best job they knew how to do”

Isn’t that what we’re all doing? It doesn’t mean there aren’t bad parents out there. It doesn’t mean that they didn’t know it was wrong, or know they should do better. But I think that it’s fair to say that we’re doing the best job we know how to do. Now, whether that’s actually any good or not… well time will tell.

“I believe in Karma what you give is what you get returned”

I try to do good deeds. I try to hold doors, and put my grocery cart away, and spread a little love and happiness where I can, when I can. I give to charities but I also love to send my friends little gifts and care packages… just because. I hope that my kind words and good deeds have something to do with the luck, love and happiness that I’ve had in my life.

“I believe you can’t appreciate real love ’til you’ve been burned”

I have this theory about love. I think that every love counts. Puppy love, “true love” – it doesn’t matter. It all counts. I think we have a tendency to look back on our lives, once we attain what we feel is the greatest pinnacle of love we’ve ever achieved, and say – “that wasn’t really love“. I disagree. I think we loved as well as we knew how. We loved to our fullest capacity. It hurt when it ended, but I believe that with that love, and that hurt, we allowed our hearts to grow to accept greater love (and, subsequently, greater pain). I love my husband with every fiber of my being. But if I die tomorrow? I hope that he goes on to find someone else to love, eventually. I hope it will be a love just as great, or greater, than ours is now.

“I believe the grass is no more greener on the other side
I believe you don’t know what you’ve got until you say goodbye”

Every story has at least two sides, and every side has it’s trials and tribulations. Nothing is perfect, nothing, no matter how it may appear. When I drive on the highway, I usually pick a lane and stick to it. History has told me that unless I’m willing to be reckless, switching to a lane that appears to be going faster never helps. Traffic is going the same way. Eventually that lane will slow and I’ll look longingly at the car I was behind just a few minutes ago as it speeds past. I believe that loss sharpens our vision and provides enough perspective for us to see what we may have been missing or taking for granted.

“I believe you can’t control or choose your sexuality
I believe that trust is more important than monogamy
I believe your most attractive features are your heart and soul
I believe that wedded bliss negates the need to be undressed”

I’m bisexual, and when I was in high school my mother asked me when I was going to “get over this phase.” It was one of the most hurtful things she’s ever said to me, because she didn’t, and couldn’t, accept who I am. It doesn’t come up anymore because I’m married to a man, but it still hurts. I’m married to a man whom I trust and love, and our sexual preferences mean that one day, we may invite someone else into our bedroom from time to time. Trust is more important than monogamy. We’ve both changed since we were married. We aren’t as skinny as we used to be. I don’t wear makeup every day anymore. But it doesn’t matter. We love each other as whole people – not as an attractive combination of body parts.  Our love is more than a raw sexual passion. I use a tag on this site – marital bliss – you’ll note that those posts aren’t all about being naked. I mean, some of them are… but you get my point.

“I believe that family is worth more than money or gold”

I don’t think that I need to elaborate much on this one. If there is any one of you who disagrees with this statement I will say that I cannot fathom, at all, what you are thinking. I’d add to this list that my friends? My friends fall just beneath my family. Money is farther down… and only important in that it allows me to provide for my family, and my friends.

“I believe in love surviving death into eternity”

I believe in Heaven, or some version of it. I believe that we will see our loved ones again. I believe that I will be able to look down & watch over my loved ones when I die.  Barring that, then at least let me wander the earth as a ghost of some sort so I can scare the bejeezus out of anyone trying to hurt my friends or family. Or both. I’m good with both.

In all seriousness though – I don’ t think love stops when we die. Those who are living continue to love us, and I believe that those who pass to wherever, or whatever, the Other Side is, continue to love us as well.

Full lyrics

I believe the sun should never set upon an argument
I believe we place our happiness in other people’s hands
I believe that junk food tastes so good because it’s bad for you
I believe your parents did the best job they knew how to do
I believe that beauty magazines promote low self esteem
I believe I’m loved when I’m completely by myself alone

I believe in Karma what you give is what you get returned
I believe you can’t appreciate real love ’til you’ve been burned
I believe the grass is no more greener on the other side
I believe you don’t know what you’ve got until you say goodbye

I believe you can’t control or choose your sexuality
I believe that trust is more important than monogamy
I believe your most attractive features are your heart and soul
I believe that family is worth more than money or gold
I believe the struggle for financial freedom is unfair
I believe the only ones who disagree are millionaires

I believe in Karma what you give is what you get returned
I believe you can’t appreciate real love ’til you’ve been burned
I believe the grass is no more greener on the other side
I believe you don’t know what you’ve got until you say goodbye

I believe forgiveness is the key to your own happiness
I believe that wedded bliss negates the need to be undressed
I believe that God does not endorse tv evangelists
I believe in love surviving death into eternity

I believe in Karma what you give is what you get returned
I believe you can’t appreciate real love ’til you’ve been burned
I believe the grass is no more greener on the other side
I believe you don’t know what you’ve got until you say goodbye

Say Something

Brazilian, Baby {Green Post}

January 8, 2010 | featured, making memories | Tags: , , , , , , ,
10 Spoke Up - Say Something

I’m calling this a “Green Post” because it’s been recycled from my old blog. One of the challenges of the Mominatrix #sexualrevolution was to do a little down-low landscaping, and I thought I’d share one of my experiences with waxing. This is supposed to be funny, so LAUGH DAMMIT.

————

I understand that there are some cultures where body hair is accepted, even admired. There are cultures also that demand that women or men remove all or parts of their body hair, either as a religious rite or simply because it is culturally unacceptable otherwise. I tried to do some research on this, but have you ever tried doing a Google search for pubic hair and cultural perspectives? Yeah, don’t. Or turn safe-search on.

Anyway, other cultures aside, my own personal preference is to be clean-shaven – pretty much anywhere that I can be. I love the hair on my head :-) But I also keep that short. I don’t like long hair. Hubby had long hair before we met. If I had known him during his goth or subsequent quasi-goth stages, we would not have dated. When we did meet, he had a nice military haircut. Totally acceptable and attractive!

My reasons for wanting to be hairless “down there” are numerous, from simple to upkeep, to cleanliness, to the “eww gross” factor during oral… the list goes on. No landing strips for me, either. Not a fan. It looks funny, to me. And it’s more upkeep! I’d have to trim and shave. I think that’s asking a bit much from a girl who doesn’t even get to shower as often as she’s like. (Aren’t you glad that you only know me virtually? lol. )

So, with that oh-so-essential background information, my candid account of getting a Brazilian wax while 7 months pregnant last Saturday follows:

***

The spa room was very nice. There were nice fresh sheets and towels on the table in the center of the room. The walls were painted in calming earthy tones, and soothing music played in the background. There were some nice iron scrolls on the walls, a hook and hanger for my clothes, and a display of creams and lotions.  I had just come from getting my hair cut and my maternity massage, so I was relaxed and feeling sexy and fun and flirty. The clinician, Rachel, offered me a drink of water or some tea. I politely declined – I think that peeing on the woman clearing out your bush is rude, right? I’ll be honest, I’m fuzzy on the proper protocol during a Brazilian wax.. but I think peeing on people is out unless you’re filming a crazy porn or something.

Rachel, by the way, is absolutely gorgeous. Long, dark, curly hair, big big eyes with long lashes, little cupid mouth. It was almost a little insulting how pretty she was. I mean c’mon. If I’m going to have someone staring at my vagina for an hour, I’d rather that she be less attractive than me. If she’s going to be more attractive than I am, and she’s looking at my vagina, she better not be down there to give me a Brazilian.

(Whoops, just outed myself. Bisexual, anyone?)

So, where was I? Oh yeah. Gorgeous girl, first Brazilian wax, 4 months of growth because I can’t reach my own hoo-hah and a huge pregnant belly.

She told me that I could hang my clothes on the hanger and get up on the table, she’d be right back.  That’s right folks, she left while I undressed. She also left while I dressed, at the end. How weird is that? I mean, it’s not like she wasn’t going to see it anyway!

Then again, after I had stripped and gotten up on the table, I draped a towel over myself. Even as I arranged it to keep my bits from showing, I questioned why I was bothering. I mean, she was going to be getting up close and personal. And yet… it would have felt so weird to leave it all hanging out!

So when she comes back in, I’m lying on my back, wondering why they didn’t bother to drywall the ceiling because those dated ceiling tiles are really unattractive to look at, when she pulls my leg to the side and plops some sugar-lemon gel on the area with a little spatula. No “How do you do, let me grab your leg here for a sec.” No “How about dinner? A movie? Sex in the back of my conversion van?” Not even a warning “Let’s go!” Just flip the towel aside, grap the spatula, plop the wax and hello, pain. Let me tell you – that gel is hot. And when it catches on the little hairs, it hurts a little. But I thought to myself, so far, so good. This’ll be quick and dirty. It’l hurt, but then I’ll be able to go, and I’ll never have to look this beautiful woman in the face again.  Then she grabbed one of those little waxing strips and laid it on the gel.  No problem. Then she took her whole hand (gloved, thankyouverymuch) and rubbed the strip down with significant pressure. Let me just say this – not so much a problem on the bikini line area. Totally strange when you get to the “inner” area. I was really, really glad that I wasn’t going to have to see her outside of this context.

Then she started talking to me, asking when I was due, did I have any names picked? I thought it was a little weird, but figured that she was curious and maybe trying to get her mind off of the task at hand (literally….)

I was right in the middle of telling her that I was due on ((RIP)) ((internal scream of surprise and pain)) November 4th, but that my daughter was ((RIP)) ((oh good lord that burns)) about 10 days early, so ((RIP)) ((I bet I’m as red as a tomato down there right now)) this one might be an October baby. With every bit of gel applied, she would apply the wax strip several times and rip, rip, rip away.

I was horrified at the pain. It burned. It hurt. It ached. It was sharp, and tingly, and there was nothing good about it, no way. I had heard that some women like to get this done. I think that whoever told me that was mistaken. They probably said that they like it as much as they’d like an ice pick to the eye. Or they like it as much as they’d like to swallow burning coals. Or that they like it as much as a visit from their mother-in-law while potty-training their first child, who happens to have diarrhea.

But I had started. And I figured that as long as I could just sit there, deal with the pain, and get it over with, I’d be fine.

But no. Rachel was seriously chatty.  She would ask me about how I liked living in B-town, and whether I liked it more than BL-town versus N-city, and how her boyfriend wanted to live in B-town but she wanted to live in N-city even though the commute would be worse, etc etc. Every so often, she’d pause, and squint at my lower half. I’m not sure if she was puzzled, or strategizing, or what. It was all very surreal and strange, and somewhat awkward.

It went on and on. This is not a quick process – it took 50 minutes to get everything.It was a pattern. Apply wax, ask a question, furiously rub on waxing strip, wait until I started my answer, RIP. I swear, she was doing it on purpose. She probably got some sort of sick thrill out of seeing whether she could get me to scream in the middle of my answer. (I’m proud to say that I did not! Though there was much wincing, pausing, and flinching)

I tried to rationalize the whole experience and say that it was good practice for childbirth.  I mean, pain at intervals lasting for 30 seconds to a minute (oh, the burning!) while maintaining conversation with the people around you. Because that’s totally how we all imagine our birth experience. Discussion about politics and complex science while also bringing life into the world, without any pain medication. I mean, that’s what my childbirth plan reads…. yeah.

The worst part was the end, though. I had told her that I wanted everything – even the wayyy back – gone. She tells me that the last part is the least painful, don’t worry, and if I could get up on the table on my hands and knees and arch my back, that would be great. (Oh, how many times have I heard that? “This won’t hurt a bit, now bend over… ) So, with my big ass and my pregnant belly and my ridiculous stretch marks, I got up on that table and posed like I was asking Hubby to do it doggy style. My stomach rested on the table. My back was arched, my ass was in the air, and she says to me “That’s great.”

Oh goodness.

So she applies the gel and gets the strip, and right after she pulls the strip off, I start to giggle.

A word of advice: the next time that you’re in a table, ass proudly displayed in the air, while someone removes the hair from your body using a spatula, wax, and some cloth strips, do not giggle. It’s weird. It puts a strange mood in the room. No matter that you quickly, VERY quickly explain that you’re just thinking about how funny this will be to tell people later, and that you’re thinking of getting an at-home wax kit so that your husband can see how it feels to have the hair brutally ripped from his body, or that you know it’s totally inappropriate and you’re so sorry you don’t mean to giggle but you just can’t stop…

It’s weird. And for the last few minutes of that waxing session, there will be a silence in the room, like a thick, wet, flannel blanket, dampening everything. And you’ll still be stifling giggles.

Needless to say, I’ll be back in four weeks to get it done again. (That’s right, go back and read that sentence again. No typos, I promise.) (It lasts four weeks!) (And Hubby is paying!)

Say Something

Women are Contrary Little Buggers

November 13, 2009 | about mommygeekology, married life | Tags: , , ,
16 Spoke Up - Say Something

Last night, Cupcake was particularly hard to put to sleep, and I was a particularly big bitch about it. I had no patience, and I let it show. I was pissed at myself for being such a douchey mother last night, so when I finally got back to the living room, I sat on the couch and wondered whether I should just go to bed, or stay up, try to be less grumpy, fail, and then ultimately go to bed.

I expressed this thought to my husband.

He laughed a little, and suggested I just go catch up on some sleep. Then he offered to handle bedtime tonight so I could try and hang out with a friend. But last night, not only was I a douchey, yelly, bitchy mother, but I was also a whiny, contradictory, bitchy wife.

I yelled at him for offering. I got grumpy, I pouted and stomped my feet and whined about how it never works out for me, and I never get to do anything after the kids go to sleep because something always happens to interfere, and WAH WAH WAH WOE IS ME.

Then I stomped into the bedroom, but I forgot my blanket. So I stomped back out, got my blanket and shut the door. But no, it didn’t end there. After my tirade (which he endured with his typical grace and – probably – inner amusement) I opened the door again and said “Don’t look at me like that, you told me to go to bed!”

Yes, it’s as unreasonable as it sounds. Possibly more.

I am a grown woman – what is WRONG with me? I had a nice enough evening. I played with my daughter while chatting with Holly, and I had a good meal. My day wasn’t particularly stressful and I’m not really PMSing. What excuse do I have? None, really. I wouldn’t put up with it from my kid, why do I expect my husband to put up with it?

I cried myself to sleep last night, not because I was so upset about the evening, but because I wanted to apologize. In my irrationality, though, I wanted HIM to come into the bedroom to comfort me, and THEN I would apologize. I apologized this morning, but still. Last night I was ridiculous.

Dear DaddyGeek,

Babe, I am so sorry. Thank you for putting up with me.

XOXO ~ MommyGeek

Say Something

Vignette: The Married Mom & Body Image

October 28, 2009 | making memories, married life | Tags: , , ,
18 Spoke Up - Say Something

She was never shy, but now, having given birth to two children in front of dozens of people she doesn’t know, it seem unnecessary to cover up.  Strips in the family room, next to a pile of clean laundry. The kids and her husband are in the room, but who cares? Those kids came from her; it’s nothing her husband hasn’t seen before.

Across the room, she catches her husband’s eye. He’s grinning a la Cheshire Cat and raises his eyebrows suggestively.

“Oh stop it. This-” she gestures along her body with her hand, an otherwise alluring gesture were it not for her words, “isn’t attractive anymore.”

He doesn’t say a word, just continues to smile and stare. She reaches into the laundry basket, searching for a simple, unembellished black top to go with the comfortable gray pants.  She almost doesn’t notice him sidle up behind her. He wraps his arms around her and hugs, rocking back and forth again to make his point.

As he walks away she smiles a little and says “Six years ago you wouldn’t have found this attractive.”

He still hasn’t said a word, but now she dresses with a quiet confidence.

Say Something

GTT – Romance Novels

September 24, 2009 | General, about mommygeekology, featured | Tags: , ,
15 Spoke Up - Say Something

Don’t forget to visit Girl Talk Thursday and link up your own Romance Novel post on Mr. Linky and check out all the other great posts! Play along!

I love romance novels. My mother still reads them diligently, and I definitely grab one from time to time. I learned a lot – a lot – about sex from these books, people. Forget about locking up your vibrator, you can pass that off as a toy, a massager or a bomb. Lock up your romance novels. I read my first one when I was about 11, I think. My mom didn’t know I had it, and it was racy. I mean, really racy.  It also introduced me to the word of bondage, but that’s a whole ‘nother story. In fact, I’m terribly dissapointed because I can’t remember what book it was!

My favorite books to read are based in one of two historical times — either some point in history where there are courtesans, elaborate dresses, dashing men on horseback and possibly a dalliance in the servants quarters, or the old West.

I love me some cowboys.

My absolute favorite stories are the ones where she does not want to love the man – but he makes her. He woos her, he fucks her, she gives in to the pure sexual tension and then they find love – but only after some absolutely ridiculous sex because that is the whole point of these books, girls.

Ok. I need to find a Barnes & Noble and a dark room with a lock. Now.


Say Something

Firm but Gentle

July 28, 2009 | philosophy | Tags: , , , ,
14 Spoke Up - Say Something

Firm but gentle is our  parenting motto. That’s not to say we always achieve it. I’d say that right now, we’re seeing a 60-40 split – 60% of the time we get it right, and 40% of the time we’re dead wrong.  At first, when Cupcake turned three years old and began the standard toddler behavior, we didn’t react quickly enough. We would wait, and wait, and suggest that she behave, or try ignoring it, or any manner of inconsistent methods, until it got out of hand. Then we’d yell.

Note to new parents: This method is ineffective.

We discussed one evening, my darling husband and I, and we decided, that, duh, it’s not working, and that we needed a new plan.

[crickets]

Crap. How do we deal with a toddler? So we decided that we’d go for consistent, and firm discipline — but gentle. No yelling and screaming. No spanking, because I don’t feel comfortable wtih it (though I’ve been tempted. Ok, so I slapped her bum once. I didn’t like it).  We are sticking with time-out’s for blatant violence and “Go to your room and calm down” for pretty much everything else.

So far, we’ve had limited success.

Her: *Smack*
Me: **Glare** “Cupcake, we do not hit. This is your warning. ”
Her: *Smack* “Give me a time out!” Squealing with joy. Literally. What the fuck?
Me: Well, obviously I can’t give her the satisfaction of all that. I think. Or should I? Crap, I don’t know. They don’t talk about this in the books. What the hell do I do? Shit, I have to respond. Timely, MG, Timely. Ok. Deep breaths. Alright well it’s been too long and now you might as well go for “Ignore it” because you’ve been sitting here and thinking. Ok, we’re going with ignore it.
Her: *Smack*
Me: Obviously that didn’t work. Fine, I’ll go with Time Out. I should have done that in the first time. Idiot. Stupid stupid stupid. “Cupcake, there is no hitting. 2 minute time out.”

We proceed to the bedroom, where we will have time out. I place her in the chair. I tell her that she will sit here for two minutes. She grins at me like she’s auditioning to be a clown. I leave the room. She follows. I silently, calmly, place her back into her chair. She grins. I turn and leave again.

Rinse. Repeat. For 15 minutes. I am not going to let her get away with this crap. Finally, she cries and gives up, and sits and sulks for two minutes. She apologizes, we kiss and hug, I feel victorious!

Then we wake up in the morning and do the whole damn thing again.

It’s difficult to continue to be firm and gentle and consistent in the face of that. Some days when she starts up with whatever annoying toddler thing she’s trying that day, I want to cry. Some days, I do cry. Some days, I laugh, for the sheer ridiculousness of the entire situation – for the sheer folly of trying to control a toddler. Toddlers: The Uncontrollable. It’s like a horror movie. Or a comedy. Or a drama. Frankly, it depends on what day you watch it.

There are mornings that I wake up and wish I could reason with her – but again, with the folly. What am I thinking? I speak in sentences longer than 6 words and her eyes glaze over and she starts to giggle and look away, babbling about the flowers waking up and the dollies taking a bath. She starts to grab the drawstring on my pants in an attempt to pull them down – which made me laugh once, and good LORD that was a mistake.

Note to new parents: Do not ever laugh at your toddler. They will run with it. It won’t be funny next time. {Probably}

It helps to know that we aren’t alone. I saw a toddler and her mother in a the grocery store the other day. The kid was pushing Mom’s buttons and I recognized the evil little grin on her cherubic face: she was obviously three years old, and she was obviously trying to make her mother crazy.  The mom looked a little frazzled, and we shared a knowing glance as I walked by. Cupcake was sitting quietly in the seat basket, staring at the other child taking notes acting like an angel – I gestured to her and said with a smile to the other mother, “Today, she’s an angel. Yesterday? Not so much.” We laughed a little laugh, and moved on, tending to our children. I felt buoyed by the experience. My uncertainties about our strategy and our effectiveness as parents dissipates more with each knowing smile, passing nod, shared chuckle. I’m convinced that this is exactly why Grandmothers so often hold the magic touch: they are unfazed. They feel confident. They are untouchable in their assurance that they are in charge, the Alpha, the leader. Their wisdom and words are rarely challenged and they snuff out dissension with a practiced glare.

I can’t wait until I have grandchildren. At least then someone will be afraid of me.


Say Something

Brutally Honest.

June 16, 2009 | making memories | Tags: , ,
21 Spoke Up - Say Something

I had started a post rehashing my adventure in the ER/hospital/surprise! Gallbladder Surgery! Many of you follow me on Twitter, though, and provided much-needed and much-appreciated support during that ordeal. Good thing, because I had the post almost finished, with Twitter excerpts and everything, when my computer shut down due to low battery power because plugging the cord into the computer is NO GOOD if it’s not also plugged into a power source. Ahem. Let’s blame the drugs, shall we?

Thus, I tip my hat to the universe and the blogging gods and whomever else controls such catastrophes, and say – Touche! I obviously should not be rehashing this series of events. Instead, let it suffice that I am home, relatively healthy minus one apparently unnecessary gallbladder, and that I damn thankful that I was able to pee twice today without someone measuring my urine ouput (In case you were wondering, I pee an average of 6-7 ounces per trip to the bathroom when I am drinking water throughout the day (and also receiving IV fluids). ).

(Yes, I know that period looks awkward sandiwiched between the parenthesis. That’s why double parentheticals aren’t grammatically correct.)

Let me, instead, tell you a little bit about some of the emotions and events of today. We will imagine that you are me, yes? Yes. You will.

First of all, being an adult and being in the hospital sucks. I mean seriously S.U.C.K.S. There is no other way to explain it. You feel alone. You want your mommy. You want your teddy. You want the nurses to stay and talk to you because jeez, the TV doesn’t even have a guide to flip through, you have to channel surf retro-style. In an effort to avoid these feelings of loneliness and depression, you will sleep more. They’ll tell you it’s the drug and that you’re sick and that you just had surgery but really it’s escapism.

This is actually a smart course of action and if you can spend your entire stay sleeping, I would strongly suggest it. I say this because when you are not sleeping, you may or may not call your husband and mother incessantly, annoying them. Also, if you are a mother, you may feel as though you are being crushed under the weight of the guilt you feel, having gotten sick and now sitting on your arse doing nothing at all except healing, which is ridiculous, you should be able to multitask that shit because your kids? They need you. Obviously. (Even though they are doing fine and hardly miss you.)

Once you’re done being crushed by guilt over being sick, you can wrestle with the almost as daunting guilt over being sort of glad that you are alone at the hospital, knowing that you are almost enjoying this, because damnit you can blog and watch TV and snack and Twitter and the only people who bother you are nurses offering you happy juice. Two words for you – AWE SOME.

Sometime in the afternoon, if you are me, you will also deal with the crushing guilt over knowing that your husband’s long-planned trip to Florida for a few days with his guy buddy and godfather to your most recent daughter J, will be cancelled. J will still need to go and get things out of storage, but DaddyGeek won’t be able to, because you can’t be left alone with the kids so soon, and there’s only so much your family can pitch in to help – they have jobs and committments, too. (Which, for the record, they would drop in a heartbeat if absolutely necessary, but the two of you decide together that it is not in fact necessary).

Then you are released, and you try to hide your shame over the fact that the eighteen year old hottie who is wheeling you down to the valet parking just graduated from HIGH SCHOOL, has freaking awesome hair and a gorgeous face and you checked her out and DaddyGeek didn’t (he was getting the car) (oops).

Also, eighteen-year-old-hottie has better hair than you right now, and you feel shame that you washed your hair yesterday with combination “Hair, Body and Perineal Shampoo”. Yeah, that’s right. Delicious, eh?

Finally, though, you will arrive home. J arrives shortly after while DaddyGeek goes to get the kids. DaddyGeek hasn’t broken the news to J yet. When that DOES start to happen, J gets an attitude. Shit. DaddyGeek is likely to cave under this pressure from his friend of 20 years, and you know it. You tell DaddyGeek and J to go get some dinner and work it out (read: DaddyGeek, go tell J somewhere else, I don’t want this awkward attitude BS in my home right now, I just had effing surgery.) You believe DaddyGeek understands you. Besides, you already decided on a course of action this morning, so it’s all good. J will get over it – life happens.

You are on the phone with your mother when DaddyGeek beeps in — on her line. You already know what’s coming. You advice your mother not to give in to DaddyGeek’s requests, and get off the phone. DaddyGeek calls shortly after. DaddyGeek wants to know why your mother is being so difficult.  You explain to DaddyGeek that you told her to -because there was already an agreement.

One of the larger fights of your marraige ensues, over the phone at first, while you hold the baby you aren’t supposed to be picking up and feed her a bottle you weren’t supposed to make while awkwardly clutching her to your sore stomach.

When DaddyGeek gets home, J peels off in anger (unacceptable, we live in a family community of apartments and not only would we be possibly partly liable for any damage/injury/death that ensued as a result, damage/injury/death are also completely uncalled for. So is childish screeching of tires.) and DaddyGeek comes in. He knows he is in trouble.

More of one of the largest fights of your marraige continues, as quietly as possible, in front of the children.

There is crying.

Finally, DaddyGeek understands where you are coming from. (You are angry, by the way, that DG went behind your back and talked to your mother about a plan, also that he reneged on your original plan, also that you were not consulted and isn’t this a goddamn partnership?!?!? and also that a little pressure from J made him change his mind, and ultimately that he attempted to choose J over you and your recovery and your family. Attempted, because like any good wife/mother/partner, I steered him not-so-gently in the right direction. Perhaps with my fist and a bucketful of well-placed guilt.)

Once DG is facing solidly in the right direction and has fully understood the potential and actual consequences of his actions, apologies are made and we kiss smile at each other and make up go about the business of bedtime preparation.

Now it is bedtime. You are sore because you spent the afternoon and evening at home doing all the things you were NOT supposed to do post-op, and you are writing a quick, brutally honest, unedited blog post before going to bed. Well, you might watch The Closer before going to bed. But that’s neither here nor there.

———————————————————-

Also, you really missed your kids. A lot. And you have no idea how you are going to survive BlogHer.

Say Something

Children. Marraige. Naptime. It’s all connected.

June 4, 2009 | making memories | Tags: , , , ,
13 Spoke Up - Say Something

I just can’t muster up the energy.  Of course, the energy required to post on the blog is of a different sort entirely, and so thus, here I am. Sam I am. (Ok, my name isn’t Sam. You’ve outed me. Oh wait, that was my previous post. )

Yesterday The other day I took a vacation day to try and do some more packing, spend some time with the kiddos and give my mom a chance to switch her cable service (seriously, those guys take forever and a day. And a half.) Since I’m on the subject of confessions lately, and also riding the high of a new, undiscovered-by-my-family-and-I-pray-to-God-it-stays-that-way blog, let me admit that sometimes, when I am going to be alone with the children all day, I feel intimidated.

It’s not really the whole day that gets to me. It’s naptime. I’d written about this on my previous blog — naptime scares the hell out of me. I both adore and loathe naptime. It depends on the day/hour/minute/week which side (adoration or loathing)  is winning.

Things have been getting better lately — Cupcake has successfully fallen asleep in her bed at naptime and bedtime several times.. unfortunately, just as many times saw us still awake and fighting to get her to sleep at 9:30, 10:00 and even 10:30 pm (last night. sigh).

Here’s hoping that the new apartment makes a big difference in our sleeping habits coming up. At least I’m finally sleeping in the bed next to my husband again – something we haven’t done in almost a year. One of us always slept on the couch to be closer to Cupcake just in case she needed us — we needed to establish a feeling of security for her, so that she wouldn’t be afraid to go to sleep. So she would know that Mommy and Daddy were there if she needed us.  It was the right thing to do, but man did it suck. So we are finally sleeping next to each other (I’ve missed it, which is surprising, because my darling, dearest DG does snore quite a bit) (love you, babe!) again! Yay!

But still. Naptime and bedtime come around and I feel a little tinge of nervousness — which is foolish, because most of the time, DG is taking care of it! When I am doing the bedtime routine, though… still a teensy bit of nervousness that it will end up a disaster.

I don’t want to get frustrated and be harsh with her. I don’t want to get tense and stressed and have bedtime associated with something negative.

We’ll keep taking baby steps. DG and I will still practice a zen-like calm in the face of toddler bedtime tantrums and chatty Cathy-ness, wide-awake eyes at 10pm and general tomfoolery at an time that we should be cuddling (or at least tap-tap-tapping on our respective laptops while sitting next to each other on the couch) and enjoying some togetherness.

Children sure do put a strain on marraige, huh?

Say Something

I wanna spend my lifetime loving you.

May 19, 2009 | General | Tags: , ,
5 Spoke Up - Say Something

Dear DaddyGeek,

Have I told you lately what a wonderful husband you are? Have I mentioned that I feel blessed and thrilled and excited to be working with you? Have I mentioned that I love you? These past few weeks have been great.  I enjoy seeing you around the office.  Sometimes I feel like we’re in the budding beautiful beginning of our relationship.  I’m more motivated to dress nicely, put on makeup, take a shower, even! Truly, it’s wonderful.

You are an amazing, supportive, helpful husband. You are understanding of the complicated relationship that I have with my mother when other husbands would have presented an ultimatum. Not you.  You simply nod your head, hold my hand, rub my neck, and tell me that you understand, you can’t blame me, and that you think I’m a strong and beautiful woman.

I want you to know how much you mean to me. I want you to know that on my way to work, when a love song comes on the radio, sometimes I cry when I sing along because the beauty and perfection of this love we have? It hits me hard in the chest and takes my breath away.

Thank you for everything that you have given me. Thank you for everything you’ve given to our family. Thank you for all the things I know that you will continue to give – your love, support, understanding, effort, caring, imagination, strength, peace, reason and so much more.

Love your imperfect but perfectly happy wife,

MommyGeek.

Say Something
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