Motherhood and other creative adventures
Mama and Baby stay in jammies Day!
Let’s be honest, these days? Are usually stay in jammies days for me. But on those rare occasions when no therapists are coming over and I don’t have to go somewhere and nothing absolutely positively has to get done? There is nothing I like better than just lying low and cuddling my kid.
Tuesday was Bear and my 8th wedding anniversary.
It’s kind of amazing that it’s only been eight years and at the same time I feel like such an old lady. We’ve been through more in our eight years than most people deal with in a lifetime. Other than infidelity, I cannot think of a single challenge we haven’t been through. Try to stump me, I dare you.
This anniversary, coming in the middle of major job issues, renewed fertility issues (more on that in another post), my own personal quarter-life crisis, house issues, blah blah blah, was a little awkward to celebrate. We’re more in love than ever, but it’s hard to really celebrate anything when you have no idea what tomorrow will bring.
Earlier in the month we went to Avenue Q to celebrate, and we have to save every penny we can get our hands on should we have to move, so we didn’t exchange presents. Instead we just went out to Black Angus (with a coupon). Whenever we go we always order the same thing, Bear gets a steak and I get the prime rib, and it’s always just fine. Nothing spectacular, but a nice hunk of meat. Normally we love discovering new restaurants, but that’s always hit and miss, and for our anniversary we wanted something we could count on to be edible.
We should have realized we were in trouble when the coupon was expired. It was a warning. But we had already ordered drinks and eaten all the bread, so we figured we’d just suck it up and pay the extra ten bucks. From that point on, absolutely nothing went right. Someone tried to help our cute waitress by refilling our drinks and then forgot to bring them back. Bear ordered a medium well steak and it came out bleeding. I paid extra to have asparagus as a side and they came out like charcoal. I hate sending food back, it’s usually more trouble than it’s worth, but I paid extra for the asparagus, dangit, so I asked for new veggies.
While our cute waitress was attending to that, I started tucking in to my prime rib only to find a big yellow chunk of sponge cuddling up to my meat. I poked at it a couple of times, thinking it must surely just be a piece of breading that hopped aboard, but no, that was definitely not edible. I showed Bear and let him poke at it before I said anything. Sure enough, “Is that a SPONGE?” Bear and I just looked at each other and burst out laughing.
Our cute waitress came out with some beautifully grilled asparagus, apologizing all over herself, and I had to break the bad news that some charred asparagus was now the least of her problems. She just grabbed the plate away from me as her face paled and said her manager would be right over. Bear and I were laughing so hard we sounded crazy. Crazy, unhinged, manic laughter. We were pounding each other on the back and crying. Little old people all over the restaurant were shooting us stink eyes.
The manager came over, humiliated, and begged our forgiveness, explaining that this never ever happened. They had run out of the sponges they normally use to wipe down the edges of the plates before sending them out, and had grabbed the cheap kind from Wal-Mart that had apparently disintegrated as soon as it hit my plate. Plus, the asparagus was going out of season so their last shipment was full of tiny little guys that the cooks were still grilling as long as the big fat ones from July. She bought my steak, she offered us dessert and wine, she did all but rend her clothes in two.
Meanwhile, we were still fighting the giggles about Spongeprime ribpants that I’d been mowing down. We both knew, without even saying a word, that this was a perfectly fitting way to spend our anniversary. Of course my fabulous meal would end up inedible. Of course the one freak lapse in quality at a great restaurant would happen on our plates. We go in shooting for upper class and get our butts kicked. It’s totally appropriate that as we sit across from each other, holding hands and basking in our love, what comes our way is not what we ordered.
Last Friday Bear and I went out to the movies to see Blades of Glory. We’ve been meaning to see it since the very first time we saw the preview. We were so excited we practically made a paper chain to count it down, and yet once it was in the theater it took us two weeks to get around to it. Now that I’m working, all I want to do when I get home is put my pj’s on and not move. And certainly not sit down in another chair. Where other people are.
Despite my reservations, we went anyway, and I was glad that I did. The movie is stupid funny. Or maybe I should say stoopid funny. As well as stupid funny. Blades of Glory is stoopid stupid funny. Plus Jon Heder is a fellow Latter Day Saint and BYU alum, so I am double duty bound to support him. Bear and I have a tradition whenever we see a movie in the theater. We leave the house about 45 minutes before the movie starts so we have plenty of time to stop by Target to pick up candy and drinks and stuff them in my giant knock-off Kate Spade bag, and then grab seats in what we refer to as “The Foot Row.” In most movie theaters these days, the first row of the upper section is the best seat in the house. You rarely get people sitting in front of you, and you have a railing at just the right height to put your feet up on. He’s even carried this tradition home because now even as we’re watching television, he puts his feet up on the big red chair. Friday night we get there with plenty of time to spare and make ourselves comfortable. This theater had a few seats in front of the foot row for handicap access, but we still had room to put our feet up above those seats. We settled in and waited for the laughs to start.
When the movie ended, Bear grabbed my arm to keep me seated and hid his face behind my shoulder. I asked him what was going on and he just whispered “I’m so embarrassed!” He seemed to be satisfied the danger was passed when he told me what he had done.
Unbeknownst to us, a couple of girls had come in at some point during the movie and sat down in the handicap accessible seats directly in front of us. We were stretched out putting our feet all over the place, making ourselves at home in our beloved foot row, when Bear put one of his feet through the bars and rested it on the armrest of the seat in front of him. WHILE SOMEONE WAS SITTING THERE!!
Can you imagine how disgusting that would be to be sitting there enjoying a movie when all of a sudden some strange guy’s foot comes and nearly touches you? IN FLIP FLOPS NO LESS??
Oh gosh, I get the shivers just thinking about it.
I laughed so hard at my poor little husband that I thought I just might vomit. It paled any humor I might have enjoyed over the previous two hours. The movie was great and all, but even Will Ferrell couldn’t compete with that little move.
Last night I took Bear to the airport for a business trip. He’s off in Seattle this week, learning how to do his job from someone else who’s really good at it. He spent today in Lynnwood, and then tomorrow he’ll be in Tacoma. It’s a little wierd knowing he’s in my old stomping grounds without me. It’s been ten years since I spent any time there, so who knows if anything is still even the same, but it makes me a little wistful to think about what he’s seeing. Having the whole house to myself with nothing to do might also contribute to that emotion.
He’s been off on business before, and I’ve traveled for business a ton, so we should be used to time apart, but we’re not. We seem to be one of those rare couples who don’t actually like time away from each other. When we were first married I used to look at other couples and worry about the future of their marriages because they seemed to relish a break from their spouse. Now, I recognize that we’re the oddballs. So many times Bear will make a comment at work about how he likes to spend time with me, or sacrifices that we’ll make so we can be together, and everyone around him will react with shock and either horror or awe.
He’ll be back on Thursday night and I’m already feeling rootless. I enjoy the odd night to myself. Tonight I had dinner at my favorite cafe and now I’m watching an interview on BookTV with Michael Chabon while I wait for the iron to heat up so I can work on a sewing project. This is a perfect night in my book, and all activities that I have to ration when Bear’s around, but I’ve still spent more time wandering around and pacing the halls then actually relaxing or getting things done. I just don’t seem to know what to do with myself without him anymore.
The other night we watched the movie Great New Wonderful which had a storyline involving an elderly couple where the wife waited on the husband and went completely neglected and unappreciated. Bear stopped the movie to ask, “Do I ever make you feel like that?” I thought it was so sensitive of him. We had a really good talk about personal interests and how we can support each other in them better to make sure that we both remain ourselves. I loved him so much for that. For caring enough to ask and for being brave enough to hear the answer.
I can never make my mind up if we’re overly dependant on each other or if our interdependance is a virtue. Right now I just now that I miss him after one night and Thursday can’t come soon enough.
I’m freaking out a little bit over here.
We leave town Friday night to fly down to the OC to do a quick weekend Christmas visit with Bear’s parents. And I have to have everything finished by then. And I’m no where close. And my friend is coming over tonight for help with a lesson for church. And I just started my period.
I have to make a 20 page 6 x 6 scrapbook for Bear’s sister, do all the laundry in the house for our trip, pick up photos, finish the Christmas cards and get those in the mail, pick up a mess of gift cards, and pack for the trip. In a day and a half. While my guts are trying to kill me. And I’m all out of glue.
Last night was my birthday. And I spent it at this super cool craft fair/indie music concert. It was put on by my friend Julie and her organization hand born. She’s so awesome because here in boring old Modesto, she and her crew are working like mad people to inject some culture and fun, so she created this whole underground art movement to get the scattered cool people together and working towards something that could make a difference.
Normally I despise craft fairs because I can’t handle the rejection. They each have their own crazy rules for how much space you’re allowed, if you can use power or can’t use power or if they’ll charge for power, and some of them charge you a fortune for the chance to sit there all day and pray someone will actually give you some money after you’ve worked for three weeks to create enough whatever to fill up your table. But usually they don’t give you money, they walk by, say your stuff is so cute and so neat and smile and walk away. And you die inside a little bit more each time.
But this one turned out great for me. Julie only charged us $20, and she hustled to get people there. We had a great turnout. A lot of people were there for the show and to drink, so most vendors had a bad night, but I did pretty good because I priced my stuff CHEAP. Everything was $5, whereas most other vendors didn’t have anything under $20. So I had a great time, met a lot of really cool people, got invited to a couple more fairs, made some nice money, and I ran into Ruben there. I had a great time.
Although I nearly didn’t. The night before the craft fair I was working like mad to finish off the stuff I wanted to sell, but I totally ran out of time and had a breakdown. Tami, the woman I work with at church, asked me to come and supervise the teenagers at a service project that I was totally planning to get out of, but she stressed to me that she really needed me there. So I dropped everything and went only to find out that everybody was already taken care of and I was extraneous. I was pretty frustrated, so I went home and SURPRISE! Bear had thrown together my 7th annual surprise party. It was so sweet and he really did surprise the heck out of me. I was so stressed with craft fair and church and Christmas, I didn’t even notice his traditionally suspicious behavior. Turns out that Tami knew I wasn’t needed, but she was in charge of keeping me out of the house so the guests could come over.
I had a blast, and it was really smart of Bear to force me to drop my stupid self-imposed stresses and have some fun on my birthday. But at 5 in the morning when I was still painting and hadn’t slept in two days, I was not so much thinking about my wonderful, caring husband and how much he does for me, so much as I was thinking, “How could he have planned a party the NIGHT BEFORE a craft fair! How am I ever going to get everything done now, what was he thinking.” As I’ve said, I may be able to knit and crochet and sing a song, but I am not a nice person much of the time. I woke him up that morning by sobbing into my paintbrush, so he cleaned me up and put me to bed and practically sat on my chest until I fell asleep so I wouldn’t try to get back up and paint one more box. I have no idea how he lives with me, but at least I’m productive.
Yesterday was my 6 year wedding anniversary. In some ways I cannot believe that six years of my life have already past and I’m still very close to the situation I was in when I got married. We’re not in school anymore, but we still have no money, our furniture is one step up from milk crates (thanks IKEA!), no kids, future indeterminate.
But in other ways I can’t believe it’s only been six years. I cannot think of a time when my life was not tied to this man. Because I have not an ounce of trust in my nature, I have more than once thought what I would do if Bear died or if something happened that forced me to leave him. And every single time the answer terrifies me. I have no idea. I have no family of my own, and by now I have very few friends that I’d call mine alone, I don’t have a career or even a job that could support me, and my health has me disabled. If Bear ever starts to mistreat me, the fact of the matter is that for at least a little while I’d have to take it. But even in my most pessimistic, cynical imaginings I cannot come up with a scenario where he would. And short of death I know he’d never leave me.
I just happened to find a man that breaks every stereotype. He’s big and muscular and athletic, and the most tenderhearted person I’ve ever known. He kisses the cats as much as I do, cries during commercials, and gets self conscious in public. There is not an ounce of ego in him. He relies on my opinion in all things, most especially my opinion of him. For a time he honestly thought so little of himself that the only way I could pick him up was to draw a complicated logic problem proving that if I thought he was wonderful, and if he thought I was wonderful enough to only associate with wonderful people, then it follows that by my associating with him, he must be wonderful. And it worked. And he got through that rough patch.
He hangs out with his friends only when I have plans. If I’m free, he wants to be with me. He wants to talk to me about his day and hash out everything that happened and every possible course of action. Six years into our marriage there are still nights that we stay up all night just talking.
And he has never once suggested anything short of complete love when he’s asked to work a full day, make dinner, wash the dishes, put away the laundry, make me up a bed on the couch, fetch me pills and drinks, entertain me, help me to the bathroom, shower me and wash my hair, and put me to sleep. Without having sex.
I love him. And tying my life to his has forced me to develop trust I never had before. But he’s earned it so many times over.
Bear has two hobbies: watching television, particularly if a ball is involved somehow, and me.
Occasionally this drives me crazy. Like when I want to finish reading my book and he wants my attention. Or when I want to share something I love like art or the theater and he has no interest. But especially when I have to buy him a present for something. Every time a holiday rolls around I end up begging him to take up bird watching, or road cycling, or chess. Anything that involves related presents I could buy for him. Instead he ends up getting that new pair of shoes he’s been needing but putting off, or underwear. I wrack my brain and that’s the best I can come up with.
But usually I recognize his habits as the tremendous gift they are. I will never be a hobby widow. Bear will never divert money from our household expenses so he can have a new toy. He’ll never lose our lifesavings after a round of Texas Hold Em. He’ll never abandon me for a night out with the boys. In one of the areas we lived, all the wives would get together and scrapbook for an evening, and the husbands would all drag their computers out and play Counterstrike. For literally days at a time. Bear would try to hang with the crowd and be a good sport, but after a few hours he’d be clawing to get out. He never could understand the appeal, you don’t talk to anyone, you don’t move around, you just sit there, occasionally inhaling second hand smoke, and try to kill imaginary people. How does that compare to a night on the couch with your hot wife?
Yes, I know. I’ve got it good.
Today being Bear’s day off, he had to deposit his paycheck in the bank because his place of employment is actually archaic enough to not offer direct deposit. So he let me sleep in, put a tape in for General Conference, and hoped a bus to the bank. Then he had an hour to kill while he waited for the next bus, so he decided to go to the mall, and buy me a present. He decided that we were due for a little splurge with how tight we’ve been living, and he thought the best way that he could splurge would be to buy me something special. Gosh I love the way this man’s mind works.
So he went to the bookstore but didn’t see anything readily displayed and felt in over his head. So he went to the media store to buy me a DVD of one of my favorte TV shows but they were too expensive. So then, he went to the video game store and found a used copy of a platform game – Rayman 2 – that we could play together because that’s our idea of a great time. Because we are so L7, daddio.
And then. Knowing that I’ve been craving a steak so badly that I’m ready to go hunting myself (perish the thought!) he stopped at the barbeque place up the street and got tri-tip beef sandwiches. Made with freshly smoked meat. And an ice cold Coke. It was so good, I cried.
With my health as bad as it is, Jared has to do everything for me. Including, occasionally, bathe me. I sometimes feel guilty he got saddled with this, but his heart is so good, he just loves being needed.
Bear and I wanted to go out and about today so we don’t kill each other from cabin fever, and I have overdue library books, so we decided to take the bus down to the little downtown Modesto area, return the books, and window shop. It’s a gorgeous day today, so we checked the bus schedule and headed out.
Too bad the bus schedule was wrong. Apparently the bus only comes on the hour on Saturday’s, so after sitting there for 40 minutes we decided to come back to the house, eat lunch, let Bear change his shirt because it’s so gorgeous out it’s too warm for long sleeves, and try again at 1.
This didn’t phase us much because it’s a beautiful day, we’re out of our apartment, and for once it didn’t cost us any money, so I was still in a great mood despite the minor setback. I was smiling along, enjoying the sun with my big strong man’s arm around me and I just realized that despite the comic tragedies that keep popping up, I’ve got it pretty darn good. Because the truth is, Bear and I have the best relationship we’ve ever seen. I know “Everybody Loves Raymond,” but whenever we watch that show we look at each other and say, “Why are they even married? They don’t even seem to like each other.” And yet that’s the show that the majority of people identify with these days.
When I say we’re best friends, I’m not just saying that because I’m supposed to. I don’t long for girl time, I want Bear to go everywhere I go. We’re joined at the hip. In fact, our idea of a great date night is when I cook a big dinner, and then Bear plays a platform video game while I watch and help him solve the puzzles. We like it because we play as a team. Go Team Dixon! I know. Squaresville. But we’re poor right now and we don’t drink, so we take our fun where we can get it.
We’ve only been married for 6 years in August, and yet in that time we’ve dealt with every marriagebuster short of infidelity. Unemployment? Yup. Moving? 8 times. In-law troubles? You could sat that. Infertility? Uh-Huh. And here we are, more grossly, syrupy, disgustingly in love than ever.
So I turn to Bear as we’re walking arm in arm in the sunshine and I say, “We’ve got it pretty good, you know that?” And here he says the thing that kills the mood entirely.
“In terms of the *connection* we have? Absolutely.”
What?? You’re describing our deep abiding and sustaining love in reality television show terms?
You’re so on the couch tonight, buddy.