How Pandora Made Me Cool It

Parenting is an exercise in giving up. You thought you were in control? Don’t let your relatively easy pregnancy fool you into believing that you were ready for what was coming. The instant that baby comes into the world, you surrender it all. Not just the restful nights when you think you can turn it all off. Nope. Even if the baby is a sleeper, she still keeps you up worrying. Why is she sick? Does she have typhoid? Why isn’t she sick? She should have had at least eleventy billion colds by now. Something’s wrong because she’s well all the time.

Yes, that last thought was one that I have had.

There is a lot of truth to the statement “I was a better parent before I had kids.” Everything you think you won’t do, you do do. And that do do? It rules your life. But I digress. You said you’d never give them snacks with added sugar, but that was before you realize that it’s really hard to find snacks without sugar in them that don’t cost at least 50% more than the regular snacks. You said that you’d make time for your marriage. There would be dates. But where are those dates? It’s hard to get romantic when you think about the extra cost of babysitters.

That giving up is good, though. Take the Great Pandora Debate that’s been going on in our household for the last week or so. I’d make a Pandora’s Box joke but that just seems too easy. So we have Pandora Internet radio. Not the kind you pay for and have the ads removed. When you look down our list of stations when they are sorted by “date added”, you can easily see when C started really getting into music because there’s a break from “Passion Pit” radio to ”Ella Jenkins” radio. ”Schoolhouse Rock” radio. ”Disney” radio. She likes that stuff. Granted, she likes some of our music too, but she likes that kid music better, and that’s OK by me because I only make stations for her that I don’t mind listening to as well. Do yourself a favor and make a Schoolhouse Rock station. You’ll thank me later.

So we listen to the music throughout the day, and sometimes my husband will just switch the music mid-song. Such a habit can be filed among the minutiae of life that one only notices when s/he has settled into a routine with his/her family. Switching the Pandora station without asking is our family’s equivalent of my own father’s annoying penchant for channel surfing during commercial breaks when I was a kid. Both of these habits just annoy me. Let the song play to completion, dangit. It’s going to be hard enough to instill any degree of patience in C since she entered the world at a time when all she needs to do is Google a query when she needs to know something. I can only image how my own ADD would have been exacerbated had I been born 25 years later than I was. The invention of Twitter decimated all the focus I was able to accumulate during the first 29 years of my life.

But I chose my battles. I give up not out of exhaustion but because doing so helps me keep control of perspective. Pro tip: the only thing you need to control in life is your perspective because everything else is gravy. This is for my own good as well as that of my family. The baby is not going to be scarred for life if B cuts off the end of “Do Re Mi.” She will withstand the onslaught of hearing Grimes instead of Raffi. She is completely aware of how much he loves her, and that is something that she will never second guess. Thirty years from now, she may not remember the third verse to “The Wheels On the Bus”, but she will know that her father adores her and has been doing so ever since she was a baby. And that’s what matters.

Grapes, Balls, Colds, and Love

I just had one of those moments. One of those moments that I really, really need these days.

First, some background. I have not been sleeping well. I think the last time I slept all the way through the night without waking was about three weeks ago. Let that sink in a sec: my baby is sleeping better than I am. I guess that’s a good problem to have, but the problems and worries that are keeping me up almost cancel them out. B’s job hunt continues. We thought we had some leads, but they ended up being for naught. We are now about a month and a half away from having to re-sign another contract with his school, and I’m beginning to think that in that period of time he is not going to find another, better job. It makes me so frustrated to think that all the work we’ve both been putting into his applications isn’t going to pan out. It also makes me frustrated to think we likely have another entire year left here. I am impatient. I want to get a move on on this hypothetical life that I’ve imagined for us.

We were all sick today. This is C’s first real cold, and even though she’s handling it with a lot of grace, the fact that B and I don’t feel well makes it hard. Our apartment has been a disaster all day. All I did was pick up after the both of them. Since I praise B so much here I think I am allowed to say today that he is sometimes kind of infuriating to live with. He really doesn’t have the picking-up-after-himself skill set. I asked him yesterday if he could kindly show a little initiative and unload the dishwasher if it’s done running, to which he replied that all I had to do was ask and he would do it. I hate being a taskmaster. It’s such a cliche, but there’s a lot of truth to the statement that the sexiest thing a guy can do is perform some household chores without being asked.

So we’re sick. We’re run down. I’m resigning myself to another year here. I am not looking forward to taking C’s bassinet to Babies ‘R Us tomorrow and trading it in for a discount on a big kid carseat*. I don’t care if she slept *maybe* a total of 10 hours in that thing. It still makes me weepy. We already packed her infant swing away this week. This is more than one mama can handle in the span of a week.

*Which, BTW, never happened.

But then – BUT THEN – she makes me put it all in perspective. I’m sitting on the floor with her and we’re practicing rolling a ball back and forth to each other. That’s it. That’s the story. We’re rolling a ball. It’s meaningful to me that my girl can do this. I roll the ball to her and she gets giddy to grab it and push it back to me.

A few days ago C and I were Skyping with B’s cousin who lives and teaches in Korea. He and his girlfriend at the time moved there when we still had about eight months left in our contracts. B’s cousin doesn’t have kids and really doesn’t want them, but he’s interested in the whole transformation of a person into a parent. He was telling me about his friend who had a kid and was freaking out when the baby ate a grape. The baby ate a grape. And our baby rolled a ball. Woo woo.

The thing is, only two years ago this child didn’t even exist. Now she exists and rolls balls. And gets colds. And evidently wakes up at 1:30AM to talk to her nightlight? They are tight.

So when she eats a grape, you had better be sure I’ll freak out in a good way. That little grape grew on a vine to nourish my little grape, which is all oddly reassuring to yours truly, The Worrier.

Some thoughts for Friday. Because it’s Friday already. I know, I’m shocked too.

This is another installment in the “Emily doesn’t really have a theme to her blog right now but that’s OK” series. In related news, I am enjoying my relaxed hold on blogging. Treating this space more like the diary I originally intended it to be feels right. I am, however, working on a piece on one of my favorite books from when I was a kid. It should be a bit more topical. I’m excited! Really!

So the jobs. B and I have been waffling over whether our decision to quit his job and move this year is still a good idea. And for today, at least, it is. A deal is in the works to sell off our portion of some family real estate. The idea is not to live off the money that we would gain from selling it but instead to put it towards helping B’s mom purchase her home, which we would eventually inherit outright. This is a long term plan and I’m not entirely sure how it fits into our present situation, but it all seems to be related in that even if he can’t find a teaching job for the Fall right away, we would at least have a place to live while he continues to search. All will be OK. I’m learning that. Granted, I’m learning it by waking several times in the night and worrying for good measure. But the panic attacks are few and far between.

I was reading a post that Lisa wrote recently about the new year. She was talking about the things that she wanted to leave behind in 2012. (Side note: I loved 2012 because it was The Year of C but I could do without everything else. The Sandy Hook tragedy alone cancelled out any positive feeling I could have mustered for the year. I’m still sick when I think about it, especially since the NRA is being so predictably horrible in their response.) Anyhoo, Lisa is basically my Blogga Mama and I am going to be sticking by her side as she confronts a host of challenges this year. Her post made me think about the New Years post I wrote at the beginning of last year, and how my values and mindset have changed. As I read it back, I see a pregnant woman who has no idea of all that is coming. I’m glad that 2012 was a year of personal growth for me. I suspect that 2013 will be the same, and while I fear the challenges that are coming, I relish the opportunity to give my family the best of me. I can only become that person by putting myself through the fire and refusing to worry about things that are so transitory.

So if you pray, say one for us. It doesn’t have to be long or ornate. I don’t think God minds if your words aren’t all King Jamesian. There’s one job in particular that I’m thinking specifically about that may or may not make B into the coworker of one of my favorite people on The WordPress. So for the posts that would come out of that situation alone, keep us in your hearts.

The Time I Met a Blogger

It’s no secret that I love talking to y’all on my blog. It seems like one out of every eight posts I do is about blogging in some form, and that’s because it has become a big part of my life and something that I get a lot of gratification from. The World of Blog keeps revealing itself to me and I love it more fervently with each little thing I learn about it. I love the people, I love the writing, I love the comments, I love the reading, I love the projects. I even love the spam. O how I love the spam.

I can now add a new thing I love about blogging. Meeting the people face-to-face is wonderful. In the past several months, I have Skyped with L’Eric and Never Contrary, two of my favorite WordPressers. Both times, I put voices and faces with the words on the screen and was filled with warmth. The humans behind the blogs exceeded their online personae, and that’s saying a lot. They are real. Not only are they not scary, they are as delightful and smart and interesting as they appear in their blogging.

But there was still that screen involved. We find a lot of safety in our screens. Even when people leave nasty comments, we have the fail-safe of the delete button. We still remember that those things were said, but pressing delete is neat and tidy. The screen is good, but it’s not always as satisfying as we want it to be. Meeting a person in the reality of life gives us a sensory experience that can’t be matched.

So begins my thoughts on the time I met Kelly. Like, met-met her.

Guys, she’s as great as she seems.

I have been reading her blog since right before her Lucy was born, so when I held Lucy in my arms while Kelly unfurled a blanket for her to sit on, it was one of those Oprah-esque fully circle moments. My people met her people and it was so satisfying and fun. Her Emily climbed a tree at the co-op where we met while she, B, and I held our babies and gushed about the Internet and why we love this place. Scratch that. B didn’t gush; I don’t think he’s capable of doing so, but he had a time that leaned on the great side, so we’ll take that. As we made the longish drive home that afternoon, his approval of my online and now real friend came through loud and clear:

“You know who Kelly reminds me of?”

“No, who?”

“She reminds me of OG.” OG is one of our friends from Korea who is charismatic and exuberant. She fills the room with the bestest of energy whenever she walks in. She’s passionate and smart and she loves hard. The same can be said of Kelly.

A few minutes passed. I took a nap in the backseat of the car with C and when I woke, B had another comment.

“So, what does Kelly blog about?”

The fact that he asked this at all was a Big Deal. B likes all y’all alright because he knows I love you, but his world of the Internet is very different from my own. There’s not a lot of overlap between mom blogging on WordPress and publishing flarf poetry on Tumblr. But he asked. Kelly is apparently that bridge. She intrigued him, and that’s another not-small thing.

“She writes about being a mom and her life but her words are just delicious. She is a Mom on Fire.”

And she is. Kelly is the best of the web.

The reason I say all this is because in her specialness, Kelly is what I know you all are like. We are in good company with each other. Amidst the noise of the Internet, we have all found our ways towards each other, and that leaves me extremely grateful.

Photography credit goes to Emily, Kelly’s big girl. Wee Cee was zonked out in the background.

Big Deals and Survival

I tend to blow negative things out of proportion. This time each year, I freak out about money because B goes back to school and only teaches classroom, non-online courses. Even though he’s working more, he makes less than he does over the summer because he doesn’t have those supplemental online courses. Money is extremely tight. Plus, there’s that whole we-have-a-baby-now variable that wasn’t present last year. Right now, saving money is not an option because we need every dime. We trim the fat and exercise massive frugality, but the stress is rough. When I see our bank balance I feel a shift in my bowels.

Oh, and our computer is on its last legs, so soon that will need to be addressed. And I’m pretty sure Wee Cee is going to keep growing and will need new clothes since she can’t wear her 6MO stuff forever. This is a shame because she has the most adorable little fleece hoodie with hearts on it that I don’t want to put away. As you can see, my priorities and motivations are completely valid and sane.

My brother is also having some problems right now. He has Aspergers so his life has always been challenging, but right now a lot of things are hitting him all at once. He was dismissed from his job for reasons that I won’t go into. He works for a huge company that you have heard of, so they have an infrastructure in place for people to appeal their dismissal, so he will do that. Still, there’s no guarantee that he will get his job back. He was also recently in a car accident that was his fault, and he’s being sued by the person he hit. This is a lot all at once. He lives with my mom and she’s been parenting him from the moment he was born. He is now 27. She had been a SAH mom pretty much from the instant I was born until my dad passed away eleven years ago. After he died, she went back to school, went back to work, has since excelled in her field, all while being my brother’s primary advocate. When things are rough in my brother’s life, they are extra rough in my mom’s life because she has to pick up the pieces. She’s racked right now. I’m glad she was here this week because it gave her an escape, but she’ll soon be returning and having to face the life of T. It makes me shudder for her.

I have a knot in my stomach when I think about these things. And a knot in my brain. And in my heart. Why do things have to happen all at once? Who or what can I blame? The hardest part always seems to be the present. Yesterday I was at the store and at the checkout counter, I overheard the massively pregnant lady in front of me say that she was already past her due date. She will have her first baby by Saturday if not before. And I just wanted to tell her to make these last few days count. Your life is made so much richer and worth living with a baby – I know this so well; it’s the theme of my life – but having one does nothing for simplicity and ease.

But what I know is that things are not as bad as they could be. These are big deals, but we will survive.

In fact, if things did get exponentially worse, we would survive.

If they got to that exponentially worse place and THEN got even more terrible, we would still survive. Even then, if they got to such a terrible place that I can’t even wrap my head around it and calculate the challenges we would face, we would still survive. We have each other: me, B, and C. I have my family. I can’t count on much else, but I can count on the love I have for them to motivate me to keep my head up. I can count on my maturity, even though a lot of the time it is relatively scant. I can’t count on my education – right now it’s the student loans that weigh on me the most – but I can count on my sense, my intuition, and the logical qualities I was born with. I can count on the wholeness of my life that God has given me. He has made me realize that I already have it all, but I just need to do all I can make it worth living. I need to see this through and realize that a life full of challenges is just as worthy of being lived as a life of ease. In fact, it’s even more worth living.

There was a time when I had just gotten out of school and I was looking for my first job. I think I literally had like $1300 to my name, and one month’s rent was $750, so the pressure was on to get a job – any job. I was miserable. I was afraid I was going to have to move home and work at the Gap like I had before I finished my degrees. My body was sore because I was so worried. I’m not relaying this story to tell you that I had nothing to worry about and that I did eventually find a job, although I did. It’s pertinent because when I reflect back on that time now, I remember it not being as horrible as I thought it was. I survived the backaches, the headaches, the stomachaches, the sleepless nights.

I recognize it as definitely not the hardest thing I had ever been thought. I survived that. I’ll We’ll survive this.

Let’s do this.

The Other Side: Notes on the Sixth Month

Six months and one day ago, I was still a pregnant lady who could (in theory) sleep as late as I wanted, go to bed when I wanted, take a shower in complete privacy, watch every single episode of Arrested Development in one sitting on a whim, and get more done in one day than I can often get done in the space of one week these days. And do you know what? My life is about a bajillion times better now. This little girl has made me sing for my supper, but it turns out that when you have to work – really work – you feel pretty dang amazing at the end of the day. She has taught me to appreciate the tiniest little things in life as miracles. I can so see now why new parents constantly feel like their babies are geniuses. When you see a child grow from being a tiny sack of crying sugar in their first days to actually being able to move around on their bellies, you know that it’s a big freaking deal.  She highlights every moment – even if she’s screaming – as the most special time I can imagine simply because she exists.

She’s pretty much the most adorable child in the history of the world.

Teeth have been happening. Last night, Miss C was gnawing on B’s finger when he let out an “ouch!” and followed it with a “no I mean really. OUCH.” I scurried over to pry open her mouth, and there I found a tiny white dot on her lower jaw. I squealed with delight at the prospect of my growing baby sprouting teeth and she was terrified at my squeal and promptly wept as if the news that Elmo had just been hit by a bus was trending. I have got to learn to keep the volume down.

Also, solid food is happening. FYI, “solid foods” is such a misnomer. There is nothing solid about cold pureed squash. So let’s just call it “human food.” She has been eating rice cereal for dinner for the past three weeks, and last week we started her on human food at lunch too. So far she has tried squash and avocado, both of which she likes. Not overwhelmingly so, but she has yet to reject the food, and I’ll take that.

She played, then she passed out. Extra points if you can spot the baby.

Her naps are becoming more consistent, although I know that now that I’ve said that she will likely go on strike and refuse to sleep for a week. It finally dawned on me that when she doesn’t nap well, it’s because she’s either 1, teething or 2, going through a growth spurt. I am so dense sometimes that it kills me. I console myself with the thought that I lit-rally have no idea what I’m doing as a parent and that I don’t have any family in town to help me. The learning curve is steep, but I’m not going to throw in the towel just yet on learning to be a parent whilst she learns to be a human.

She keeps a-rolling and a-rolling but hasn’t yet sat up completely unassisted yet. Interestingly, though, she has skipped ahead to what I like to call “pre-crawling.” On her stomach, she moves her legs and arms back and forth like she’s swimming and she gets super frustrated when she doesn’t go anywhere. It won’t be long, and she can take her sweet time as far as I’m concerned because I’m not ready to babyproof the apartment just yet. I’ve gotta finish making her Halloween costume. Priorities: I’ve got ‘em.

On the move

The more she does, the harder it is for me to re-calibrate my own life. Luckily, I’m finding it easier and easier to just give up control for five minutes and hand her off to B on the weekends and ask him for help when I need it. We got in a rut for awhile when I felt bad asking him for help and he didn’t really offer it because he thought I had everything under control because I never asked for help. But I’m getting more comfortable requesting assistance and resisting the urge to tell him he’s doing something “wrong” when he bathes her or feeds her. Of course, they get along famously. He can make her laugh in ways that I simply can’t. And he’s much, much better at coming up with new and interesting ways to entertain her, likely because he’s not here with her 80% of the time so he sees her with fresh eyes. I don’t know what I’d do without him. Actually, I do know: I’d be a crappy mom.

I know I’m biased but dear lawd my baby is beautiful.

So the sixth month. Happy half birthday to my precious Miss C! The love I have for her is just more than I can describe in a blog post. My life now is admittedly a lot harder than the one I had six months and one day ago, but I wouldn’t change it for all the tea in China. Or England. Or India. Or wherever they have good tea. She’s about 43,827,543,956 times better, easily.

I’m Glad I’m Not Patricia Heaton

See how miserable she looks? Source

Remember that show “Everybody Loves Raymond”? In it, Ray Barrone lives in Queens across the street from his overbearing mother (Marie) and grizzled father (Frank) and has to deal with constant clashes between them and his wife Debra, played by Patricia Heaton. I can no longer watch this show because it stresses me out beyond belief. My viewership was one of the casualties of getting married and having a child myself.

I assume that the big idea behind her constantly-bedraggled character is that she is no June Cleaver or even Clair Huxtable, for that matter. The life of a stay-at-home mom is challenging, and it’s made even more challenging when you marry into crazy and crazy lives across the street. But she frustrates me because in the multiple seasons that the show was on the air, she adamantly tries to “fix” her husband and her mother-in-law. Inevitably, her plans to cut the cord between them never ever work, and she just ends up yelling and clenching her jaw by the end of the episode. Give it up, lady. This is the hand you were dealt when you decided to marry an eternal man-child.

My life is not Debra’s, though. Here’s how:

1. My child is present.

Did you know that Ray and Debra have three – count ‘em – THREE kids, two of which are twin boys? Where the heck are they? They are brought out whenever there is a back-to-school episode but that’s about it. They aren’t even usually around for Christmas or Thanksgiving episodes. Since her kids are never around, I cannot understand why Debra is always so stressed out. I guess she’s too busy hating Marie that she forgot they existed.

2. Apartment living

I complain about my apartment a lot, and I’ve gone on the record saying that the idea of owning a home isn’t totally reprehensible to me. However, Debra does a great job of keeping my head level about the advantages of living in an apartment. Despite the fact that sightings of her kids are as rare as the Loch Ness monster, that place is too big for her to keep it neat. The proliferation of bric-a-brac is worse that at the Salvation Army thrift store. At least our several rooms are manageable.

That first pillow on the sofa passed out in horror when it saw the Barones bring in a snazzy Thomas Kincaid print. Source

3. I get along with in-laws and they are not insane.

Even if I did live across the street from my mother-in-law Sidney, I wouldn’t lose my mind. Sidney is one of my favorite people ever. She has always seen me as my own person, not as B’s girlfriend/fiancee/wife. She got to know me from the beginning, and as far as I can tell, never felt like I took her son away from her. And she likes loves to spend time with Miss C. That’s another thing I never really got about ELR; the grandparents are more preoccupied with their middle-aged sons than their grandchildren. Weirdness.

4. I have a blog.

There is an episode that stands out vividly in my mind where Debra takes a little time out to do some cathartic crying. Marie sees her doing this and freaks out because she thinks there is something really, really wrong. Debra explains that it just feels good to cry sometimes.

I am occasionally a crier too. Sometimes it just feels good to weep about nothing and everything at the same time. I did it a lot when Miss C had just come home. But I also have a blog, AKA a hobby. Maybe if Debra got herself a blog or another hobby she wouldn’t be so dead-set on the fruitless task of making her husband behave like, oh I don’t know, an adult.

5. My husband isn’t an idiot.

Guess who doesn’t love Raymond. Ding-ding, it’s me. The central positive relationships in his life are with his dopey brother and his mother. His wife does not get the best parts of him, and when they do have a conversation it’s about his jacked-up family. I can’t help but wonder if Ray and Debra will both look back on their lives when they’re old and cherish the years when their kids were young. Probably not. By then their own kids will be living across the street from them, and they will be busying themselves with ruining their lives too.

****

Related Reading

8/28/12

So, this post written by Bea Magazine was just Freshly Pressed. I guess I’m not the only one who’s recently been hot and bothered by Patricia Heaton! It further discusses the multiplicity of Patricia Heaton the woman and the characters she depicts. I recommend it.

Houses

A couple of weeks ago, we visited Kendra and her husband in Charlotte. It was the first time we had been to their new house since they moved from Salinas, California and we were impressed with their new digs. They live in a grown-up house.

Not their house, but close enough. Source

Their house is what you think of when you think of a place to raise a family. Front porch, a big family room, an upstairs that enables everyone to have their own space. Some of their neighbors even really have white picket fences. The place is beautiful and spacious, and I’m proud of my friends for working hard and being able to live in such a place.

We drove there on Saturday morning, and when we arrived around three, Miss C was her regular genial self. In about an hour, though, her impending teeth got the better of her. She was inconsolable for several hours, more inconsolable than she’s been in months. B and I tag-teamed her upstairs so that one of us could hang out with our friends, but around the 2 1/2 hour mark, I got upset and worried that it was something else. Thus those mama tears started flowing. Bedtime was an ordeal. She’s usually down by 8:30ish, but that evening was harder than usual because she had refused to eat when she had been so upset. Plus, she was in a different place. She finally went down for the night around 10:15. And I was harried and relieved that the day was over.

She would have cried the exact same way if we had been in our own apartment. Those teeth don’t care. They come wherever she is. She has since cried that hard at our apartment. But it was easier at Kendra’s place. Her place is big so C’s cries have more space to roam and my head has different things to focus on. At Kendra’s house, you can put the baby in a stroller and walk her around the neighborhood until she settles. At Kendra’s house, it takes three minutes to make the gauntlet around the place, as opposed to the 45 seconds it takes to slowly stroll through our entire apartment.

I hate our place when C cries. The apartment does a poor job of containing her frustrations. Or, more likely, my own frustrations. I sit on the sofa with her in my lap, doing everything I can to sooth her, and the opposite wall that’s ten feet away infuriates me by its close proximity. I get up and waltz her through her room, the living room/ kitchen, our room. B is there, not seven feet away, and it feels so crowded. “Can you try?” He takes her and jiggles her while I sit on the sofa, annoyed and tired of the wall. I miss every other place I ever lived.

My brother and I grew up in houses. The first in Memphis, the second in Oxford, the third one in Murfreesboro, and then the last one in Germantown where my mom still lives. Those houses seemed big, but then again I was small when I was there. I knew kids growing up whose families lived in apartments and I always felt sorry for them. I equated apartments with divorce and day care and eating Domino’s for dinner not because it was fun but because the parent didn’t have time to prepare something.

And of course, here we are living in an apartment. Not a great one, either. I often whine to myself that it’s not fair that my dad never even finished college, yet we always lived in houses that my parents owned. B and I both have master’s degrees and we live here. But who am I whining to? The world? The world doesn’t care what’s fair and what’s not. And it certainly doesn’t give one iota that we spent some of our own time getting educated. Would we ever want to even own a home? We tell ourselves that we wouldn’t. It’s too much work to maintain. It’s a long term investment that may never pay off. It ties us to jobs we will likely want to leave. Those things aren’t worth it just because I don’t want to stare at a wall ten feet away from me and because owning a home when you have children is just what one does. No, not for those reasons alone.

We were driving home from Charlotte the following day and B ask me, “So what did you think of their neighborhood?” Coming from him, such a question wasn’t as innocent as it sounds. We’ve had many cynical conversations about home ownership, so he was just gauging me to see if I still felt realistic about where we live.

“It was really beautiful.”

I left it at that. Right now, our life is a small apartment and I will be content.

A House Built on Blogging (and Love. Yeah, That Too.)

Often, blogging comes in pairs. You need to have a real-life companion to get you through the grind. B is my companion in more ways than the marital kind. He’s a blogger too. Did you know that? Probably not since I’m writing this against his will. He will die when he sees that I’m finally outing him. That’s just a quirk of his personality. He does good stuff like write a poetry blog that has done well on Tumblr, but then I’m not allowed to talk about it. Oh well. If he wants to divorce me for thinking he’s great, then I guess it’s not meant to be with us. ;D

Back in the olden days (AKA 2004). Taken several hours after I finished my last exam of college. It seemed like a good idea to go get margaritas at noon and then head back up to school to have a photo shoot in the hallway of our professors’ offices.

So he writes a blog on Tumblr. Here it is. He updates it daily and he has a decent following. He is even featured on the Tumblr Spotlight for poetry. Yeah, it’s kind of a big deal. It’s a bit like Freshly Pressed, except it’s categorized and (as far as we can tell) permanent. A few months back he self-published his first collection of poetry. And get this: it actually sold. He’s now working on his second collection. I couldn’t be more proud. Can you tell?

At some point, my husband and I both became obsessed with our blogs. Blogging is currently the biggest passtime we have in common, right behind Miss C. And can she be considered a passtime? That seems like bad parenting. “Oh, you know, I was bored, so I decided to catch up on feeding the baby today. How invigorating!”

I am grateful that we have blogging (and the baby, for that matter) in common. He doesn’t pooh-pooh me when I ask him to take charge of Miss C for the afternoon when I need to catch up on writing, commenting, and reading other blogs. I don’t have to explain to him what Freshly Pressed means, as I do with some of my IRL friends. We can talk about self-hosting, ads, stats, and other shop talk and be fully engrossed in the mundanity of it all. We get excited in each other’s successes. He was the one who wanted me to start a blog in the first place. I’ll talk a bit more about why on Friday in a What’s Next piece.

If you check out his blog, the first thing you’ll notice is that it’s pretty much the exact opposite of mine. He doesn’t make direct references to me or Miss C in his poetry, and you’ll never find a link to my blog there. I like it that way. It makes me know that he’s retaining a shred of himself as we go through these big changes in our lives. He’s still B, but in the guise of Murrooned. And writing a blog is better than playing golf, IMHO.

So when does Miss C get her own URL? Not too soon. We have to protect her. But she occasionally tweets:

Riveting, I know.

Do you have someone in your life who encourages you in an ongoing undertaking like blogging?

Wedding Grievances

Get in my belly.

Just when I thought this year would pass by with no one getting married, one of our friends who we met in Korea got engaged. Whew. I was concerned that I may not have a chance to eat wedding cake until 2013. That is cause for panic.

As great as my own wedding to B was, going to other people’s weddings is always, always better. Your own wedding is almost more stressful than it is worth. People know this, and that’s why you get handed a ton of checks at the reception. You literally have to get paid to go through it all. That would also account for why the checks from married attendees are in $100 increments. They know.

First of all, very few people actually have the opportunity to eat on their wedding day, much less at the reception. My own wedding day was a big ol’ non-eating extravaganza. That morning, my mom and I went out for crepes and I had like two bites of mine because my time was better spent willing potential asteroids away from the Earth on my special day than focusing on breakfast. Later, my mom and my bridesmaids ordered a ton of barbecue from my favorite joint in Memphis for lunch, but I couldn’t choke it down. This really was a shame because if I had just spilled some sauce on my dress, I probably would have relaxed. After the ceremony, we were too busy greeting people at the reception to eat more than like one strawberry and a smashed up piece of cake. So yeah, food and your own wedding don’t mix.

Also, no matter how relaxed and go-with-the-flow you normally are, on your wedding day you are going to feel like you’re in the middle of your period. I have known people who actually got their periods hours before their weddings, and at least they had something to blame their hormonal insanity on. I had nothing but my impending nuptials. The sad thing is that it’s all the other mess that makes you dread the day, not your actual spouse. Way to go, priorities.

The minutiae that causes drama is infuriating. I would much rather be angry about something important that goes wrong than something that doesn’t even matter. How dare my cousin’s boss’s dog’s groomer have the audacity to be offended when she doesn’t get invited to my wedding and starts circulating rumors that I was the one who gave the dog fleas? I’d prefer to be mad about the flowers or the cake or something actually worth my time than this tomfoolery.

The protocol of having a wedding can also be a headache. We live in modern times where (at least in theory) you can wear what you want, pursue any career you choose regardless of your race or sex, and behave like a lunatic on the subway and most people will expect it and not even really mind. Our society gives us a lot of freedom and leeway to behave the way we choose. This is not the case on your wedding day. Weddings are stuck in olden times and things must be done in the exact same way that they are done at Buckingham Palace. For instance, people actually believe that the couple’s firstborn will emerge with three arms if the bride does not carry something blue or if the groom sees her before the ceremony. Nevermind that a woman on her third marriage will likely still wear white on her wedding day. White is tradition.

That look of happiness is due to relief that the wedding is over and now we can go on vacation.

The best moment of my wedding day was when B and I were pronounced man and wife. By the end of the day, I was starving, tired, and extremely ready to be removed from my binding dress. But I was his wife. All the punishment of the day was totally worth it.