beefy treats

Last night I left my house at 7pm with my kids mostly ready for bed. Plan: hit the drive-thru pharmacy for Evan's ear infection medicine.

{Can I pause for a moment and allow myself to appreciate a pharmacy that not only stays open past 6pm, but also one that has a DRIVE FREAKING THRU?! If all pharmacies go bankrupt I will personally get 13 jobs to make sure my little CVS with the drive thru stays alive.}

As I dig into my junk pile, I mean diaper bag, to pay for the medicine I find the space that always holds my money card in my wallet is void. I know immediately where it is, that trusty golden debit card. Earlier in the afternoon I sped away with hot tacos in hand (the only companion to The Triscuit in this pregnancy diet of All Other Food Sounds Gross). I was so eager, too eager, to eat those warm and crunchy beefy treats that I left my card behind. This happens often in my life. Only I normally leave it in plain sight with high traffic, widely public areas for lots of people to have lots of opportunity to find my treasure. Airport phone booth, Post Office counter, Parking spot, Grocery store, Library.

It's Losing the Childhood House Key grows up and meets Real Responsibility, and loses it all over again and again.

My favorite part is Mike's role in this experience. Every time he has the same reaction. As if this has never happened to me before. As if we are dealing with this for the first time e v e r. He forgets this sort of thing happens to me all the time, and has all my life. Then he immediately assumes $65,464,572,678 has been charged in the "brief" time our financial ticket has been misplaced. Which , to keep myself honest here, is normally a good 48+ hours before I realize it's missing. And it takes me another 4 hours to retrace my steps with my blank memory, all the while promising him I know it's not stolen. I just left it somewhere- trust me. I experience this so often it's like leaving your CDs in the car and trusting the car wash people. Somehow they are still there when you get your car back every time! just like that. not smiling. it's okay. it's not stolen. i promise....

So Mike is incredibly patient and confused as to how exactly I could misplace something so valuable (and so often). Before I blink he has checked the account 5,000 times. And the best is how nonchalant I am about the whole ordeal because it's (sadly) as common an experience as getting an oil change. I have learned what Ebay proclaims: people really are good. And on the inside I think it makes him 700 times more concerned and frustrated, but on the outside he is insanely calm. A total cucumber. I love that about this man. He has the kind of control over his emotions top politicians wish they could have. He could really be a poker champion.

I wish I could blame it on hormone imbalance brain, because that would come to an end in a chunk of months. And it might work as an excuse for the dirty clothing I put unwashed into the dryer this afternoon. But let's be honest, I have permanent pregnancy brain here people. What can I say, it's part of my charm.

35 Years: Installment Three

Final birthday post for Mike.

Dear Mike,

Sometimes it feels like I am steering a ship and we finally have a long-term destination! I imagine this might be like a little sliver of what seeing that Statue of Liberty finally appear in the water felt like for those travelers seeking Ellis Island as their joyful destination.

So this ship, there are a lot of things to do on it. If I want it to run smoothly, I have various activities to lead like cleaning the deck, feeding the crew, that engine room business to oversee, and then sometimes there are holes to plug and icebergs to watch out for. We pick you up at the end of the week looking just as haggard, if not more so, than I do from the responsibilities you have been charged with. You are out cutting wood for this deck I clean each day and hunting and preparing that meat we pack into the freezer, and then some. We both go different directions physically each week, but we both know and trust the other to be giving it their all. For the sake of the family, with the same goal in mind at the end of the day. I know we are both doing all we can to provide the way we know best for these boys. And each other. We are burning our candles at both ends right now.

I think of it this way because when we board you onto this ship, often I am hollering like a sailor making sure all the jobs are getting done all around me. I don't always stop to thank you and tell you how awesome this cherry wood is you brought home is and how flavorful the food you worked hard for tastes. I want to relax and enjoy the sound of the waves a little more with you, instead.

I want to be better at avoiding the icebergs I sometimes hit steering this ship, but man some days it is somehow a lot bigger and harder to steer than other days. I love that you always appreciate my wacky course, even if I forgot the dry cleaning, I mean scrubbing the plank, or we have sardines for dinner, I mean hot dogs. I love that you trust I am doing my best and even though you will never know the demands of running the ship all day for several days in a row, you believe me that there are some really hard days. Sometimes harder than yours, sometimes not. I love that I don't have to work at convincing you that I need breaks and what that looks like for my needs. Even if 2,351,346,153 other moms in the world don't need any breaks and perhaps I am a mommy lightweight in comparison, you love me and trust me enough to be supportive.

I love that we are learning together how to steer this ship as copilots on the days you are home and that you can map out a different way of getting to a place safely with far less anxiety. I love that you are unshakable, stalwart, and brave. I love that you are rock solid strong on the inside and outside. I love that when we were first married you were so mad that I bought you sweat pants so you could be warm going to bed at night, that you insisted I never buy you anything. I love it because you could live off the land naked if you had to and never complain because you just need food to be happy. And your family. Nothing more, really. And I love that 3 weeks later you were still wearing those sweat pants to bed at night, so happy to be warm and finally thanking me for getting them for you and taking care of you in ways you wouldn't do for yourself.

I love that you kill every spider without question, even the small ones for me. That you admire your father and love your mother (you love and admire them both, actually, but it just sounded good to write it that way). I love that your siblings are as important to you as we are. That you helped dozens of people you didn't even know move in and out of homes in Brooklyn that were several story walk-ups; even pianos. In the summer. Never complaining once.

I love that when you are curious about something, you turn to a book or expert to learn everything you can and then store it away for no good reason at all. I love it when you work from home, watching you lead a conference call is one of the sexiest things e.v.e.r. for some reason. I love that anything goes with you in the bedroom. That pretty much rocks.....only what's with that no goats stipulation?

running man

Mike, he runs a lot. He trains like a sonofabeach and is the most chipper person I have ever met at 5am about every single day of the year. I love how he has been up for hours, running, and arrives home ready to carry on a full conversation with me during this hour before the birds are chirping. Even though I grunt and throw things at him, it's just my special way of really saying I am impressed at his dedication.

Many marathons are out of town so we don't always get to cheer him on. Recently he ran up and down and up and down a mountain. He took a camera with him and posted amazing photos of it here.

This is what we were doing while he was running:Evan helping with ideas on where to put the sign we made.

I used peanut butter from my sandwich to make the edges stick to the bar so it wouldn't be a taco sign.

This is what he looked like after a crazy mountain marathon:

Women runners in other wards have heard about him, they call him legendary. It makes me smile. Because they don't even know the half of it. Or what a stallion he is between the sheets. Oops did I just write that?

the things that you learn

It's really sweet when my husband takes a photo of me asleep with my boys at either side of me. Saying 'it will never be like this again' and knowing they will not always like to snuggle with mommy. Taking a moment in time and appreciating how fast they are growing and enjoying their tender affection for the mama.

It's sweet until I look at the photo later in the day and realize what I look like asleep. Then I find it kind of scary, but mostly humorous that he kisses me goodbye smelling fresh, wearing snappy cufflinks, a cool shirt from T.M. Lewin, and tight buns while (at the moment) I pretty much resemble Edgar from the movie Men In Black.

Not that I am planning to put make-up on or brush my hair while he is in the shower at 6am. I could just my close my mouth, wipe away the drool and perhaps sit up straight for family prayer. You know, try a little harder at being (at the very least) human and not a sideways alien-wife.

and then he kissed me

You hear your whole life about how opposites attract. It didn't seem to make a whole lot of sense to hear that as a kid. Well, it turns out, in terms of personality my husband and I could not be more opposite.

This is him:
____________________

Calm.


This is me:

<>$@%*)>feelings_<*(>all$<(the>_<{time_-__^

Not so calm.

This being said, there are times with him the even and calm moods are peaked. It stirs me a bit and the earth stops moving on its axis and my heart goes pitter pat. I remember each of those moments like a photograph, in addition to a million others I have gotten to spend with him. These are some that have happened over the past 8 years:

* Terrified face tripping (safely) down two flights of marble stairs in a hotel in Rome. It was like modern dance the way your body, long legs, torso, and feet contorted about so quickly and awkwardly, yet ultimately controlled. You were catlike. And I think I peed my pants laughing.

* Bursting joy and shouts of thrill when The Diamond Backs won the World Series. I have never seen you jump so high off of the couch in my entire life. The fists were in the air, the blood flowing. I got to see what the ultimate fan of any sport waits all season for year after year. It convinced me sports are important to you and adds emotion to your life. I knew I would be the wife that would not complain about the Super Bowl or World Series, it would be a tradition that would be important to us as a family. Even if I never know who is playing and I don't really know the rules of the game.

* Sitting across from me in Brooklyn at that Peruvian restaurant we tried on a whim. I think it was cold outside. I remember crossing the street with the reflection of dim lights from various restaurants reflecting in tiny puddles. I remember the bright orange paint on the wooden restaurant sign and how pleased I felt for adventurously trying new food as I followed your lead. You got that drink with the seeds at the bottom. It looked gross. You told me casually how recently at the temple, you looked at me from across the room in all white and I was the most beautiful woman you had ever seen. I was not expecting that and it made me cry. The candle between us was perfect, tiny and slight in its warmth and light. We never ate there again, I didn't care much for the food. But of all the places I would like to visit again, it's on my list.

* A night in Winsor Terrace. Not our best year. I got to see genuine. Love. True. And Forever.

* Each time you held each of our baby boys for the first time. Proud Papa Bear. Just completely and intensely peaceful and happy. Vulnerable and pure and raw. It was like I could see through your body and watch your heart pound every.single.beat. and see the blood circulate through your capillaries. There isn't any other time I have seen you smile the way you have when you introduced yourself to your baby boys.

* Early summer evening in London. Perhaps the one I will recall more vividly with the widest range of emotions. I walked several steps ahead of you and our friend on the way to dinner. We were discussing what kind of food we should seek. Fish and Chips again? I was wishing I had a more stylish wardrobe to represent a young girl from the states as I crossed the street. A car that was stopped let up on the break just enough to tap his front bumper into my shin. I tripped as you would over a large boot, but caught myself with an embarrassed grin. I felt pretty dumb for not being more cautious. Or was the driver actually being a......before I could turn around and realize what happened you were leaning into the open window and shoving the driver with the strength of 10 Vikings and shouting in his face "THAT'S MY WIFE" over and over again. He was startled. I was stunned. And then he got out of the car while his friend watched in the passenger seat. Um, he was about 2 feet taller than you. Some shoving back and forth and I thought it odd he raised his hand like he wanted to slap you. ? Slap? I was trying to remember my Ju Jitsu moves and resigned to the fact that I would just kick him in the nuts if things got ugly, that was about all I could offer if need be. Upon much pleading on my part (begging really, it was a foreign country, after all, and I worried his friend might step out of the car with a crowbar), Mike walked away.

My tiger, my husband, my own personal warrior. I flipped from embarrassed, to shocked, to scared, to angry (fight! mode), to flattered within about 4 minutes. And then as we all calmed down and looked for a Chinese restaurant I asked if the other guy kept saying what I thought he was saying.

In an Arabic accent over and over he said to Mike: "Do you want me to eff you in the @$$hole?" We were rather confused, but laughed for several blocks about what a random thing that is to say to someone in a fight.

give my regards

When we set off to live in New York, I must tell you it was not part of my wildest dreams. In fact, I knew little about it besides the horror stories of crime and high cost of living people told me about in Arizona. People whom had not been to New York in over 15 years. I went on the arm of my husband as an opportunity for work led us there. He was thrilled, after living in Japan for 2 years he was no stranger to adjusting and saw it as an adventure.

The first year or so was an emotional train wreck for me. I demanded we live in the 'burbs so that left us on the last train stop south in Long Island. It took us almost 2 hours door to door each day. In the winter we never saw the sun. We went from parking the car at 5:45am in a snow bank side street near the train station. Actually, Mike dropped me off at the train station so I could wait for him all nice and warm on the train. He would then park the car cos I made us late each day, so he had to sprint back to the train. In snow and rain. Who knew he could have been training for a marathon way back when and didn't even know it? He never complained once. I love that man.

Then we took the l o n g train ride into the city, transferred underground at PENN station onto a subway (which by the way- awesome -the cost of 2 train and subway passes per month -we had no idea until we lived there the total expense!). Then we took our subways to our respective locations and worked in high-rise buildings until well after 5pm many nights. Then began the underground commute home that would peek above ground with the train after the sun was down.

I got more adjusted and realized it was time to move closer after several months. We found a fun neighborhood in Brooklyn and I am not kidding when I tell you our lives changed for the better. We actually found time and energy and interest in exploring more. Many adventures we heard about from people who had lived there longer or we read about in The Village Voice magazine or other on-line sources. I never would have thought the whole experience of living there would provide me with so much opportunity to learn and grow and change. Try foods I would have never thought of eating before. Make friends I never would have otherwise met or thought of hanging out with. Push myself in ambitions I didn't dare dream. Ride the subway alone at night and not be scared.

One of the many experiences I don't think I appreciated until we left was seeing Broadway shows. I took dance as a little girl, but it wasn't something I had passion for. I thought it odd how many people were interested in seeing Broadway shows when I would see the room packed to the ceiling, when people would stand in line for hours to get tickets. What a treasure chest of talent I got to see and I didn't even realize it!

That is, until I saw Thoroughly Modern Millie performed in my town last year. Millie was great, she took my breath away just like the one in New York did! But the rest of the performers, not so much. It was like they walked the neighborhood and grabbed people coming out of the grocery store and put a bad costume on and said 'go for it!' There was the dad next door, then the grocery bagger battling acne. Then someone's grandma and her friend. Bad singing, bad acting. Too much blush on the men. It was all around disappointing. I wondered what the NY Broadway experience would have been had I seen shows like this first. To have been able to take in the quality before me that was the best of the best.

Although the CA cast was a sad collection of random people, I did find volumes of joy observing The Red Hat Society in the audience. I had never seen them in action before. Why can't they be part of the cast?! They were these older women dressed in fancy hats and purple dresses. LOADS of them everywhere! Inspired by the poem"Warning" by Jenny Joseph, which begins "When I am an old woman..." Since the poem mentions wearing a red hat and purple attire, she and her friends formed a group that met on a regular basis for tea in their red hats and purple dresses—in public.

Rules: You must be a woman of 50 or over (or you may be a Pink Hatter under 50), and you must attend functions in full regalia, (red hat, purple outfit for women 50 and over, or pink hat and lavender outfit for women under 50).

Oh I am all about this. I can't wait to get a lavender boa.

*photo from google

The Husband Fault

I never really noticed my husband's sleeping patterns. I never realized he was a heavy breather. Tossed and turned a little abruptly here and there at random times all night long. Kicked his feet to get the covers just right. Pulled the blanket up with a firm TUG. Adjusted the position of the pillow. All causing the bed to jiggle or hop just right.

I don't really notice all these subtle things until we go to sleep after feeling an earthquake. And then about 76 times throughout the evening I attempt to fall asleep, but instead freak out with all these false alarms. I often sit upright and feel the walls. Grab the baby. Sometimes run towards the hall before I realize it's just him settling in for the night. Not Heyward, afterall.

Like a river flows, surely to the sea

There are times when I open my mouth and it's the 12 year old me speaking. I normally don't realize it until it's too late. Until I glance at my husband smirking, waiting for my ears and brain to catch up to my voice.

A friend once told me that's why my husband and I make a great couple, he noticed how patient Mike was with my Lucille Ball moments. Keeping quiet and giving me small clues like a grimace or chuckle, guiding me back to the educated, occasionally bright grown-up that I am.

I mix up words. I get names wrong. I insisted in one conversation that the lead singer of R.E.M. was Michael STRIPE. There are times I speak with too much confidence and the other person might not catch it, other times my husband comes to the rescue and eases in the right information before the transmission enters the ears of another person. We're a good team that way, tries when he can to eliminate me creating an awkward moment for myself. Sometimes he's too late.

For years I would tell him about the time I met my sister's husband while they were dating; it was on the 4th of July. We all went to see fireworks and Karl Marx performed. He always smiles and says quietly, you mean Richard Marx? And we laugh. We will be 98 years old sitting on the porch and have that exact conversation all over again. And we will laugh the same together about it like it was new.

****

During our courtship, I took him to Vegas for his birthday so we could be sinners by gambling and making out like rock stars. I arranged the whole thing and was quite proud about it. I even got us tickets for an evening performance. We were so wrapped up in making out, that we were running a few minutes late. As we sprinted across MGM Grand (hey what can I say, I was a big spender) I realized I had no idea where we were supposed to go.

I finally spotted the concierge desk as Mike trailed behind me (he wasn't quite the marathon runner yet). I caught my breath and put on my proper adult voice to request the location of the magic show. She said we needed tickets, bla bla bla, make me more late why don't ya. Then I held up the tickets and inquired again which direction we needed to go to see the David Hasselhoff Show. She told me she had no idea what I was talking about. I was getting frustrated and more time was being wasted. Mike finally overheard my part of the conversation and leaned in casually to inform her we had tickets for David Copperfield. I turned 5 shades of red and shrunk to about 3 foot 2. We were quickly on our way and got into our seats just as the show began.

I love that we can laugh about that part of me. I love that he handles my verbal slips gently in a way that works with me and gets us where we need to be. Or that, at times, they are not discussed and never criticized. That sometimes I get angry with the B student in me, the lazy part of me that may surface at really inconvenient times when I wanted to make a good impression.

I love how careful Mike is to speak and choose his words. How he takes a moment before he explains something to gather his thoughts and deliver them graciously. I love that my goofiness adds humor to our marriage, even if they are little kinks I sometimes wish I had ironed out when I was 12.

remembering you standing quiet in the rain

UPDATED: Early in my marriage I realized I married a man who was not fond of writing poetry, engaging in public affection, whispering sweet nothings, writing love notes, or taking photos of his wife.

Searching for recent photos I have taken in my defunct digital camera card, I found this hazy picture of me. Most women would be appalled at the fatty chin and lack of grace in the way a hot, uncomfy summer day was stolen in the frame of a shot. But it made me smile to know I was captured by the man who flutters my heart in non-traditional ways.

I love this shot in all its unabashed, realistic, non-glamorous, husband-loving glory.

I love this marriage, these years where we try less to shape and mold and change each other and enjoy each other for who we are a whole lot more.

****

Hrm.

Later, upon further investigation, it appears the camera was actually in the hands of NOT MY HUSBAND.

O well. I guess I still love him.