Category: Bryan

I’m having a hard time describing happiness.

I’m not really sure how to describe the feeling the aura the so obviously NOT US nature of this weekend, especially for those who don’t know me in person, but I am having HELLA fun with my booty-licious husband on this weekend getaway.

We are laughing, we are jesting, we are gazing fondly at one another as if on our first date again. And the touching? At dinner last night I felt very strongly that Bryan’s leg be pressed up against mine AT ALL TIMES no matter where he had to itch – I just couldn’t get enough snuggle.

And today we are actually agreeing on what to do next EVEN THOUGH WE HAVE NOT MAPPED OUT A SPECIFIC PLAN FOR THE DAY. Where do I begin to describe the significance of spontaneity in our relationship?

At any rate, we spent the morning in downtown Portland at the mall, then wandered over to Powell’s City of Books (aka the Mecca of bookstores) where we browsed for various things on our list.

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I picked up My Sister’s Keeper and Anansi Boys, books I’m reading for two different book clubs I participate in, plus The Search for Significance, a book recommended by my therapist as a tool to break through the errors in my belief system (like playing the blame game, or being a victim).

As I sit here in the quiet of my hotel room, my mind is clear, and I feel relaxed – both mentally and physically. The stress has melted away, and all the balls I juggle on a daily basis are quietly holstered… in their ball pit… somewhere within this bad metaphor.

During the last week my mind felt so full of information that I couldn’t muster up enough brain cells to make a grocery list. A friend who offered to keep Scout for the weekend wanted to pick her up a day early, and I gazed at her with an empty face as I listened to her ask the question.

“I don’t even know how to make that happen,” I finally said.

And truly, I had no random access memory left to sort through the simple steps of collecting the dog food, the bowls, and the leash. There was too much noise in my head.

This weekend I look forward to experiencing the quietness of spirit to think, to read, and to write as I have very little space in my life for thoughtful, reflective writing. As we checked in late last night there were three guys in the office – one covered in tatts, one with a handlebar mustache, and the other wearing an indie rock band t-shirt. I asked if there was wifi available on site and the three of them lit up like Christmas morning.

“Uh huh!” they all said simultaneously.

“Really?” I asked. “Like, I’ll have internet access in my room?”

Again with the wide eyes and the Cheshire grins, “Uh huh!”

I felt relief again that on this holiday from my hectic life, I can write and blog and reflect in real time. I can create and share things as they happen. If I have an inspiration, I don’t have to store it in my mind, yearning for an opportunity or the energy to express it. If only for a few days, my mind can be free from its daily clutter.

At this moment I could not be happier if it was raining chocolate covered raisins.

Things We Do When Not Watching T.V.

Last night Bryan and I did some creative exploration (okay, that sounded bad). Over the weekend he took short videos of the kids on our digital camera and I wanted to find a way to post it directly into my website. He discovered YouTube, which is a video sharing site similar to Flickr, and voila! This is what happened!

Fun, huh? You’ll have to let me know if it’s a pain in the neck to download on your end.

Last night we also gave Ruthie the camera to shoot her own pictures, which I’ll try to post later today. She ran around the play room in the basement shooting all her favorite things, declaring, “This is my bear. This is my doll. This is my Scout.” Pretty cute. She had a major melt down when we finally took it away from her.

Schmalentine’s Day

I’ve never been a big fan of Valentine’s Day. Really, I haven’t. I find the entire ‘holiday’ quite silly, actually. It never seemed important to me to have a specific DAY when someone was SUPPOSED to do something nice to express their love because this behavior was supposed to be NORMAL for people who love and care for each other.

Right?

One of the ways I have let disappointment swell within me and turn to bitterness is in the area of expectations: I have lots of them, and Bryan doesn’t meet them. This has played out at every anniversary, birthday, and Valentine’s Day since we’ve been married.

I’m a simple girl, I say. I don’t need airplanes dragging messages of love behind them; I don’t need ‘I heart you’ carved out of a corn field; I just want a Hallmark card with something mushy written in it because you are an amazing writer and I love to read every word.

Marriage has been a series of reality checks. Some along the lines of Holy Shit I Can’t Believe I Got Myself Into This, and some along the lines of Damn I Can’t Believe He Puts Up With Me. I have needed to deconstruct many of my expectations – or at least communicate them non-telepathically. He has needed to become more pro-active.

I can’t recall anything in my life I’ve ever persevered through so consistently. I’m the champion of quitters. I rewrote the motto to say, ‘When the going gets tough, try something easier.’ But I have been encouraged by changes I’ve seen in myself, by the efforts I see Bryan making, by the compromises we have made for each other.

When I returned from my weekend away with the ladies, I walked into the house to find a shiny red gift bag filled with raffia sitting on the dining room table. Poking out the top were two red cards – one from the kids and one from Bryan – that said ‘do not open until 2/14.’

I’m still not a big fan of Valentine’s Day, but it has provided a format for us to practice our graciousness, our listening skills, and our love languages. I love you, Bryan. Thank you for loving me.

Hi, It’s Me. I’m Back!

And without warning I left town and bid you no farewell. I spent the weekend at a vacation home on the Straight of Juan de Fuca with seven friends, one tiny baby, and a fabulous view of Canada. There was wine, there was laughing, and a little tinkling in the panties. (oh my!)

Last week I had a revival of sorts in my relationship with Bryan, so on Friday night as we settled in with our jammies and wine I found myself missing him to the point of tears. That felt good, and it was an excellent warm-up to this coming weekend when I will be getting away with him alone.

Planes, Trains, and Automobiles

I can’t recall the last time I rented a car on a vacation before, since my vacations usually involve visiting family members who seem to have extra cars lying around. However, on this most recent visit to Southern California to visit family, we couldn’t figure out who had a big enough vehicle to pick us up from the airport so my mother-in-law offered to rent us a mini-van for the week.

Hallelujah.

God bless Alamo, because they sent me out to their car lot and said to me, “pick one!” So I skipped down the row marked ‘vans’ and chose me a Dodge Grand Caravan, which was not as exciting as I was anticipating. I thought I would have more choices on models, but it was really only a decision between the black, white, or silver Dodge. Still, it was fun to have someone plunk me in the middle of a car lot and say, “Pick one!” and for just a moment imagine I was pickin’ me a new Cadillac Escalade.

Once in the car (after my handsome baggage handler loaded our mountain of luggage – which is another story), Ruthie announced we were on our way to Uncle Bad’s house, which is a fairly accurate description of my brother-in-law, Brad’s, personality.

Ruthie had been announcing each phase of our trip as it occurred, beginning with the tragic tears of sorrow as she watched her car seat ride away on the conveyor belt toward the belly of the plane. “I WANT MY CAR SEAT!” she sobbed, as she watched it disappear. But soon, the tragic loss of the car seat was forgotten as she saw airplanes out the window of the terminal and began chanting, “I WANNA GO ON A BOAT!” over and over again, even as I tried to explain we were actually flying in an AIRPLANE.

Once in CA we (and by ‘we’ I mean Bryan, the handsome baggage handler) loaded and unloaded our mountain of luggage no less than five times as we made our way from the baggage terminal, onto a shuttle, to the car rental building which was NOT onsite at the terminal as I had been told on the phone.

By the time we got to the rental lot and the guy said, “Pick one!” I turned to Bryan to see if he wanted to pick and he growled, “JUST DO IT, ALREADY!” as he wiped the sweat from his forehead.

In the future, when I think of all the times I get stuck running around after children while he obliviously buries his head in a book, I will remember how I DIDN’T have to load and unload four pieces of luggage, a car seat, and two carry-ons no less than five times in one day.

Lexicon

Being married to a tech geek has increased my vocabulary.

It used to be that I was just too tired to engage, but now I don’t have the bandwidth to finish the conversation.

I used to operate from a To-Do list on my refrigerator, but now I consult my GTD add-in.

I used try, try again, but now we iterate.

And where I used to make personal change in my life, I now must evolve.

The Softy

“What’s going on with this blanket? Why is the print side down?”

“What’s your problem? Why do you care?”

“The yellow things are poking me.”

“It’s yarn, Bryan. How does yarn ‘poke’ you? “

“I’m more sensitive than you think.”

Birthday Eve

Tomorrow is my birthday.

Since I can never remember how old I am I had to actually count out the years to remind myself. I’ll be 34, by the way, which is a relief since I first thought I was going to be 35. Gotta hang on to every year I can.

I’ve been a complete dork about my birthday this year. A few months back Bryan emailed me from work in a craze of all caps saying something about a concert he wanted to go to for a band I’ve never heard of. I said, Sure, Why not, since he is usually successful in connecting me with great music and movies.

Somewhere along the line, though, I developed a really pissy attitude about the whole thing – mostly because it just happened to fall on my birthday. I started to feel bitter about the fact I was spending my birthday listening to music I’d never heard before preceded by dinner with another couple I’d only met once. Small talk was not my choice for a good time.

What I REALLY wanted to do was gather my peeps around me, put on some lipstick, and find somewhere that serves pink drinks in sexy glasses.

So I quietly seethed about it in silence for several weeks until I finally had the nerve to bring it up with Bryan.

I tried to be delicate: “Would it hurt your feelings if I wasn’t really into the show in September?”

I instantly knew he was hurt – partly due to my lack of enthusiasm, and partly due to his own baggage from a past life. We talked it through, he gave me his reasons for wanting me to go, and I knew it was important to him that I go, so I decided to go.

In an ironic turn of events, late last week Bryan’s friend emailed him saying he wouldn’t be bringing his wife, so Bryan told me I was off the hook, I didn’t have to go either.

You’d think I would have instantly taken out an ad in the Seattle Times for all the complaining I had done: PARTY GIRL BUYS OUT THE PINK DOOR FOR BIRTHDAY BASH – ALL ARE INVITED.

But there was no fanfare, no screeching, no panic shopping for the perfect going-out attire. I said nothing, I planned nothing, and I simply continued feeling sorry for myself.

Isn’t that COMPLETELY REDICULOUS???

In retrospect, I think it came down to the simple issue of my selfishness. I think I just wanted to get my way, and as I continued seething about how I wasn’t getting my way the bitterness grew stronger. Never mind that I could have listened to the music ahead of time to learn the new band, and never mind that I could have planned a ladies night out on a different night. No, I had to be a bitch about Bryan wanting to see a show on a night he had no control over scheduling.

Oh well, all is not lost. Bryan and I are still speaking to each other, and I may get a drink or two in after all.

Happy Birthday to me.

“Oh, and by the way, I think that’s got caffeine in it.”

This will likely be an endless and rambling post since Bryan ‘accidentally’ forgot to order my evening latte decaffeinated. He claims my drink was too complicated, and he forgot.

What, like it isn’t NORMAL to get an iced nonfat mint chocolate decaf latte?

Fortunately for me, it’s Complete Bond month on AMC, so I have Roger Moore to keep me company. Not that he’s my favorite James Bond. No, I would have to be cliché here and claim Sean Connery to be my favorite. There’s just something so Cary Grant about Connery as Bond. Last night I watched Thunderball and it was fabulous – every scene started with Sean seducing a blond nurse, and ended with him leaving her to go kill someone. I can’t figure out why Bryan isn’t into my Bond obsession.

Tonight I tried on a pair of pants at Old Navy, and it was a little disappointing. Why do clothing makers automatically assume that fat people are tall? Is there anywhere I can buy a pair of plus petite jeans?

So I have to interject here and testify that I just saw Roger Moore kissing a woman’s abdomen in order to investigate something that was in her belly button. Sean Connery kissing a woman’s belly button… SEXY. Roger Moore kissing a woman’s belly button… NOT SEXY! In fact, he reminds me too much of my father, and that’s just… wrong.

So as I was saying, I’m 5’2” and have an extra twenty pounds I attribute to each of my two children, a gift which I thank them for on a daily basis. Since I have yet to find a Plus Petite section at any clothing store, I usually end up buying Capri length pants because they hit me at the ankles.

[I just saw quite a lengthy commercial for an innovative kitty litter box called “Shake ‘n’ Fresh.” That’s late-night t.v. at its finest.]

Here’s a little known fact the internet told me: did you know that Ian Fleming, the creator of the James Bond legacy, was also the author of the book, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, which later became a movie starring Dick Van Dyke?

Well I just yawned and my eyelids are feeling heavy, so I will not prolong your agony any longer. There is really no point to this post, and you will never get back the five minutes you just wasted reading it.

The Picture

So I suppose now would be a good time to explain the profile photo I recently posted. After all, when one has writer’s block regarding her vacation recap, why not talk about bad picture days?

In this photo I am six or seven months pregnant – whatever March minus December equals. It is Christmas morning; I have just opened a spa kit bigger than my car; and I have bed head.

Yes, I am wearing a bubble gum pink bathrobe with cocktails embroidered on it.

Let me explain: I have a wonderful, lovely husband who, like most husbands, needs a little help when it comes to gift ideas.

We have an arrangement: I give him a clue, and he goes hog wild.

Take, for instance, the bathrobe you see in the picture. One year for my birthday I said, “I would like a bathrobe.”

Period.

I stated no conditions as to what said bathrobe was to feel, look, or function like.

Beautiful, lovely, witty husband returned with the bubble gum pink bathrobe with embroidered cocktails all over it.

He knows me well.

Mobile Inspiration

So Bryan bought me this little pdf thingy last week to help me be more efficient. I was just excited to have a remote drive on which I could write. However, when I use the handwriting recognition feature it translates the first sentence of this post in this way: [ So Brian brojnt me’ his etou pdf 1hinogy last week to help.we be more efficient.]

I’m not seeing the efficiency in that.

What it does allow me to do is discreetly surf the internet without Ruthie noticing as she watches Finding Nemo for the 42nd time.

We watch A LOT of Nemo. It’s my crutch to get through the early morning wake up calls without sending Ruthie out to the curb for the weekly trash pick up.

Screw all those studies that say your children shouldn’t watch more than two hours of T.V. a year or whatever it is “they” say. Those people have never spent 24 hours with my lively, curious, and energetic two year old who also happens to like partying in the middle of the night. Sometimes mamma needs to help the little angel zone out for awhile so she can take a shower, drink a cup of coffee, or perhaps lie down and die.

Which brings me to my next point: 8:30am is a very dark time in the world of PBS. I spend all morning chasing the GOOD shows around our three different PBS stations – shows like Barney, Clifford, and Sesame Street. But 8:30 is the Black Hole of children’s television, leaving this mamma searching desperately through the channels for something — ANYTHING — so she doesn’t have to hear the droning whines of the bratty Caillou.

It’ll be a miracle if my child manages to grow up with all her brain cells intact.