Happy birthday to my wonderful, inspiring, awesome mom!
You’re the best mom a girl could ask for! Hope today is wonderful!
(We need to take some new pictures together!)
Category: Love
The other night at the theatre, it was about 6pm and it was all warm and sunny and beautiful, and this 20-ish-year-old couple came walking through the courtyard, holding hands. He let go and vaulted over this low railing, and then turned around and looked at her, needing approval. I thought that was so cute, that he was showing off for her. Then he tried to help her jump over the railing, which of course she pretended like she couldn’t do. Then she got up on this planter box and he stood about 20 feet away and took pictures of her. And I was watching them and thinking, Isn’t love great?
Then an hour or so later, this 60s-ish couple came in and they were waiting for the box office to open. When I looked back at them again, she had gone up to the first landing of the stairs, and he was standing at the bottom taking pictures of her. And I just melted, because love and showing off love doesn’t just apply to 20-year-olds.
It’s springtime and people are twitterpated. I don’t know what it is but I know that I’ve felt a little giddy the past few days – the warmer weather? The extra vitamin D? The opportunity for more exercise outdoors? In the fall, my favorite season is the fall, but at this time of year, spring is definitely it.
So show off some love!
Categories
Sleep talking 25
My poor husband. We are both a little sleep deprived lately, and God knows no one handles sleep deprivation better than Drew. At this point I could probably get his deepest secrets out of him if I somehow kept him up past midnight.
Last night I was in bed, catching up on some super important tweets. Then I had to scroll through all my pictures from this weekend and marvel over how much fun I’ve had. Then finally I felt it was time to turn off the lamp. Which I did, plunging the room into darkness and apparently startling the sleeping Drew.
Drew: Can you see okay?
I: No, because it’s dark.
Drew: Didn’t you just grab a book? [pause] What did you just do?
I: I turned the light off.
Drew: Oh. Sorry. I’m [mumbled] ouwoffit.
I: You’re what? You’re out of what?
Drew: Loop.
Part of me misses the days when we could spend the weekend catching up on sleep. (And part of me doesn’t miss it at all.)
Today’s a special day in our family:
- It’s Drew’s and my 8-year dating anniversary.
- It’s the 1-year anniversary of the day we found out I was pregnant.
- And it’s B’s 4-month birthday!
Now if only we weren’t both sick…
And, as long as I’m wishing for things, maybe we could win the lottery?
Oh that’s right! We already did win the lottery! (Awwwwww)
I wrote this poem this morning.
For B, On Saturday Morning
When you fell asleep while nursing,
I thought you’d go back to sleep,
But you started crying.
When we brought you into the big bed,
I thought you’d at least stay quiet,
But you just wanted to kick and coo.
When Daddy got up with you,
I thought I could (possibly) doze for another few minutes,
But then you peed in your own face,
Twice,
And I knew it was time to just get up.
Baby B’s first thanksgiving! He’s thankful for his Lion King mobile. And so are we, because he loves it and will watch it happily and smile and dance. This allows me to brush my teeth and put in my contacts on the days when Drew is at work.
My brother and his wife weren’t able to fly out from Denver, so I’m thankful that my parents came down and we had dinner with Drew’s family, and it was really fun.
B was super fussy all day (growth spurt?) (they’re all growth spurts) so I’m thankful that everyone was easygoing about all the crying, and eager to try to hold him and calm him down, but understanding when I just had to go in other room and feed him. I’m also thankful that he’s strong and healthy and altogether a normal little boy. (I’m even thankful for the crying.)
Drew held him throughout dinner, and we were both kind of up and down with him, so neither of us gorged in that traditional, Thanksgiving dinner way. I’m thankful for that, in itself. But I’m also thankful that we got lots of leftovers to bring home, so we can eventually get our fill of turkey, stuffing, gravy, and all the rest.
I’m thankful that B has two sets of awesome grandparents who love him and are excited to watch him grow up. I’m thankful that those two sets of grandparents get along with each other.
Last year I was being deliberately optimistic about not being pregnant yet, and I was counting my blessings, and all that. I’m really thankful that this year I don’t have to twist the situation to shed it in a positive light.
Most of all this year I’m thankful for my two boys – for the one I chose and for the one who then (finally!) chose us.
This week, Drew and I celebrated our third wedding anniversary. How did we celebrate?
My parents came down and babysat:
And they sent us out on a date, where we promised each other not to talk about the baby. (We had occasional lapses. But overall we did way better than I’d expected.) I knew the evening was a special one, because I used two different colors of eyeshadow, and put on jewelry.
We went to the Melting Pot, which we have talked about doing for ages but have never quite gotten around to it. Neither of us really knew what we were getting into – for instance, they prepare and melt the fondue on a burner at your table. And you cook your meat in a pot on a burner at your table. And there’s a burner on your table.
We had spinach artichoke cheese fondue…
…Salads; then a variety of meats we attempted to cook; and then a white chocolate/banana/caramel/cinnamon dessert.
It was a fun, out of the ordinary experience that we might not have had if we hadn’t been pushed out the door…so thanks, Mom and Dad!
In a weird way, this year’s anniversary felt somehow more significant than past anniversaries have felt. Maybe because this year we really took the time to plan something, make a reservation, get a babysitter (or two), and go somewhere. It was really good to get out. And I think the timing (baby B is just over 6 weeks old) worked out well also.
Happy three years! It feels like an eyeblink, or maybe a decade. Let’s go on more dates.
I’ve been absent, but I have a good reason.
This little guy arrived early last Saturday morning, just after midnight. He’s become the center of our universes and we’re determined to spoil him (at least until he gets old enough that it becomes a problem). He’s a good sleeper, a good eater, a good cuddler. He has some of the cutest facial expressions and mannerisms I’ve ever seen.
There are things I miss about being pregnant, but actually not as much as I thought I would. It’s really nice to be able to do a lot of the things that I used to do – and to eat things I couldn’t eat for awhile. He’s barely 6 days old and I’ve already eaten like 4 turkey sandwiches. And the things I thought I’d miss were all kind of sentimental things about the bond I had with this unborn baby…but now we have this whole new aspect to our relationship, which brings all kinds of new challenges and victories. (I guess that should have been obvious.)
I’m trying really hard not to completely forget my “old” life, and to transition smoothly into my “new” life. I’ll try to keep updating you with how that’s going. And I’ll also try not to go all “stfu parents” on you. But you’ll have to allow me occasional slips. Like this one!
AWWWWWWWWWWWW
Yesterday I got in the car and my left foot went automatically for the clutch, which isn’t there anymore.
That’s right. After eleven years, I’ve finally given up my little Saturn coupe in exchange for something bigger, sturdier, and safer. It comes none too soon, given that I’m due with my first baby in less than two weeks and, frankly, there was no way to fit a carseat in the tiny backseat of my Saturn.
I opted out of trying to sell the car. The Kelly Blue Book value was just embarrassing. It seemed like selling would be one hassle on top of another, and that wasn’t really something I was interested in taking on, especially when I stood to gain so little. Instead I looked into donation options, figuring that a tax write-off next year will be welcomed.
After choosing a worthy cause on which to bestow my 16-year-old donation, I filled out a brief online form and almost immediately got a phone call. Clearly, places that accept donations of cars are used to getting piles of car pieces that are mostly good for scrap metal. I was a little surprised at the questions: things like “How’s the body?” and “Is it in drivable condition?” Of course, I thought, I’ve been driving it every day. And the paint has some scratches but I somehow managed to stay body-damage free throughout those most reckless years known as “high school and college.” By the time we got off the phone, in my head, this baby was in mint-condition.
We decided on Saturday for the pickup. I was allowed to choose the time slot and I picked 10am to noon. This gave me enough time to take a little drive down Highway 1 in the morning, and reminisce about the good ol’ days. I figured I would be fine. I had come to terms with this. And I was trading up for something so much more important.
I got home from my excursion to Starbucks, and I was fine. When the pickup happened around 11:15, I met the guy outside to hand over the keys and sign off on the title. He looked up the street where he had parked the tow truck, and then asked me that now-familiar question, “Is it drivable?” Yes, I said, and he unlocked it, got in and started it up.
That’s when I felt that first hot sensation (not entirely unexpected) behind my eyes.
As he pulled away from the curb and up the street to the tow truck, I realized I didn’t want to watch any of this happen. Originally I’d thought I might take a picture of it on the tow truck (you know, for posterity?), but actually standing there, that idea just seemed sick.
I pretended the sun was too bright (absolutely not fooling Drew one bit), and shielded my eyes, and then turned around and walked into our apartment, dropping my donation receipt on the floor and going straight into the bathroom, where I proceeded to lose it in a way that both surprised and slightly embarrassed me.
It’s a car. It doesn’t have feelings. It’s not capable of thought. I know this rationally.
All I can offer in my defense is that I get attached to things. And after eleven years…well, this car was always there for me. Even when it was leaking oil and making the most intimidating growling sounds on cold mornings, it was a remarkably reliable little car. Especially since I didn’t always treat it as nicely as I could have.
I’m holding on to the idea that someone is going to do a little work to fix it up, and sell it at auction, hopefully to a young, fresh-faced kid who wants to drive a fun little 2-door with a iPod input and four relatively new tires. A kid who wants to get really good at playing real-life Tetris with all their possessions, who wants to teach their friends to drive stick, and who will learn some life lessons with this car in the background. Sixteen years is not all that old, after all, even for a car. It’s the circle of life, people.
And if you’re thinking I’m an emotional wreck…well, that’s probably true, also. Nine months pregnant, remember?
Originally published in the Lake County Record-Bee on 9/22/12
I recently saw a staged reading of a show called The Loudest Man on Earth, by Catherine Rush. The play is about a hearing woman who meets a deaf man and they start a relationship. Her family’s not in love with the relationship, partly because he’s slightly older than she is, and his family seems to be out of the picture. He’s defensive about being deaf, and tends to be angry at the world. They go through a rocky period, and after that I don’t really want to give any spoilers.
The BRILLIANT thing about the play is that the man mainly signs (he does speak occasionally, which is a major plot point). The woman signs and speaks a lot, but there are times she only signs. The play is not interpreted, so there are scenes that are totally spoken, and scenes that are totally signed, and then some scenes are mixed. So it’s unlikely than most audience members would understand every single thing that is said.
It’s about communication, both between these two characters, and also between them and the rest of the world.
There are transitional scenes, where Jordan (the male character) is writing letters to Haylee (the female character), describing scenes from their life together. They’re entirely signed, and completely beautiful. They’re love letters, about their first date, or a story about him watching her while she’s sleeping, but also they’re letters describing his childhood and his relationship with his parents and his difficulties growing up and being completely unable to hear anything.
The play was gorgeous, and it was only a staged reading. I was teary through most of it, and I lost it at the end. I lose it a lot lately, so I know that’s part of it, but seriously, I’ve been so psyched about this script since the first time I read it months ago, and I knew it was going to be great.
I think a lot of what I loved about it was that I am enchanted by American Sign Language. When I was 12 or 13, and working at the camp my family worked at every summer, we met a guy a couple years older than me. He was deaf and most of my friends and I communicated with him primarily by writing. He would carry around a spiral notebook and we would just write back and forth. After the first summer though, a lot of us got interested in ASL and ended up taking classes, so in later years there was some signing (although still a lot of writing – and drawing).
In high school I ended up taking 3 semesters of ASL, which I used for my foreign language grad requirement instead of taking Spanish. As with many high school things, I regret not paying more attention, or practicing more, or sticking with it, or appreciating the opportunity I was given. My parents took the same classes, and it was fun when, for awhile, our family was signing to each other and practicing with each other and going to night classes together.
ASL is fascinating to me for several reasons. I love the grammar structure. I love the beauty of it, of watching someone who is fluent, and the grace and the deliberateness of each gesture. I also love the fact that even though I have forgotten almost everything from those classes 10 years ago, so much of it came back to me so easily. Watching someone tell a story in ASL is so much easier to understand than listening to someone tell a story in another verbal language with which you’re not familiar.
The story of The Loudest Man on Earth is not complicated. It’s a boy-meets-girl story. That’s not to say it’s simple or easy. But the twist to it just makes it something so special, in my mind and, I think, in a lot of other people’s minds as well. I sincerely hope to be able to see a fully-realized production of this play sometime in the future. Fingers crossed.
The Cameraphone Diaries 