Tomorrow Steven and I celebrate the second anniversary of our marriage. That's right: 2 years, 2 kids. It's been great. I have been happier than I ever thought possible.
Which gets me to thinking about something people always say: Marriage is hard work. Frankly, it hasn't been. For me, DATING was hard. Marriage is the fun part, and everything in my life right now would be much harder and much less enjoyable if I were not married.
I'm not sure what's supposed to be hard about it. Getting along? We got married because we got along and never got sick of each other. Learning to live with someone? We've both lived with people all our lives and had to contribute to households. I guess we had a hard time at first sleeping comfortably in the same bed, but that was quickly resolved. Working together on things? We met when we were working together; that's never been a problem. We also think similarly and have common goals. Raising children? Well, so far that's been fun, and much easier as a couple than it would be alone. Learning to share? We both wanted to get married because we were sick of living just for ourselves. We LIKE to share!
I guess we do both work hard, but it just doesn't seem to me like marriage itself has been a cause of work. Instead, it's probably the best part of my life (it entails a lot of good things). Does having an easy marriage mean we're doing something wrong? Or do we just need to wait a few more years to become embittered with each other and jaded with life? Am I the only one who feels this way?
At any rate, if I could do it all over again, I'd marry Steven the moment I met him. Which would be really awkward, since it was when he was interviewing me for a job.
Monday, August 11, 2008
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Pickled Greens
Last night I counted 10 jars of pickled green foods in our fridge. And yes, all of them are desirable and in the process of being eaten.
Can anyone beat that?
Can anyone beat that?
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Poop
I just don't know what else to call this entry. I had to make a new label too, which I guess is fine, because it will probably come in handy.
Last night I was making my visual aids for Primary Singing Time (I'm the chorister - my dream calling), and down the hall I heard a door open and shut. My brother-in-law's family has been staying with us for the last month while they close on a house (this Tuesday!), so I figured it was just one of my nietos getting up to go to the bathroom. A couple of minutes later, though, I heard three-year-old Tristan crying.
I went in to the bathroom and he was sitting there sobbing on the toilet. The tell-tale trail of diarrhea and soiled clothing told the rest of the story.
Now, Dan and Hyde had gone to the movies after putting their kids to bed. During the last month, this arrangement has worked well for us - we've traded off staying home while the other couple stays uneventfully with the sleeping kids. I guess my luck just finally ran out.
Now, having a 1-year-old daughter and a sister who is 13 years younger than me, I have plenty of experience taking care of poopy kids. The thing is, though, that I'm not used to boys - specifically, boy parts. And, um, I guess I'm still a little weird about them. That may seem odd, considering that I'm married and pregnant, but...well, boys and girls are different. And it's weird enough to have to clean poop off someone else's kid without that extra bit of awkwardness.
I told Tristan to wait there while I went down and got Steven. "Steven," I said, "Tristan pooped his pants...and he's a boy. And I'm not. I need help." "Oh," said my husband, "I just took out my contacts..." Meaning that at this point, he was pretty much blind. Sigh.
I went back upstairs, took a breath (outside the bathroom), and went to work. I got him cleaned up, rinsed out his clothes (gross), gave him a bath to make sure all crevices were poop-free, and got him in a towel. Then we went into his parents' room to look for clean clothes. Which were nowhere to be found. Every pair of superhero undies I presented were pronounced "Victor's." Finally, I went down to the laundry room where, luckily, I found a smaller pair of Spiderman underwear in the dryer, along with some pajama pants. Poop-free, tear-free, and clothed, Tristan went back to bed, and I went back to finish cleaning up the bathroom.
This story has no moral. Except that when life gives you a diarrheic three-year-old, clean up his poop.
Last night I was making my visual aids for Primary Singing Time (I'm the chorister - my dream calling), and down the hall I heard a door open and shut. My brother-in-law's family has been staying with us for the last month while they close on a house (this Tuesday!), so I figured it was just one of my nietos getting up to go to the bathroom. A couple of minutes later, though, I heard three-year-old Tristan crying.
I went in to the bathroom and he was sitting there sobbing on the toilet. The tell-tale trail of diarrhea and soiled clothing told the rest of the story.
Now, Dan and Hyde had gone to the movies after putting their kids to bed. During the last month, this arrangement has worked well for us - we've traded off staying home while the other couple stays uneventfully with the sleeping kids. I guess my luck just finally ran out.
Now, having a 1-year-old daughter and a sister who is 13 years younger than me, I have plenty of experience taking care of poopy kids. The thing is, though, that I'm not used to boys - specifically, boy parts. And, um, I guess I'm still a little weird about them. That may seem odd, considering that I'm married and pregnant, but...well, boys and girls are different. And it's weird enough to have to clean poop off someone else's kid without that extra bit of awkwardness.
I told Tristan to wait there while I went down and got Steven. "Steven," I said, "Tristan pooped his pants...and he's a boy. And I'm not. I need help." "Oh," said my husband, "I just took out my contacts..." Meaning that at this point, he was pretty much blind. Sigh.
I went back upstairs, took a breath (outside the bathroom), and went to work. I got him cleaned up, rinsed out his clothes (gross), gave him a bath to make sure all crevices were poop-free, and got him in a towel. Then we went into his parents' room to look for clean clothes. Which were nowhere to be found. Every pair of superhero undies I presented were pronounced "Victor's." Finally, I went down to the laundry room where, luckily, I found a smaller pair of Spiderman underwear in the dryer, along with some pajama pants. Poop-free, tear-free, and clothed, Tristan went back to bed, and I went back to finish cleaning up the bathroom.
This story has no moral. Except that when life gives you a diarrheic three-year-old, clean up his poop.
Friday, July 18, 2008
Thoughts
Books
I just bought a bunch of books online. Olivia somehow stuck several of the pages of My First Animal Book - one of her favorites - together, and after trying to steam them apart, I realized that 1) it was taking a long time, 2) I would not be satisfied with the end result, and 3) my hourly rate for freelance work is several times the price of a new book, especially if I can find it online. Which I did, along with several other goodies that I've been wanting for a while: Crictor, Space Witch, and My First Body Book. Actually, that last one isn't something I've craved, but it looks good. The other two are some I remember from my childhood, and I'm excited to have them again. Yesterday at Goodwill I also found a Syd Hoff collection for $2 that included Stanley, Sammy the Seal, and Grizzwold. I don't remember the first two, but I have fond memories of Grizzwold. Now I'm on the lookout for Danny and the Dinosaur, or in fact a complete Syd Hoff collection. I'm not one of those people who can buy (or do much of anything) without guilt, but I feel good about today's purchases.
Friends
Yesterday we had our friend Kimberly and her daughter Rachel over for dinner. Kimberly's husband is out of town for a couple of weeks. We keep meaning to invite them over, but having extended visitors has put a little bit of a damper on many of our social plans. Since Dan and Hyde took the kids to San Antonio for a couple of days, and since I know how hard it is to motivate yourself to cook for one, or one and a half, it was a good time to have them over. Every time I talk to Kimberly I think afterwards how much I like her. It's nice to mutually want to be friends with someone, not out of obligation, but just because you like talking with them.
Heritage
A few days ago Steven was showing me some of his foreign money that he collected as a kid. It was interesting to look at. One thing that struck me was a Brazilian bill - the picture on the back depicted the conquest of native peoples by the Europeans. I thought it was interesting because often today, the offspring of a conquered people feel a kind of resentment toward those ancient conquerers who raped and enslaved their ancestors. The fact is, though, that, like it or not, the conquerers are as much their ancestors and the conquered. You may not approve of what one side of your ancestry did to the other, but they are both equally a part of you. To me, it seemed that this Brazilian currency demonstrated their understanding and acceptance of this.
Pregnant
I am! My due date is February 15th - which also happens to be my birthday. I haven't been sick, which is nice; just tired. And emotional. It's hard to imagine sharing maternal love and care with someone besides Olivia, but I'm also excited. Having a baby grow inside of you is absolutely miraculous, and seeing in Olivia what that baby will grow into - a little person who thinks and reasons and has ideas all their own - is mind-boggling.
Garlic-Stuffed Green Olives
I love them. Love them. Oooooh, man.
I just bought a bunch of books online. Olivia somehow stuck several of the pages of My First Animal Book - one of her favorites - together, and after trying to steam them apart, I realized that 1) it was taking a long time, 2) I would not be satisfied with the end result, and 3) my hourly rate for freelance work is several times the price of a new book, especially if I can find it online. Which I did, along with several other goodies that I've been wanting for a while: Crictor, Space Witch, and My First Body Book. Actually, that last one isn't something I've craved, but it looks good. The other two are some I remember from my childhood, and I'm excited to have them again. Yesterday at Goodwill I also found a Syd Hoff collection for $2 that included Stanley, Sammy the Seal, and Grizzwold. I don't remember the first two, but I have fond memories of Grizzwold. Now I'm on the lookout for Danny and the Dinosaur, or in fact a complete Syd Hoff collection. I'm not one of those people who can buy (or do much of anything) without guilt, but I feel good about today's purchases.
Friends
Yesterday we had our friend Kimberly and her daughter Rachel over for dinner. Kimberly's husband is out of town for a couple of weeks. We keep meaning to invite them over, but having extended visitors has put a little bit of a damper on many of our social plans. Since Dan and Hyde took the kids to San Antonio for a couple of days, and since I know how hard it is to motivate yourself to cook for one, or one and a half, it was a good time to have them over. Every time I talk to Kimberly I think afterwards how much I like her. It's nice to mutually want to be friends with someone, not out of obligation, but just because you like talking with them.
Heritage
A few days ago Steven was showing me some of his foreign money that he collected as a kid. It was interesting to look at. One thing that struck me was a Brazilian bill - the picture on the back depicted the conquest of native peoples by the Europeans. I thought it was interesting because often today, the offspring of a conquered people feel a kind of resentment toward those ancient conquerers who raped and enslaved their ancestors. The fact is, though, that, like it or not, the conquerers are as much their ancestors and the conquered. You may not approve of what one side of your ancestry did to the other, but they are both equally a part of you. To me, it seemed that this Brazilian currency demonstrated their understanding and acceptance of this.
Pregnant
I am! My due date is February 15th - which also happens to be my birthday. I haven't been sick, which is nice; just tired. And emotional. It's hard to imagine sharing maternal love and care with someone besides Olivia, but I'm also excited. Having a baby grow inside of you is absolutely miraculous, and seeing in Olivia what that baby will grow into - a little person who thinks and reasons and has ideas all their own - is mind-boggling.
Garlic-Stuffed Green Olives
I love them. Love them. Oooooh, man.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Update
So, as you can tell by the URL, this page was intended to keep people updated as to my activities and whereabouts. So...I'll bring us up to date. In January, my brilliant hubby took a job as a programmer at ExxonMobil, and we moved to Houston. Or rather, a suburb of Houston.
Now, while I never, never, never, never, never, never, ever wanted to live in Texas, I will confess that I really, really like it here. I like the people. I like the accents. I like the food. I like the attractions. I like the housing market. I like the WEATHER - yes, I said that. It's hot and humid, but I haven't found it unbearable - Olivia and I even take walks during the day. And I really, really like the summer rainstorms. Hurricane season isn't pleasant for everyone, I know, but it's certainly been nice for me. I love the sensory experiences provided by a good thunderstorm. I also love the free lawn watering.
Is there anything I don't like about living here?
Yes. These.
Now, while I never, never, never, never, never, never, ever wanted to live in Texas, I will confess that I really, really like it here. I like the people. I like the accents. I like the food. I like the attractions. I like the housing market. I like the WEATHER - yes, I said that. It's hot and humid, but I haven't found it unbearable - Olivia and I even take walks during the day. And I really, really like the summer rainstorms. Hurricane season isn't pleasant for everyone, I know, but it's certainly been nice for me. I love the sensory experiences provided by a good thunderstorm. I also love the free lawn watering.
Is there anything I don't like about living here?
Yes. These.
Sunday, June 8, 2008
The Pot of My Pie
Banquet pot pies are now microwaveable! Hooray, hooray!
I love their golden, crispy crusts - which are surprisingly golden and crispy even when cooked in the microwave. I love their savory innards, made with naturally artificial ingredients. I love their turkey, chicken, and beef. But most of all, I love their price: less than fiddy cent. Could anything be more delicious than cheap food?
And yes, I do know about the recall. That's all been resolved.
I love their golden, crispy crusts - which are surprisingly golden and crispy even when cooked in the microwave. I love their savory innards, made with naturally artificial ingredients. I love their turkey, chicken, and beef. But most of all, I love their price: less than fiddy cent. Could anything be more delicious than cheap food?
And yes, I do know about the recall. That's all been resolved.
Friday, May 2, 2008
Happy Birthday, Olivia!
It's hard to believe it's been a year, but it must have been in order for this:
to become this:
I know that none of you doubts that I love my little birthday girl, but on this day I would like to say again that I do. Just before this time last year, I was tired and excited and anticipating the arrival of a little girl who was growing inside of me, but whose face I'd never seen and whose voice I'd never heard. The first time I saw her, at around 8:50 on Wednesday morning, I felt I was looking at a stranger. Her eyes were open, and she was looking at me and at all the world around. She didn't look sleepy or shriveled or confused - she was excited and curious, ready to take on whatever might come next. That's the way she's always been, really. At the same time, though, she looks at me, clings to me, touches my arm in a way that says she depends on me and trusts that I'm there for her. It's hard for me to describe how wonderful that makes me feel - it is wonderful to be the mother of such a remarkable person.
to become this:
I know that none of you doubts that I love my little birthday girl, but on this day I would like to say again that I do. Just before this time last year, I was tired and excited and anticipating the arrival of a little girl who was growing inside of me, but whose face I'd never seen and whose voice I'd never heard. The first time I saw her, at around 8:50 on Wednesday morning, I felt I was looking at a stranger. Her eyes were open, and she was looking at me and at all the world around. She didn't look sleepy or shriveled or confused - she was excited and curious, ready to take on whatever might come next. That's the way she's always been, really. At the same time, though, she looks at me, clings to me, touches my arm in a way that says she depends on me and trusts that I'm there for her. It's hard for me to describe how wonderful that makes me feel - it is wonderful to be the mother of such a remarkable person.
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