Sunday, August 26, 2012

It Was So Simple

My husband and I fight on weekends. It's over the same topic, and it's incredibly frustrating. The solution to it has been so simple the entire time. For some reason, it never occurred to me. 

My husband is a procrastinator. He is not a planner. He refuses to makes plans for our weekends, and when I try, he never likes them. 

I am a planner. I am a "get it done now" person. When I say something, I want to act on it immediately.  I get things done quickly and usually before they're due. Procrastinating makes me nauseous. 

These differing attitudes cause conflict when I'm hungry and he's lazy.

We usually go out to lunch on weekends. As we begin to get toward the afternoon, I will state that I would like to go eat. He'll say sure, and then not move. Or, he'll go take an hour long shower. Or mow the lawn. Or something else that is not edible. 

Did I mention that I get incredibly grouchy when I'm incredibly hungry?

Oh, yeah.

Anyway, so by the time he is done doing whatever thing he could have been doing hours ago, I'm irritated. And hungry. And the type of grouchy that he knows is coming. And then he gets mad because I'm irritated. And then we argue. And then Saturdays stink until one of us gives in.

Meanwhile, I'm still flipping hungry.

Anyway, today, we slept late and he decided to mow the lawn at noon. Noon is close to lunch time. He is fanatical about the lawn in the way that I am fanatical about being on time. It took him almost two hours to finish and shower. 

Did I mention that I was starving at this point?

Once the shower was over, I assumed he would be dressed and on his way to lunch with me. 

Except that then he lies down on the bed with the iPad and says that he "needs a minute". 

Okay. I get it. You just did a lot of physical labor.


So I did something that I don't think I have ever done before. I didn't get irritated. I just said "screw it" and went downstairs and had a snack. I didn't want to argue, and I didn't want to be hungry anymore. 


Sigh. I'm dense. I get it. 

I also understand that there are starving children in Africa who have it way worse than I do, and I can deal with a few hours of hunger without getting angry. In theory. But baby girl loves to eat.

Anyway, now Hubs is in the bathroom shaving, and that might take another century or two. I'll probably have another snack.

At any rate, it's hip to be square (and not hungry!), kids.

*Edit* He is now taking ANOTHER shower. I WILL NEVER UNDERSTAND BOYS.

Monday, August 20, 2012

Stupid Gluten

I am gluten free.

I say that not as a proclamation of my moral superiority because my diet is all holier-than-thou, but more like as an affirmation that the universe is a flippin' cruel place that likes to laugh at me regularly.

Yes, I understand that there are children in Africa who would be more than happy to eat whatever food they were given, and I should be thankful that I have food period. I am very thankful. I just also think that this is majorly effed up. 

I. Love. Bread.

Seriously. It's a good thing I went gluten free before getting married because otherwise, I would have just married bread. I used to eat toast for dinner. I would go to restaurants and eat so much bread that I never wanted my meal. Bread and butter is, like, the best thing ever. I'm not exaggerating when I say that I ordered a turkey club just about everywhere that I went. It was my go-to meal. 

I miss sandwiches.

Yes, there are gluten free breads, and I eat them, but it isn't the same. It's like this mediocre middle ground between delicious, fluffy sub rolls and no bread at all. The good ones are edible. The bad ones are TERRIBLE. 

It's lame.

Anyway, the point is that I have been gluten free for almost a year and a half. In that time, my life has changed drastically. I used to suffer from terrible migraines every. single. day. I went 6 months with a migraine that didn't stop. Every minute of every day, I was in pain. I struggled and muddled through. I went to doctors, and they gave me medicine that didn't work or, worse, took my last little shred of functionality and threw it out the window. No one knew what was wrong. I went for MRIs and blood tests. On paper (and pictures), I was fine. I wondered if I losing it.

This begs that question if I ever had it to begin with. But I digress...

One day, I just had this moment of brilliance. "What if it's that hippie gluten shit that I keep hearing about?" I had no idea what gluten was, but I knew people stopped eating it and it fixed things. 

Within 24 hours, I was 50% better. Within a month, I had finally gotten a hang of my new eating habits, and was 100% better.

That being said, I still freaking miss bread. And cookies. And brownies. And cupcakes. 

Every 6 months or so, I get fed up of it and go on an all out gluten binge. I don't think I could ever be an alcoholic, but I could be a gluten-aholic. I know how much trouble I'm going to be in when I eat it, but sometimes, I just can't say no. 

My gluten free life is so much more productive. I have less anxiety. I don't feel in a fog. I am almost never nauseous (which was perpetual before) and I very rarely get heartburn (also constant prior). And the headaches are gone. Hallelujah, the headaches are gone!

This in no way makes me a healthy eater. Oh hells no. My diet is better, but I have a long way to go before proclaiming that I eat well. I'm still trying to work out the bugs of having most of the things that I love taken out of my diet. That will be a long process. Eventually, I'll work harder at eating green things. In the meantime, though, I'd really flipping love a brownie.

As always, it's hip to be square (and gluten free!), kids.

Tuesday, August 14, 2012

No Good Very Bad Dreams

Life has been stressful as of late. Work is giving me all sorts of palpitations, and my hubs has the world's worst sunburn. It sounds trivial, but that thing is making him miserable. There is stress at the office, and there is just as much at home. 

Yesterday was the worst of it for me. I had anxiety like I haven't experienced since I tried to leave home to go to college. For the most part, I'm a pretty calm person, and I just deal with things as they happen. Not yesterday. I shut down entirely. I felt hollow while feeling like I might explode from there just being too much everything. UGH.

I did manage to fall asleep pretty quickly last night. I thought it was going to be a miserable sleepless night of miserable misery. It wasn't sleepless. If anything, it was something-full. Dreadful? Painful? OhmyeffingG-dcouldthishurtmoreful? 

I don't know.

I had dreams. Weird, mean dreams. 

I never got to meet any of my grandparents. Both grandfathers died before I was born, and my maternal grandmother died when I was 6 months old. My paternal grandmother actually died in 2006, but I never met her, and I don't think she even knew that I existed. My father's relationship with her was more than twisted, and she had severe dementia in her later years. I was always jealous of kids who had grandparents while being irritated that everyone assumed that my actual parents were my grandparents. I wanted more family. I wanted cousins who were also best friends. I wanted people who would spoil me just cause (even though my parents did a pretty good job of that) and provide the kind of guidance that goes beyond parents. I have always missed people who I never got to know. 

There is a point to this, I assure you.

The dream that I can remember still brings tears to my eyes. It hurts me in the pit of my soul. I was running around a small town looking for my maternal grandfather. I guess that I had gotten wind that he had recently died. I was going in and out of stores trying to find him. The search wasn't the hard part because I knew he was already gone. The hard part was finding out that he had just died recently, but I had never gotten to know him. It turned my universe upside down to imagine that this person who had been idolized by my mother just forgot to tell us that he didn't die in 1981. I searched everywhere, and I could see him walking around in front of me, but I couldn't get to him. I wanted him so badly.

I still do.

There aren't words to describe how much I do.

I woke up this morning and knew that the dream was just a reflection of the frustration and agony of the day prior. I don't put a whole lot of stock in the meaning of dreams. I can usually figure out what was bothering me from the day before that would cause a nightmare. 

That doesn't mean that it hasn't been on my mind all day. It doesn't mean that I haven't been trying to wrap my head around why a childhood longing for something that I just couldn't have has resurfaced and just stings a whole hell of a lot.

What it does mean is that I'm now realizing how much time I spend worrying about the time that my future children will have with the wonderful people who are their grandparents. Sometimes, I feel like it's all-consuming. I want my children to have what I had with them. I want them to know from personal experience that their grandparents are amazing, awesome, wonderful, crazy people who love them so, so much.

I need that. I need that for them.

Sigh. It's time to attempt bed again.

Even today, it's hip to be square, kids.

Friday, August 10, 2012

The Moment I Knew

I have felt "ready" to make this huge step toward parenthood for a while, but I'm not sure that even I was entirely convinced. I don't think I knew what part of me was holding out. I had an "aha!" moment a few weeks ago, and now I'm so certain that I feel it in my bones.

I think that, up until a few weeks ago, I was thinking about parenthood from the perspective of making and having a baby.  I was thinking about how nice it would be to have someone need me. I was engrossed in the thought of my family "oohing" and "aahing" over something that I created. It was all terribly superficial, but it was all consuming. I'm much more mellow about it now, and I couldn't be more grateful for the chance to take the pressure off of myself.

The story begins with two pups. These two:
Big dog.
(P.S. This picture won a photo contest at our local new station. He's flipping adorable.)
Little Dog.
(She's my heart. She stole it as a pup and never gave it back.)

My husband and I were getting ready to go to bed two Sundays ago. The process includes kenneling the little dog, turning the lights off downstairs, and ushering the big dog into the bedroom upstairs. The big dog was, of course, chasing the little dog around and trying to flip her over with his nose so he could lick her nethers. He has been doing it every single day for the past 4 years. The little dog does not enjoy this in any way, so it's fairly common for her to bite one of his wrinkles to get him to lay off. Sometimes she beats him up pretty badly, but he has 40 pounds on her. We don't worry.

So, when there was a drop of blood on the tile, we didn't really worry about it. When it was followed by a  trail of a whole lot of blood, we worried a little more. When the dog was limping and everywhere he went included a POOL of blood, we were ready to freak out. Somehow, the big dog managed to knock his toe nail out of place, and it included a whole hell of a lot of gushing.

The point of this is not to gross you out. Actually, the dog injury isn't even really the point. It was our reactions. We could have freaked out. I could have done my famous "gagging so badly it makes other people gag", but I didn't. Hubs took the lead, asked me to clean the blood, and held the dog. Then, between the two of us, we found the injury, calmed the dog, and cleaned it up. We discussed whether to wait it out or rush him to the emergency vet. We decided to wait it out. We took turns keeping the dog still and calm. We glued the wound with super glue and made some makeshift bandages. Then, we took shifts at night making sure he wasn't bleeding or losing his personality.

There was no fighting or arguing. We just figured it out until the crisis was over. That's when I got grouchy and just wanted to go to bed.

Big dog laying down with his makeshift bandaged paw. 

But we were a team. There was a big problem, and we just fixed it. We had a gimpy dog for a few weeks, and now he's back to his old, dumb self.

We could totally do this parenthood thing. I know dogs aren't kids, but it's the closest thing we have. We love them unconditionally, even in the wee hours of the morning when we have to lay on top of them to keep them still and keep the blood off the carpet. We can do this.

We can totally do this.

We can do this.

Especially now, it's hip to be square kids.

Friday, August 3, 2012

The Number Four

Four years ago today, I started dating the man who would become my husband. 

I maintain that this was a good decision. 

I could write one of my long-winded posts on all of my husbands good traits (and I most certainly will), but I just want to leave you with the tidbit that endeared him in my heart forever. I assure you that I will get back to being long-winded very shortly. 

My husband and I worked together, and that's where we met. He wasn't my boss, but his job was close enough to my superior that it would have looked majorly sketchy for us to date had he not been transferring very shortly. Apparently he had noticed me and tried to take me out to lunch a few times, but I had never caught on to the fact that he was flirting with me. I just thought we were coincidentally going to lunch at the same time for a couple of days. Why yes, I am incredibly dense. 

Anyway, the place we worked threw the employees a party at a bowling alley, and I went with a male friend of mine who, to this day, is still called my fake husband. Apparently, hubs had held off asking me out because he thought I was dating my "fake husband" who I love to death but would never date ever because he's like my brother and that's gross and ewwwww. Vomit.

Anyway, hubs and I got to talking at the bowling alley and ended up leaving there and going with some friends to a hookah bar. The hookah bar was by my house, so he drove me home. I asked if he wanted to come in and see my new apartment. He was perfectly gentlemanly and didn't even try to make a move. He didn't have to. We stood in my kitchen and talked until 3 in the morning. By that time, he had already stolen my heart. Immediately upon walking through my front door, he said six fateful words that ensured that I was his. 

"Can we let your dogs out?"

He proceded to sit right down on the floor and roll around with my two little chihuahuas until they were content and passed out on his lap.

And that was it. There was no more question. Either someone gave him the handbook of me or he had me pegged from the moment we met.

Either way, I think it worked out. 

Happy anniversary of our first date, babe.

And what do you know? That turned out to be pretty long-winded anyway. WIN!

As always, it's hip to be square, kids. 

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