Why is it that someone pointing out the obvious can be so painful? It is, by definition, obvious - and I generally see obvious things. But somehow, hearing things from someone else is not the same as saying the same things in your own head.
Take, for example, my weight. With my first three pregnancies, I gained 59, 59, and 55 pounds (that last one was born 2 weeks early, or I would have hit 59 again). Today I went to the doctor for my regular checkup and was informed, kindly, that my weight gain was higher than normal, and I ought to take some steps to combat this. I mentioned that I had gained just as much during my three other pregnancies, but that didn't fly - he said, it's better for me and my recovery to slow the weight gain. For the record, I've gained 45 pounds in just about 31 weeks. So I have another 14 pounds in 9 weeks to match what I've done in the past, and I think I'm right in line with that.
Here's the four-fold problem. 1. I eat like crap. 2. Logically I know that the doctor is right. 3. I am 100% not motivated to make any changes. 4. The guilt makes me want to eat.
First of all, my eating habits. I've always had a sweet tooth, ice cream in particular being my main downfall, followed by candy and chocolate (whichever I'm in the mood for). In terms of actual meals, they haven't been too unhealthy this time. With my first pregnancy, I loved cheeseburgers. I remember sitting at a Wendy's one night, eating a value meal, deciding I was still hungry, and ordering another cheeseburger. I don't think I've ever eaten two cheeseburgers in one sitting, except at maybe the odd barbeque - I've certainly never ordered two at a restaurant before or since. Also, one time I was driving home from work and stopped at a nearby 7-11 for a hot dog covered with nacho cheese. I ate it in the car and by the time I got from Agoura Hills to Simi Valley, I had to stop at another 7-11 for a second one. It is amazing to me that Boy #1 turned out normal after all that!
This time, though, it is candy and sweets, no question. What is making the situation worse this pregnancy is that we have enough money that when I'm grocery shopping I don't feel the financial incentive to put the bag of jelly beans back. Or the Hostess Cherry Pie. Or the 1/2 gallon of Dreyer's Mint Chocolate Chip. Or the bag of gummy worms. Additionally, I'm tired. I'm tired because I'm not sleeping well, I'm tired because I'm big and have a hard time breathing, I'm tired of being pregnant in general. And with that tiredness comes capitulation. I don't have the willpower to stop myself from buying the stuff, let alone eating it. Once it's in the house, the battle is over.
Second, the doctor is right. My husband, who seriously questions my sanity when he finds a stash of candy in my closet or drawer, is right also. And I know this. I'm not stupid. I've had to lose 50+ pounds every three years for the last 10 years, so it's not like I don't understand the rule of calories in - calories expended = weight gain. And since respiration is the hardest things I've got going for me aerobically, I know it doesn't burn the kind of calories I need to make up for my eating habits. The two of them, plus anyone else that hasn't had the guts to question my weight gain (and good for them! Self-preservation, I always say!) they are right.
Third, I'm not motivated to change my habits. Like I mentioned, I'm tired. It takes me a lot of energy to decide to diet or to make any willpower-induced changes, even when I'm not pregnant. My doctor recommended that I stop eating all white flour and white sugar - which cuts out practically all processed and convenience foods, and leaves all the healthy natural stuff. It is a similar diet to the Weight Watchers Core Plan, which I used to lose the weight after Boy #3, although with less restrictions. He's not telling me to diet, per se, just to limit what I eat to healthy food. It doesn't sound ridiculous - it's not like he's telling me to eat only cabbage soup or hamburgers with no bun, and he's not telling me to do something unrealistic. But it feels unrealistic to me. In dieting lingo, they are always telling you to substitute bad habits with good ones, so when I'm stressed out by the kids because my threshold for tolerance is particularly low, they would tell me to go for a walk or listen to music or take a bubble bath instead of breaking out the Haagen-Dazs. To a regular person that makes sense, but to me in my state of mind (and body) it sounds so overwhelming that it's as if they are suggesting I combat a food craving by jumping out of an airplane. I don't know if you would really understand that feeling unless you've felt it, or been depressed- it's a similar feeling.
Fourth, just to compound the whole situation, I feel so guilty being told by my doctor that I'm gaining too much weight that it makes me want to eat more crappy food to make myself feel better. Which of course makes me feel guiltier, which in turn makes me less motivated for change, and then makes me feel stupid because I KNOW what the right answer is here. And all of that requires a nice application of sweets to make me feel better.
Part of me wants to just blow off what I was told today, not let it bother me or make me feel bad, and say, This is the way it's going to be, I can cut out the more ridiculous snacking but I accept that there are another 14 pounds with my hips' name on them and that is the way it's going to be. The other part of me is saying that I can make a real effort and try to follow these guidelines, because I am the kind of person that follows instructions and does the right thing, and this is the right thing. But I can do that and maybe only gain 10 pounds instead of 14, or 8. Is that going to make a material difference? I won't lose 53 pounds much faster than losing 55, or 59. Of course, health wise, it probably could only help.
I don't have a resolution for this. I'm still churning it around in my mind and I'm open to opinions. I obviously wouldn't be welcome at a Weight Watchers meeting, so I'm looking elsewhere for support or motivation here. Sorry to come off as such a downer - it's been a rough couple of days.
On the bright side, my scars are healing very nicely, I no longer scare children and animals or generate comment from tactless strangers. Also, report cards came in on Friday and both kids are doing very well. Boy #2 had a shoe-tying breakthrough and now can tie his own shoes like a pro. Boy #1 is showing some improvement in his math scores (last 2 tests he got a 90%) and Boy #3 drew a face on a piece of paper that actually looks like a face, so the art gene is still alive and kicking. Although he can't tell you what color crayon he was using, go figure. And there were 5 kids on the swingset just now, and no injuries. (No shortage of fights, which stems in part from the fact that I like to have two of everything that the kids might fight over but Boy #3 plays with a set of twins from next door so there is always one less thing that everyone wants.)
Tuesday, April 3, 2007
Sunday, April 1, 2007
I had excellent intentions, but you know what path that leads to...
Here's the short story: We decided that the trampoline was too dangerous for our little kids, so we decided to get rid of it and replace it with a high-quality wooden swingset. It has been up for 24 hours, and we've already had two injuries involving blood, including a neighbor boy who ended up at Instacare yesterday to get stiches in his brand-new, swingset-induced head wound.
Now for the long story:
Two and a half years ago we were given a trampoline by Ryan's parents. They had bought it and never set it up, and were now moving and didn't have room for it in their new yard, and knew that our kids would love it. We set it up the weekend of Zack's baby blessing, I think he was about 4 weeks old at the time, and both sides of the extended family were here to lend a hand.
The kids did love it. When it was still a novelty, it was played with for hours every day. Of course, that doesn't last with anything other than Lego Star Wars, and after a while it was used frequently but not daily. The real problem was that I was terrified that someone would break their neck on the darn thing. Which, of course, is an actual possibility. In our old neighborhood in Orem, we had neighbors who absolutely refused to get a trampoline because of the broken neck/broken back potential. Instead, they got a pool. (They said that at least if someone was drowning, they would know what to do to solve it - with a broken neck, what do you do?)
And our kids weren't the only ones who loved it; the whole cul-de-sac loved it. Of the families with younger kids, we were the only ones with a trampoline, so that was Noah and Zack's friends' favorite thing to do when they came over. (Brad's friends all tend to have them already, plus you can't play video games while you're jumping up and down, so it wasn't such a big deal to them.)
I've never known anyone to break their neck, or die, from a trampoline-related injury, but being very good friends with a pediatrician and knowing his, and my own doctor's, opinion on the things, plus knowing that Ryan was never allowed to go on one as a kid because his sister broke her wrist on one, was all enough to convince me to take some safety precautions. First, we bought a net to enclose the entire thing. We figured falling off would probably hurt kids, and NOT falling off would be a good idea. But most injuries don't occur from falling off, they occur from being on. So I made a rule that only 3 kids at a time can go on, and that I didn't really want, say, two big kids and Zack, who would get really hurt by them.
With rules comes micro-management. I had to be hyper-vigilant when kids were out there, because even though most neighbor kids knew the rules, Zack didn't, and would get on whenever he wanted to, causing a scream-fest from whoever was currently on. Also, there generally ended up being a line formed outside the trampoline waiting for their turn on, so I had to be the time keeper and let everyone know when to get off, and when the next group could get on, and which kids that consisted of. Usually it was Noah and his friends, then Zack and his friends, but heaven forbid the groups overlap, or Noah only has one friend over, making his group only 2 kids, leaving a spot for one of Zack's friends... If there were more than 3 kids in my backyard, I had to be outside or sitting at the kitchen table watching and supervising.
As it turns out, the hyper-vigilance worked pretty well. We had no major injuries to any little kids in 2 1/2 years. In fact, the only real injury came from an incident involving an adult and an older teenager, who, frankly, would not have welcomed my hyper-vigilance, although it seems like they could have used it, seeing that we ended up loading the adult into a minivan for a trip to the ER with a sprained ankle. But the little kids, who I felt a responsibility for, never had real injuries. That doesn't mean, however, that things were perfect, though. Noah and Zack frequently came into the house complaining that they hurt themselves. Frequently it was their neck or their back or their arm that got hurt, from landing wrong, or getting stepped on by another kid, or whatever.
After the ER trip, I started reconsidering the wisdom in having the trampoline at all. And every time a kid came in complaining of getting hurt, I would chalk up another mark against keeping it. Finally, at the end of the season last year, when we were all preparing for our winter hibernation, the last straw came. One of the boys came in hurting, and I said, that's it, it's over, we are not keeping this anymore. Ryan and I sat down with the kids and told them that we are getting rid of the trampoline and why, and they were pretty accepting of it. Brad was logical enough to see the danger, Noah was still hurting (I think it was him that got hurt) so he got the message, and Zack was barely 2 and too young to have an opinion.
We found a family in the ward who wanted to take it from us, so we made the commitment to get rid of it. But with the snow on the ground and such, we just left it there for the remainder of the winter. And guess what? My kids played on it safely and without serious argument for the next three months or so. There were no injuries, no hyper-vigilance required. Of course, there were no friends over usually, but still, I started having second thoughts.
Finally it got warm outside and my kids were playing outside more and more. The trampoline's new owner called and said that they were ready to come over and pick the thing up the next evening, a Monday. I was feeling so guilty I could barely stand it - clearly, my kids loved playing on this. Was I wrong to get rid of it? They were in just as much danger when they went to someone else's trampoline, this way I could at least supervise, enforce my rules. Were they going to hold this over my head for the rest of my life, kind of the way Ryan says that he could never play on one because of his sister, as if a little piece of childhood was stolen from him. How could I look my children in their beautiful blue eyes and steal their fun from them? All in the name of protecting them from some nebulus harm that may or may not be worse than simply driving in the car? Oh, the guilt, it killed me!
Monday came, and it was a gorgeous day, the first truly gorgeous day of the year. My kids went outside to play after school, joined by a couple of friends. Those friends multiplied, like Gremlins when you throw water on them, and before I knew it there were 11 kids in my backyard. We have about 1/4 acre total property, so we have a great big backyard, perfect for 11 kids. But what did they all want to do? Jump on the trampoline. And they were random kids, several who didn't know the rules, who weren't there with anyone in particular, all in line for their turn on the paralysis machine. I turned into the Trampoline Nazi, with a "timer" (none of them could tell time anyways) and the authority to determine whose turn it was. And instantly, I had no more guilt! I had no more regret! In fact, I could not have gotten rid of that thing sooner!
So with the tramp now gone, it was time to decide on it's replacement. We thought it would be a good idea to get a new swingset. The one that was back there currently was a) rusted and falling apart, b) too small, with only 2 swings and a monkey bar contraption that was used for sitting on top of, c) anchored in cement which was coming out of the ground, and d) constructed of hollow pipes that were, naturally, filled with wasp's nests. (Why this didn't seem like a bigger danger than the trampoline originally is beyond me.)
We started looking at our swingset options. And let me tell you, there are a whole world of options out there! Did we want a small one, a large one, a metal one or wooden? With monkey bars, or a fort, or a sandbox? How about price range: the swingsets meant for backyards started at about $200 and went up to $5,000 or higher. That doesn't even include the "professional" playgrounds, like you would see at a school or a park - all of that equipment is available too, through the magic of the internet. Brad fell in love with a gigantic wooden boat, about 20 feet long, that you could attach swings and stuff to, for a measly $4,150. Plus shipping of like $500. You can imagine the sincerity in my voice as I apologized, but we simply were unable to afford something like that.
Eventually we settled on a large wooden swingset with a fort, monkey bars, no sandbox, with a tire swing (seemed to appease Brad after his disappointment with the giant boat). There are places for 5 kids to swing, plus a trapeze bar, and a slide. Other than my fear that a kid will get kicked by someone on a swing, I am sure that this is a safer alternative than the trampoline. After all, everyone here has a swingset in their backyard, so their kids are in no more danger at my house than they are at their own. Plus, there are so many options for what to do on this swingset, it should keep them busy for hours! The price was a mind-boggling $799, which really was the low end in terms of wooden playgrounds, but with a 10% discount and no shipping, it seemed like a good deal.
Ryan has spent the last 10 or so days building the swingset, including two full Saturdays and two days of coming home early from work. The goal was to get it done in time for General Conference, so that the kids would have something to do that kept them busy so we could watch and enjoy ourselves. So Ryan spent yesterday (Saturday) putting the finishing touches to the swingset - the fort and monkey bars have been up for days, he attached some swings first thing in the morning, and spent the time between sessions doing the roof.
Within the first 6 hours of having a 90% completed swingset, we sent one kid to Instacare for stitches in his head (they did staples, actually). Within the first 24 hours, we had our second victim.
Both injuries came from the two-person glider swing. The first injury, to one of the twins that lives next door, happened because they decided instead of swinging to and fro the way the swing is made, they swung it side to side, causing it to crash, his head first, into the fort. The second injury came about when Brad decided to sit on the glider all the way at one end, see-saw like, causing the other end to tip up. As Ryan stood from the doorway and told him to stop (which he didn't hear), Brad dropped the back half, right on Zack's face. Zack started screaming, nose bleeding profusely, as Brad said, "I don't know what happened!" Which, of course, either means he is literally too dumb to be using a swing or trying to protect himself by lying. We vote for option 2. There was also one minor incident involving Noah's friend trying to jump off a swing, but getting the timing wrong, which ended up with him hitting the ground smack on his chest.
I'm tempted to wait to post this until after the final session of conference, to see if we get a third blood-related injury in as many sessions. Ryan is fairly depressed about the whole situation, since he was the one to spend so many, many hours building this thing that he now calls a "death-trap." He says he feels he is just biding his time until we have to make a trip to the emergency room. The kicker is that the whole point, our grand intention, was to keep our kids, and the kids who end up in our yard, safer. Oh, the irony.
Friday, March 30, 2007
11 Things I Love About My Husband
Today is our 11th anniversary, which on some days, feels like it has flown by, and on other days, it definitely feels like I've spent almost 1/3rd of my life being married. Since it has been so long since we took any actual vows to each other, I thought it would be nice to let everyone know how that has turned out. Pretty good, actually, and here's a list of some of the things I love about my husband.
1. He is the first person I want to tell good news to, and we both love talking to each other. This is most apparent at like midnight, when it is way, way past time to go to bed, and we are actually in bed but can't stop talking to each other. We've had at least one of our best business ideas come in these late night talks, when the lights were out and my glasses were off and we were literally minutes from falling asleep. And we've wasted lots and lots of time talking about stupid things that late too. But overall, we both really like talking to each other.
2. He is the first person I want to spend time with when I have free time. Or when I don't have free time, too. This was proved to both of us last year when we went to San Francisco for our 10th anniversary. We absolutely loved this time we had to ourselves, exploring a new place, and able to talk and eat and travel without being distracted by our kids. It gave both of us a taste of the future, and reminded ourselves that this was the reason we got married in the first place, because we loved being together so much. You can forget that really easily in the tedium of everyday life. I wish we could go away together much more often.
3. He is thoughtful. This morning I went into my closet in the vain hope of finding a pile of clothes the Maternity Fairy might have left that actually fit and make me look good. The Maternity Fairy must have passed my house by last night, but I did find a t-shirt of my husband's that fits me, that he put on my side of the closet instead of his. And when I washed my 6 year old body pillow and accidentally destroyed it (don't ask me how) he not only found me a regular pillow to use, but made it a point of saying, we need to get to the store to get you a new one. That was about 3 weeks ago, and I haven't replaced it, but today we were discussing where to go for dinner tonight and out of the blue he said, "If we go somewhere locally we can stop at Bed, Bath and Beyond to get you a new body pillow." It is actually so thoughtful that it makes me wonder if there is something in it for him! But I think he sees that the thing in it for him is that I think the world of him when he is thoughful to me.
4. He is not tired of me being pregnant. I am, that's for sure, although I'm trying to save my true exhaustion since I still have 2.5 months to go. But he doesn't complain when I take 5 minutes to walk up the stairs at the end of the day, or get irritated that I move so slowly, or don't get much done, or make noises like a creaky old man when I am uncomfortable. Maybe he is tired of all of those things, but he is compassionate enough to not let me see him being anything but supportive.
5. He genuinely thinks I am pretty, even though I've gained a lot of weight (and not just in my stomach area, but my face and arms etc). And he means it, too, he isn't just saying the thing he learned to say during the first three pregnancies. He actually believes I am attractive, and that goes a long way toward diffusing my opinions to the contrary. Although he almost negated this point last night when he came into our bedroom and said, "Boy, it's cold in here, are you cold?" I said no, I'm not cold, and he climbed in bed, pulled the covers over himself and said, "Well, us skinny people are cold." It was one of those moments where you could see the realization hit him that that was about the worst thing he could say to his ginormous wife, and he literally grabbed at the air with his hands and tried to shove the words back in his mouth, and replace them with "I mean, us non-pregnant men in the house are cold." It is a testament to how often he tells me that I'm beautiful that I was able to just laugh at him and threaten to go downstairs immediately and write that down. He said, kind of gloomily, "Oh, you don't have to write that down, you won't forget it." He's right, I didn't forget, and I still think it's funny, but I can only laugh because I believe the rest of what he says.
6. We never fight about money. When we first got married, we came with our own preconceived money habits, namely that I am a spender and he is a saver. Fortunately, I was never a wild-and-crazy spender, and we quickly were able to come to an unspoken agreement about our finances that we have stuck to ever since. The beauty of it is, even though I still would be categorized as a spender and him a saver, he trusts me to be reasonable in my spending and doesn't question whether I really needed that new whatever. The peace in our marriage about all things financial and the fact that we do see eye-to-eye about our financial priorities may not sound romantic at all, but it is one of those things that makes or breaks a marriage.
7. He is a full partner in running our household. He knows where everything goes in the kitchen, even if he doesn't necessarily know what it's called or what it does. He is, and I admit, a much cleaner person than I am, but what helps the most is that he takes initiative to put away laundry when I do it, or take the garbage out, or clean off the kitchen counter, and I never have to ask him to do it. He cares about the way the house looks and rarely badgers me about it, which inspires me to try to make more of an effort to keep it clean as well. This is probably a source of contention to him, but he keeps it to himself and instead just sets a good example.
8. He gives 100% to our kids and to being a father. Today he went to Dad's Day at Boy #2's class, and never complains about Father and Son activities at the school. Even though he hates camping, he takes the boys to Father's and Son's campouts with the church every year, although he tries to get the kids to agree to come home to sleep. He plays catch in the backyard and the boys love baseball because he does. He has a pair of season tickets to the Orem Owlz minor league baseball team, and will take a child with him to many of the games, instead of calling a guy friend to go. Boy #2 gave him a book today at Dad's Day that said he loves his dad because his dad tells funny jokes, and it's true - he plays and jokes with the kids in a way that I don't. He can tell a babysitter each kid's bedtime routine (although he wouldn't - it's my job to talk to the babysitters) and trades off bathing the kids with me so that neither of us experiences permanent hearing loss from Boy #3's screaming tantrums in the tub.
But here's probably the most important thing: He wanted to work for himself so that he could have more time at home with his family. So he could call the shots, and if that means working late at night, at least he was able to come home for dinner first and be with the kids until bedtime, and then keep working. For every friend that I have who doesn't know what time their husband is coming home tonight, or who regularly has dinner without their husband, or who does the yard work because their husband is too busy working to get around to it, I am exceptionally grateful to a husband who has his family as his number one priority.
9. He supports me in the things I do for personal development, recognizing that those things make me a better wife and mother. I have been a much happier person since I went back to school 2 1/2 years ago, and while I think he'd prefer that I just stay home instead, it would be because he wants to be with me, not that he'd begrudge me the chance to learn and grow. He sees value in the fact that his children have an educated, motivated mother who tries new things and always wants to learn, and when I accomplish something, even if it is something he'd never want to spend his time doing, he is proud of me.
10. He lets me sleep in when I need to. This may sound trite, like maybe I'm just running out of points now that I'm at the end of the list, but it's so important I can barely believe it. Yesterday he got up with the kids, came back a little bit later and said, "It's 8:30, why don't you sleep for another half an hour?" Have more glorious words ever been heard by a mother? Today all I needed to say was "I got up at 2:52 to go to the bathroom and found Boy #3 downstairs watching infomercials. I fell back asleep at 5:30." Nothing else needed to be said, he got up and let me sleep until almost 9. It may not have immediate positive consequences when he lets me sleep in, but nothing could possibly make me happier most days, and I love him for it.
11. He is a very hard worker. While there are definitely moments when I would much rather have a full-time job than be a stay-at-home mom, most of the time I just admire how willing my husband is to put so much effort into providing for our family. I asked him the other day if it feels like a burden to have to work full time, if he'd rather not work. He said that he enjoys what he does, so it's not really a problem, but I've been around for the jobs that he doesn't enjoy and I know that he still worked very hard, even though he was looking for alternatives. I have seen the stress of being laid off or not making enough money and what that does to him, knowing that it is his responsibility in our family for him to provide, and it is hard to watch. But while he has complained about particular jobs, he has never complained about his role as a provider, which is much more than I can say about my job as caretaker of our kids.
There's lots of other things I can think of, but to sum it all up, I want to quote a cross-stitch that hung in my parent's bedroom when I was growing up: "Happiness is being married to your best friend." Whether I call him my Dear Husband, The Pessimist, or the Cell Phone Enforcer, I can certainly call him my best friend.
Happy Anniversary!
1. He is the first person I want to tell good news to, and we both love talking to each other. This is most apparent at like midnight, when it is way, way past time to go to bed, and we are actually in bed but can't stop talking to each other. We've had at least one of our best business ideas come in these late night talks, when the lights were out and my glasses were off and we were literally minutes from falling asleep. And we've wasted lots and lots of time talking about stupid things that late too. But overall, we both really like talking to each other.
2. He is the first person I want to spend time with when I have free time. Or when I don't have free time, too. This was proved to both of us last year when we went to San Francisco for our 10th anniversary. We absolutely loved this time we had to ourselves, exploring a new place, and able to talk and eat and travel without being distracted by our kids. It gave both of us a taste of the future, and reminded ourselves that this was the reason we got married in the first place, because we loved being together so much. You can forget that really easily in the tedium of everyday life. I wish we could go away together much more often.
3. He is thoughtful. This morning I went into my closet in the vain hope of finding a pile of clothes the Maternity Fairy might have left that actually fit and make me look good. The Maternity Fairy must have passed my house by last night, but I did find a t-shirt of my husband's that fits me, that he put on my side of the closet instead of his. And when I washed my 6 year old body pillow and accidentally destroyed it (don't ask me how) he not only found me a regular pillow to use, but made it a point of saying, we need to get to the store to get you a new one. That was about 3 weeks ago, and I haven't replaced it, but today we were discussing where to go for dinner tonight and out of the blue he said, "If we go somewhere locally we can stop at Bed, Bath and Beyond to get you a new body pillow." It is actually so thoughtful that it makes me wonder if there is something in it for him! But I think he sees that the thing in it for him is that I think the world of him when he is thoughful to me.
4. He is not tired of me being pregnant. I am, that's for sure, although I'm trying to save my true exhaustion since I still have 2.5 months to go. But he doesn't complain when I take 5 minutes to walk up the stairs at the end of the day, or get irritated that I move so slowly, or don't get much done, or make noises like a creaky old man when I am uncomfortable. Maybe he is tired of all of those things, but he is compassionate enough to not let me see him being anything but supportive.
5. He genuinely thinks I am pretty, even though I've gained a lot of weight (and not just in my stomach area, but my face and arms etc). And he means it, too, he isn't just saying the thing he learned to say during the first three pregnancies. He actually believes I am attractive, and that goes a long way toward diffusing my opinions to the contrary. Although he almost negated this point last night when he came into our bedroom and said, "Boy, it's cold in here, are you cold?" I said no, I'm not cold, and he climbed in bed, pulled the covers over himself and said, "Well, us skinny people are cold." It was one of those moments where you could see the realization hit him that that was about the worst thing he could say to his ginormous wife, and he literally grabbed at the air with his hands and tried to shove the words back in his mouth, and replace them with "I mean, us non-pregnant men in the house are cold." It is a testament to how often he tells me that I'm beautiful that I was able to just laugh at him and threaten to go downstairs immediately and write that down. He said, kind of gloomily, "Oh, you don't have to write that down, you won't forget it." He's right, I didn't forget, and I still think it's funny, but I can only laugh because I believe the rest of what he says.
6. We never fight about money. When we first got married, we came with our own preconceived money habits, namely that I am a spender and he is a saver. Fortunately, I was never a wild-and-crazy spender, and we quickly were able to come to an unspoken agreement about our finances that we have stuck to ever since. The beauty of it is, even though I still would be categorized as a spender and him a saver, he trusts me to be reasonable in my spending and doesn't question whether I really needed that new whatever. The peace in our marriage about all things financial and the fact that we do see eye-to-eye about our financial priorities may not sound romantic at all, but it is one of those things that makes or breaks a marriage.
7. He is a full partner in running our household. He knows where everything goes in the kitchen, even if he doesn't necessarily know what it's called or what it does. He is, and I admit, a much cleaner person than I am, but what helps the most is that he takes initiative to put away laundry when I do it, or take the garbage out, or clean off the kitchen counter, and I never have to ask him to do it. He cares about the way the house looks and rarely badgers me about it, which inspires me to try to make more of an effort to keep it clean as well. This is probably a source of contention to him, but he keeps it to himself and instead just sets a good example.
8. He gives 100% to our kids and to being a father. Today he went to Dad's Day at Boy #2's class, and never complains about Father and Son activities at the school. Even though he hates camping, he takes the boys to Father's and Son's campouts with the church every year, although he tries to get the kids to agree to come home to sleep. He plays catch in the backyard and the boys love baseball because he does. He has a pair of season tickets to the Orem Owlz minor league baseball team, and will take a child with him to many of the games, instead of calling a guy friend to go. Boy #2 gave him a book today at Dad's Day that said he loves his dad because his dad tells funny jokes, and it's true - he plays and jokes with the kids in a way that I don't. He can tell a babysitter each kid's bedtime routine (although he wouldn't - it's my job to talk to the babysitters) and trades off bathing the kids with me so that neither of us experiences permanent hearing loss from Boy #3's screaming tantrums in the tub.
But here's probably the most important thing: He wanted to work for himself so that he could have more time at home with his family. So he could call the shots, and if that means working late at night, at least he was able to come home for dinner first and be with the kids until bedtime, and then keep working. For every friend that I have who doesn't know what time their husband is coming home tonight, or who regularly has dinner without their husband, or who does the yard work because their husband is too busy working to get around to it, I am exceptionally grateful to a husband who has his family as his number one priority.
9. He supports me in the things I do for personal development, recognizing that those things make me a better wife and mother. I have been a much happier person since I went back to school 2 1/2 years ago, and while I think he'd prefer that I just stay home instead, it would be because he wants to be with me, not that he'd begrudge me the chance to learn and grow. He sees value in the fact that his children have an educated, motivated mother who tries new things and always wants to learn, and when I accomplish something, even if it is something he'd never want to spend his time doing, he is proud of me.
10. He lets me sleep in when I need to. This may sound trite, like maybe I'm just running out of points now that I'm at the end of the list, but it's so important I can barely believe it. Yesterday he got up with the kids, came back a little bit later and said, "It's 8:30, why don't you sleep for another half an hour?" Have more glorious words ever been heard by a mother? Today all I needed to say was "I got up at 2:52 to go to the bathroom and found Boy #3 downstairs watching infomercials. I fell back asleep at 5:30." Nothing else needed to be said, he got up and let me sleep until almost 9. It may not have immediate positive consequences when he lets me sleep in, but nothing could possibly make me happier most days, and I love him for it.
11. He is a very hard worker. While there are definitely moments when I would much rather have a full-time job than be a stay-at-home mom, most of the time I just admire how willing my husband is to put so much effort into providing for our family. I asked him the other day if it feels like a burden to have to work full time, if he'd rather not work. He said that he enjoys what he does, so it's not really a problem, but I've been around for the jobs that he doesn't enjoy and I know that he still worked very hard, even though he was looking for alternatives. I have seen the stress of being laid off or not making enough money and what that does to him, knowing that it is his responsibility in our family for him to provide, and it is hard to watch. But while he has complained about particular jobs, he has never complained about his role as a provider, which is much more than I can say about my job as caretaker of our kids.
There's lots of other things I can think of, but to sum it all up, I want to quote a cross-stitch that hung in my parent's bedroom when I was growing up: "Happiness is being married to your best friend." Whether I call him my Dear Husband, The Pessimist, or the Cell Phone Enforcer, I can certainly call him my best friend.
Happy Anniversary!
Thursday, March 29, 2007
A Little Bit of Vigilante Justice
It's not that we necessarily have anything against cell phone users in general. In fact, in the last year, our family became owners of not one, but two cell phones, a 200% increase over the year before. The first was given to me by my parents, who bought a pre-paid phone to use while they are in the US, and gave it to me to use/hold on to until they come back. I think it started with about 400 minutes when my parents bought it, I don't know how much use it got before I inherited it, but it has 100 minutes left now, so I'm clearly not a heavy user.
When DH moved to a new office in his office park, we were unable to get Qwest to set up our phone service there. (Imagine, a phone company unable to do simple tasks and then provide lousy customer service! I must be the only one with a complaint for that stellar company!) DH talks to two people on the phone - me, and our sole remaining client, who almost exclusively emails but occasionally calls. I talk to him using iChat on our computers, which is free, so we decided to go the pre-paid cell phone way for DH and his one non-calling client. We figured if we can save the $50 a month the Qwest charges, we'll be ahead, plus we don't have to give our money to a company that we (I) detest so much. Naturally, the first month that he switched to the cell phone, the non-calling client all of a sudden became the frequent calling, just chatting about nothing in particular, thinking out loud on the phone kind of client. Month #1: 400 minutes used, cost: $100. Not exactly the result we were hoping for, but it hasn't made us hate all cell phone users in general.
One thing we've noticed, because we do live on Planet Earth, is that cell phone users use their phones in all sorts of situations where it is clearly not appropriate. Movies, while driving, lots of places that have probably been ranted about in every blog in America. And Asia, I'm sure. But here's the worst, in our opinion. DH has not once, but twice been in the bathroom at work where someone is sitting in a stall talking on their cell phone. What, is their cubicle too roomy to feel comfortable making a phone call? They are going for the authentic phone-booth feel? They are just so busy that they can't take 5 minutes to stop talking to their very important clients in order to relieve themselves? What exactly does the person on the other end think, did the guy get a phone call and say, "Yeah, I can take your call, I'm just sitting on the toilet, don't mind me?" No, DH tells me that at least in the first instance the potty-mouth initiated the phone call, so it must have sounded something like, "Yes, I could make you a big enough priority to call you when I am not distracted by my personal business, or that of fellow stall-users, but this is about the only time I can squeeze you in." (I'll leave it up to you to insert any appropriate potty humor here.) How insulting to be thought of when someone sits down to take a dump and the first thought is, hmmm, I'll be here for a few minutes, how about I call so-and-so?
So yesterday, DH walks into the bathroom and hears a man in the only stall mumbling to himself. Of course, he's not mumbling to himself, he's talking quietly on his cell phone. As DH goes about his business, he thinks about how it must sound to the person on the other end - is the bathroom goer trying to hide the fact that he is multi-tasking? DH ponders this as he washes his hands, and when he goes to dry them, remembers that there are no paper towels in there, just an air dry machine. A really, really loud air dry machine. So he walks over, hits the button, and immediately the cell phone guy starts yelling to be heard over the noise. It's a bathroom, after all, which is nice and echo-y, plus the machine operates at about the decibel level of a jet plane taking off. DH finishes drying his hands, the machine stops after its predetermined amount of time (30 seconds), and the guy's voice drops back down to normal. DH thinks, how will he ever know how wet my hands were? And hits the button again, just for fun and walks out. The guy starts yelling again. DH, I believe, was feeling rather pleased with himself, because really, who in their right minds thinks the bathroom is the best place for a private phone call? DH walks back to his office, grabs his bag and heads out to get a haircut on his lunch hour. As he passes the bathroom, he can hear the guy - he's still in there talking. In what I can only call a moment of juvenile foolishness, which DH regards as vigilante justice, as he passes the bathroom, he pokes his head in, hits the air dry button one more time, and leaves to the sound of the guy, yelling once more.
I'm not sure what my opinion is on the whole episode, in general I'm against pranks of any sort. However clever they seem to be at the time, when you end up getting in trouble and have to explain to someone why you did whatever stupid thing it was, it certainly stops being worth it. But in this case, I find the whole thing amusing. Especially since if the guy ever found someone to complain to ("Someone keeps drying their hands while I'm trying to talk on the phone!!") he will look like the twit, and rightly so. Could this guy have learned a lesson from all of this? I guess DH will have to be our on-the-spot cell phone etiquette crime fighter and keep us all posted.
When DH moved to a new office in his office park, we were unable to get Qwest to set up our phone service there. (Imagine, a phone company unable to do simple tasks and then provide lousy customer service! I must be the only one with a complaint for that stellar company!) DH talks to two people on the phone - me, and our sole remaining client, who almost exclusively emails but occasionally calls. I talk to him using iChat on our computers, which is free, so we decided to go the pre-paid cell phone way for DH and his one non-calling client. We figured if we can save the $50 a month the Qwest charges, we'll be ahead, plus we don't have to give our money to a company that we (I) detest so much. Naturally, the first month that he switched to the cell phone, the non-calling client all of a sudden became the frequent calling, just chatting about nothing in particular, thinking out loud on the phone kind of client. Month #1: 400 minutes used, cost: $100. Not exactly the result we were hoping for, but it hasn't made us hate all cell phone users in general.
One thing we've noticed, because we do live on Planet Earth, is that cell phone users use their phones in all sorts of situations where it is clearly not appropriate. Movies, while driving, lots of places that have probably been ranted about in every blog in America. And Asia, I'm sure. But here's the worst, in our opinion. DH has not once, but twice been in the bathroom at work where someone is sitting in a stall talking on their cell phone. What, is their cubicle too roomy to feel comfortable making a phone call? They are going for the authentic phone-booth feel? They are just so busy that they can't take 5 minutes to stop talking to their very important clients in order to relieve themselves? What exactly does the person on the other end think, did the guy get a phone call and say, "Yeah, I can take your call, I'm just sitting on the toilet, don't mind me?" No, DH tells me that at least in the first instance the potty-mouth initiated the phone call, so it must have sounded something like, "Yes, I could make you a big enough priority to call you when I am not distracted by my personal business, or that of fellow stall-users, but this is about the only time I can squeeze you in." (I'll leave it up to you to insert any appropriate potty humor here.) How insulting to be thought of when someone sits down to take a dump and the first thought is, hmmm, I'll be here for a few minutes, how about I call so-and-so?
So yesterday, DH walks into the bathroom and hears a man in the only stall mumbling to himself. Of course, he's not mumbling to himself, he's talking quietly on his cell phone. As DH goes about his business, he thinks about how it must sound to the person on the other end - is the bathroom goer trying to hide the fact that he is multi-tasking? DH ponders this as he washes his hands, and when he goes to dry them, remembers that there are no paper towels in there, just an air dry machine. A really, really loud air dry machine. So he walks over, hits the button, and immediately the cell phone guy starts yelling to be heard over the noise. It's a bathroom, after all, which is nice and echo-y, plus the machine operates at about the decibel level of a jet plane taking off. DH finishes drying his hands, the machine stops after its predetermined amount of time (30 seconds), and the guy's voice drops back down to normal. DH thinks, how will he ever know how wet my hands were? And hits the button again, just for fun and walks out. The guy starts yelling again. DH, I believe, was feeling rather pleased with himself, because really, who in their right minds thinks the bathroom is the best place for a private phone call? DH walks back to his office, grabs his bag and heads out to get a haircut on his lunch hour. As he passes the bathroom, he can hear the guy - he's still in there talking. In what I can only call a moment of juvenile foolishness, which DH regards as vigilante justice, as he passes the bathroom, he pokes his head in, hits the air dry button one more time, and leaves to the sound of the guy, yelling once more.
I'm not sure what my opinion is on the whole episode, in general I'm against pranks of any sort. However clever they seem to be at the time, when you end up getting in trouble and have to explain to someone why you did whatever stupid thing it was, it certainly stops being worth it. But in this case, I find the whole thing amusing. Especially since if the guy ever found someone to complain to ("Someone keeps drying their hands while I'm trying to talk on the phone!!") he will look like the twit, and rightly so. Could this guy have learned a lesson from all of this? I guess DH will have to be our on-the-spot cell phone etiquette crime fighter and keep us all posted.
Monday, March 26, 2007
An Open Letter to Teenage Fast-Food Workers
I've done my time in the trenches, I've spent years handling food for impatient strangers, so I feel like I have some right to judge. As I sit here, eating my cold Iceberg french fries and melty strawberry-banana milkshake, I'd like to tell all of you just what us drive-thru-ers are thinking as we sit in our cars.
1. Get a move on, people! Just because you are required to be there for four to six hours doesn't mean we have to, too. As the fourth car in line, a 25-minute wait is unacceptable. Unless of course you are peeling the potatoes and slicing them by hand in order to provide me with the maximally freshest fries on the planet. And I know you aren't.
2. The window is not one of those CIA, one-way mirror deals. I can see you, and can see when you and your buddies are pacing around, joking and generally having fun. If it doesn't feel like "work" then you aren't doing a very good job. This place isn't meant to be fun, and your goofing off is causing my 25-minute wait. See #1 above.
3. Don't give me food that you wouldn't be willing to eat yourself. If you pour me my requested cup of water, and I watch you stare into the full cup for 5 seconds, it is a BIG SIGN that there is something wrong. Don't just put a lid on it and hand me a cup of plain soda water because you can't figure out how to pour a regular cup of water. (And note to managers: Are you aware that water-pouring skills are apparently going out of fashion? What exactly does this mean for our future leaders, if they are challenged by the request for a simple cup of water? And I didn't even ask for ice!)
4. Please, please, give me the food that I order. Life only gets harder than this, folks. When I say "regular" shake, (not that any of us can eat one that big, it was to split between two people) don't charge me for a "regular" and then give me a "mini." I'm not turning around and going back for my additional 10 ounces of shake, nor am I going to call and complain for the 20-cent overcharge, but I am going to be miffed and think less of you. I know you are really threatened by my lack of respect, but that's what I've got.
5. Go to college, get an education, and do something substantial with your life, so that one day you can be the person in the drive thru that is questioning the future leadership of our country. Hating your job and customers like me should be enough to motivate you to get the heck out of there, and that is the best thing I can hope for you. Besides, you need to move on so that my kids can have your job one day, to motivate them to get an education as well.
By the way, that milkshake was fantastic! Keep up the mediocre work!
1. Get a move on, people! Just because you are required to be there for four to six hours doesn't mean we have to, too. As the fourth car in line, a 25-minute wait is unacceptable. Unless of course you are peeling the potatoes and slicing them by hand in order to provide me with the maximally freshest fries on the planet. And I know you aren't.
2. The window is not one of those CIA, one-way mirror deals. I can see you, and can see when you and your buddies are pacing around, joking and generally having fun. If it doesn't feel like "work" then you aren't doing a very good job. This place isn't meant to be fun, and your goofing off is causing my 25-minute wait. See #1 above.
3. Don't give me food that you wouldn't be willing to eat yourself. If you pour me my requested cup of water, and I watch you stare into the full cup for 5 seconds, it is a BIG SIGN that there is something wrong. Don't just put a lid on it and hand me a cup of plain soda water because you can't figure out how to pour a regular cup of water. (And note to managers: Are you aware that water-pouring skills are apparently going out of fashion? What exactly does this mean for our future leaders, if they are challenged by the request for a simple cup of water? And I didn't even ask for ice!)
4. Please, please, give me the food that I order. Life only gets harder than this, folks. When I say "regular" shake, (not that any of us can eat one that big, it was to split between two people) don't charge me for a "regular" and then give me a "mini." I'm not turning around and going back for my additional 10 ounces of shake, nor am I going to call and complain for the 20-cent overcharge, but I am going to be miffed and think less of you. I know you are really threatened by my lack of respect, but that's what I've got.
5. Go to college, get an education, and do something substantial with your life, so that one day you can be the person in the drive thru that is questioning the future leadership of our country. Hating your job and customers like me should be enough to motivate you to get the heck out of there, and that is the best thing I can hope for you. Besides, you need to move on so that my kids can have your job one day, to motivate them to get an education as well.
By the way, that milkshake was fantastic! Keep up the mediocre work!
Sunday, March 25, 2007
You Asked For It!
Okay, so maybe you didn't necessarily ask for it, but I did not get a thunderous stampede of emails saying, "Please, No, Don't show us the horrifying pictures of your surgical sites! We're eating right now, and you will cause us to lose our lunch! Please, think of the children!"
No, I did not get any of those emails, which, in my interpretation, mean "Heck, yes, bring it on!" I did check with my dad to get at least one opinion and he was all for it, which either means that this is a general interest that most people have and he is just the people's representative, or that he's read too many vampire books and likes the gore a little too much.
So here they are. I had Boy #1 take the pictures the first time and they were a little too far away to see the good detail. So DH stepped in and took over, saying that he wanted to take the pictures because he's practicing to be a crime scene photographer. The picture of my face looks better than reality, because the stitches are black and somehow the photo just doesn't seem to capture the dramatic contrast that they make across my cheek. I tried to count, and I could see at least 15 stitches.
Depending on your gore tolerance level, you can click the image to enlarge it. Don't say I didn't warn you.
This next photo looks worse than it actually is, I think. I can't say for sure because I haven't actually seen anything other than this picture, but going by what I've been told, the reason the picture looks so gruesome is that the purple you see is actually a marker. The Costco Lady at it again? No, where the doctor marked me up. I guess he wasn't so sure he wanted to freehand the thing, so he drew it out first. If my husband was a surgeon, he'd be good enough to cut and stitch without having to get out a ruler and trace it first.
This picture is nothing too gruesome. Boy #1 has figured out how to use my digital camera and after he took the required pictures of me, he decided to goof around a little. I was in the midst of ordering him downstairs to fetch me my card reader, when he took this one. He laughed and laughed, I'm not sure why, but he got so much enjoyment out of it, I thought I'd share it.
Well, that's it for me - now you know what drives otherwise normal strangers to cast aside all decency and demand to know what happened to my face!
No, I did not get any of those emails, which, in my interpretation, mean "Heck, yes, bring it on!" I did check with my dad to get at least one opinion and he was all for it, which either means that this is a general interest that most people have and he is just the people's representative, or that he's read too many vampire books and likes the gore a little too much.
So here they are. I had Boy #1 take the pictures the first time and they were a little too far away to see the good detail. So DH stepped in and took over, saying that he wanted to take the pictures because he's practicing to be a crime scene photographer. The picture of my face looks better than reality, because the stitches are black and somehow the photo just doesn't seem to capture the dramatic contrast that they make across my cheek. I tried to count, and I could see at least 15 stitches.
Depending on your gore tolerance level, you can click the image to enlarge it. Don't say I didn't warn you.
This next photo looks worse than it actually is, I think. I can't say for sure because I haven't actually seen anything other than this picture, but going by what I've been told, the reason the picture looks so gruesome is that the purple you see is actually a marker. The Costco Lady at it again? No, where the doctor marked me up. I guess he wasn't so sure he wanted to freehand the thing, so he drew it out first. If my husband was a surgeon, he'd be good enough to cut and stitch without having to get out a ruler and trace it first.
This picture is nothing too gruesome. Boy #1 has figured out how to use my digital camera and after he took the required pictures of me, he decided to goof around a little. I was in the midst of ordering him downstairs to fetch me my card reader, when he took this one. He laughed and laughed, I'm not sure why, but he got so much enjoyment out of it, I thought I'd share it.
Well, that's it for me - now you know what drives otherwise normal strangers to cast aside all decency and demand to know what happened to my face!
Notes on a Dinner
While DH's parents were here, they took us out to dinner to Carrabba's, my favorite restaurant. It's a nicer, more expensive place than I would normally try on my own, but when there's extra adults I figure we have better odds of it turning out not to be a waste of money. And the food is so great that even if the kids don't do well, whatever I have to take home to eat because we had to leave before we started a riot will make an excellent lunch the next day. The dining room there is generally dark, you know, moody, but the table where we were sitting was right under some nice lights. After a while I thought the lighting could be coming from the heavenly beams shining straight down on the three angels masquerading as my children, who were behaving so perfectly it was almost unbelievable. It helped that we were sitting with one adult in between each child, so no one had to deal with too much. Boy #3 sat and colored with his artist grandfather, #1 played tic-tac-toe with me an DH, and won the majority of games that weren't a tie, and #2 actually ate every single bite on his plate without complaining. He didn't know what to order as a side dish, so I ordered some broccoli for him, which he generally likes. When he saw it he said, Hey, I don't want this, so we told him, Don't eat it and someone else will. Before I could look again, though, he had eaten all of it. They were just fantastic from start to finish.
Speaking of finish, though, here's a word to the wise for anyone who could be dining with my family. If you are lucky enough to make it to dessert, and actually want to eat something delicious, don't share with Boy #1. I made the mistake of ordering a Chocolate Dream, which is a brownie, covered with a layer of chocolate mousse, then whipped cream, chocolate shavings, another brownie, more mousse, and more whipped cream. The whole concoction is sitting on a pool of chocolate syrup. If it sounds fantastic, it certainly is, and that is a sentiment that apparently Boy #1 shares. From the moment the plate was set in front of us, the Chocolate Dream started disappearing as if he was a contestant in a decadent dessert eating contest. I would say that he inhaled the dessert, but that would imply that a breath was taken somewhere in the middle there, and I'm pretty sure he didn't come up for air once. Naturally, this only spurred my competitive instincts, and I knew that if I had any intentions of "sharing" this dessert with the Human Vacuum Cleaner then I better step up my game. Fork in hand, I went after what remained of the dessert with the kind of gusto that only a pregnant woman can muster.
Keep in mind, that we are now about 45 seconds since the waitress had set the plate down, and it was about half gone. I wasted a few precious seconds giving DH a bite, but dug right back in myself without missing a step. Boy #1 was like a man driven, and I can only hope that he puts this much effort and dedication into finishing his college education someday. It took about 2 minutes total for the entire dessert to be devoured, and I can honestly say that as delicious as it was, it's no fun to be that rushed. I barely had time to savor the chocolate, because I had to be so concerned about just skewering the next bite. I did get a little bit of a break right there at the end, when #1 was trying to scoop everything onto his fork that was left on the plate, but started choking on his current bite, causing him to drop a little bit back off his fork onto the plate which I immediately claimed as my own. Surely someone else could have handled the Heimlich if need be, I was enjoying my one contest-free bite!
Speaking of finish, though, here's a word to the wise for anyone who could be dining with my family. If you are lucky enough to make it to dessert, and actually want to eat something delicious, don't share with Boy #1. I made the mistake of ordering a Chocolate Dream, which is a brownie, covered with a layer of chocolate mousse, then whipped cream, chocolate shavings, another brownie, more mousse, and more whipped cream. The whole concoction is sitting on a pool of chocolate syrup. If it sounds fantastic, it certainly is, and that is a sentiment that apparently Boy #1 shares. From the moment the plate was set in front of us, the Chocolate Dream started disappearing as if he was a contestant in a decadent dessert eating contest. I would say that he inhaled the dessert, but that would imply that a breath was taken somewhere in the middle there, and I'm pretty sure he didn't come up for air once. Naturally, this only spurred my competitive instincts, and I knew that if I had any intentions of "sharing" this dessert with the Human Vacuum Cleaner then I better step up my game. Fork in hand, I went after what remained of the dessert with the kind of gusto that only a pregnant woman can muster.
Keep in mind, that we are now about 45 seconds since the waitress had set the plate down, and it was about half gone. I wasted a few precious seconds giving DH a bite, but dug right back in myself without missing a step. Boy #1 was like a man driven, and I can only hope that he puts this much effort and dedication into finishing his college education someday. It took about 2 minutes total for the entire dessert to be devoured, and I can honestly say that as delicious as it was, it's no fun to be that rushed. I barely had time to savor the chocolate, because I had to be so concerned about just skewering the next bite. I did get a little bit of a break right there at the end, when #1 was trying to scoop everything onto his fork that was left on the plate, but started choking on his current bite, causing him to drop a little bit back off his fork onto the plate which I immediately claimed as my own. Surely someone else could have handled the Heimlich if need be, I was enjoying my one contest-free bite!
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