lockstep

After spending a lovely Friday evening at an outdoor Eric Clapton concert with Dave and R (marred only by the drive home thru a frightening storm/tornado combo that left ¼ inch of water on our new kitchen floor and somehow violently murdered all of the fish in our fish tank – sniff, sniff), we set off Saturday morning for a wedding in suburban Chicago, not far from my peeps in Aurora.

The wedding was beautiful. The weather was perfect, the bride ravishing, the groom appropriately sober. It was a great party, and some horrible bartender really misjudged my ability to take in alcohol and dreadfully over-served me. Or maybe I just over-ordered.

As Dave and I get older, the weddings we attend are fewer and further between (is that grammatically correct?), and I grow more and more circumspect. There was a time when I would go to weddings with an eye toward stealing ideas or seeing what didn’t work. After my own wedding was over, I was so happy that another couple would be as happy as we were.

Now, things are a little different. We’ve been married nearly six years, together for nearly a decade, and we’re parents. Not that any of those things make us experts at marriage or even really good at it. Sometimes I feel like we suck at it. But we keep doing it.

I watched Dave’s fraternity brother repeat his vows (couldn’t hear them over the noise of the golf cart carrying the kegs), and I thought they had no idea what they were in for. I certainly didn’t when I stood before those I held dear and said I’d spend the rest of my days and nights with this man. I would even say I still don’t know. But I know marriage is a little different than I thought it would be September 21, 2002.

Back then, I heard everybody say that marriage would be a lot of work. I knew that. I just didn’t know exactly what that meant. And I don’t know what that will mean in the future. But now, I know it means that sometimes I don’t even like him. And sometimes I don’t like who I am because of the way I treat him. Sometimes I am a bitch. Sometimes he is an asshole. We are both stubborn people, and, unfortunately for him, he is the only person in the world with whom I feel comfortable being confrontational.

Sometimes, I feel like parenting has brought out the worst in our relationship. Our patience is worn thin, we’re exhausted, we have little (no) time to just hang out and be ‘Dave and Michelle.’ Our time and attention is focused on R, leaving hardly any time for each other or ourselves. Slightly different parenting philosophies and mommy guilt don’t help.

But we love each other. And we try. And we work. And we live each day together, even the ones in which we want to kill each other, knowing that tomorrow will be a new challenge that we face together. So, newlyweds, my advice would be to live it up now. This is the easy part.

And I’m willing to take my own advice, too – I know that things aren’t likely to get any easier from here on out. We will face different tests and climb different hills. But we face them together, hands firmly locked together and eyes toward the same horizon.

After three weeks of trying and two and a half hours with a computer engineer…

We have wireless!

I’m sitting on my couch, watching the Cubs!

And connected to the outside world!

I planned on tackling the elliptical machine again tonight… but this is much more fun!

Perhaps I’ll have a margarita to celebrate. And send one to Dave’s engineer co-worker who spent the entire evening away from his wife and two kids so that I could sit in front of the television and blog.

Oh and work. For my actual job. Because that is the real reason we got wireless. Wink wink.

Girls weekend

Dave took off for a bachelor party this weekend, leaving R and I to fend for ourselves, and I have to say, I was looking forward to it more than a little bit. And circumstances did not disappoint.

First, we spent some time at the library Saturday morning. R was enthralled, just overwhelmed by the sheer number of books. She climbed up and down off benches, picking books off the shelves, looking through them, ‘reading’ them to me, putting them back and picking more. I chose four for her to take home (which she now refers to as “mines books”), including Guess How Much I Love You. Now she runs around saying, “Mommy, I love you this much!” and I can’t think of a better outcome from a trip to the library.

When she woke up from her nap (and to a 20-degree temperature drop and suddenly cloudy skies), I packed her up to go downtown to see Whales and Dolphins 3D at our IMAX theater. While the 3D glasses didn’t last very long, the novelty of wearing glasses “like Mommy” and munching on popcorn “in the dark” helped keep her behavior under control for awhile. And, she pointed out gravely, as we watched a fin whale move toward us in the darkness, “Whales eat my popcorn, NO.”

We ordered pizza and consumed it on her princess table whilst watching Dumbo, then she sang “Happy Birthday” to her great grandma to be captured on video and emailed. She went to bed tired and happy, and woke up at 7 a.m. ready to go again. We had a nice breakfast of pancakes and bacon then went grocery shopping together.

After her nap, I let her paint with her new easel outside on the back deck. She was lovely and priceless. When her daddy got home, they snuggled together in his recliner watching Dora the Explorer. It’s times like these that I want to remember – nothing special, nothing exciting, just the pure joy of discovering the world with a toddler and sharing it with my husband.

You oughta know I’m perfect

I was 18 years old in 1995 when Alanis Morissette burst onto the pop scene with Jagged Little Pill and its anthem for women scorned everywhere, “You Oughta Know.” I was old enough and experienced enough to appreciate the sentiment, having four whole love affairs already under my belt, three ending badly (i.e. not by my own choice).

But this entry isn’t about that song. When Dave bought me the ipod nano a few months ago (I know, a little late to the 21^st century over here), it gave me an excuse to pull out all my old cds and excitedly dump them all into itunes so I could jam out to Live’s “Pillar of Davidson” followed immediately by Britney Spears “Hit Me, Baby… One More Time.” If that isn’t music nirvana, what is?

And no, I’m not a fan of Nirvana. Though I do own a Hole album. (I know, the kids probably aren’t calling them albums these days and that’s probably why I didn’t get an ipod until February.)

Anyway, one of the Alanis Morissette songs I decided I wanted to jam to every 22 hours when it comes up in the shuffle mode was “Perfect.” If you remember, that song is all about kids whose parents push them too hard to live out their own unfulfilled dreams and be awesome and great at everything and hot damn, that spoke to me at 18.

But when it came on yesterday, 13 years later, I had a completely different perspective. It was more cautionary tale than solidarity song. Because please oh please don’t let me be an overbearing mom who expects too much of her kid and doesn’t really love her the way she is unless she’s perfect.

I don’t think my parents were really like those in the song, though they did have high expectations, especially academically. And I plan to have similar expectations of R  - because if you don’t have high expectations, what’s the alternative? Low expectations? That’s not really an option.

But the moment was really revelatory to me, both on a parenting level and a “passage-of-time” level. Because what’s next? I won’t be dancing in a cage at a nightclub to “Intergalatic” by the Beastie Boys anymore?

Wait. I won’t, will I?

Color me speechless

So we’ve had an interesting development over at casa di Ledemeon. And I say interesting but I mean startling. And of course, this will only be startling to me, because no one was aware how firmly entrenched my husband was in his “no, no more kids” position just a few short months ago.

That stance softened around Christmastime or so to “no more kids RIGHT NOW.”

Who would have thought that all it took was a low-cut blouse, a slab of steak and half a bottle of Valpolicella to have him saying things like “Go off the pill whenever you want.”? While I know he didn’t MEAN that, it was most likely the wine and the microbrews talking, it is very encouraging.

But it also puts me in a bit of a pickle. Because now I have to decide for REAL when is a good time to get pregnant again. I know that sounds ridiculous, particularly to people who have difficulty conceiving. And who knows, I’m not in my twenties anymore. Maybe I will not get pregnant when Dave looks at me from across the room like I did last time. But since we had absolutely no trouble conceiving R, that’s all I have to go on.

And now I will most likely be one of those women who plans getting pregnant around her vacation. When our parents announced last month that they would be taking all of their children, children-in-law and grandchildren on a most-expenses-paid cruise in January 2009, I think my pregnant sister breathed a sigh of relief that her son will be seven months old then (kids have to be six months old to cruise on this line).

The same cruise line doesn’t allow pregnant women at 24 weeks or more to cruise. Also, I’ve never been on a cruise, but my morning sickness was very severe up until 24 weeks, and the thought of sea sickness AND morning sickness makes me want to wretch just thinking about it. Ha.

So, I guess Dave and I will just have to continue our trend of conceiving our children outside the United States. We did pretty well with the first one. Now comes the trick of making that baby whilst sharing a stateroom with a toddler. Luckily, we will be traveling with plenty of babysitters.

Up to the highest height

Zoot posted today about her experience flying a kite with the kids. Dave, R and I all took her Dora kite (from the Easter bunny) out for a spin on a recently blustery Indiana day. And she’s still talking about it.

I stupidly let a two-year-old hold the kite string all by herself. Dave said, “If she lets go of that, it’s gone.” It was that windy. Seconds after this photo, I was running across the soggy soccer fields, chasing the kite that eventually landed in the middle of a rather touching father-daughter-son soccer game. Awesome.

Daddy is much smarter with the kite string. But not so smart with the sucker. Her hair was soooo sticky after this.

She liked to look at it for awhile. Then she just wanted to go to the playground. Glad I spent $50 on the kite and rush delivery. I mean THE EASTER BUNNY SPENT $50.

Spray, snip, blow dry

You know how sometimes you go into things totally expecting the worst, and then, when the worst doesn’t happen, you are overjoyed? That pretty much describes the hair cut experience.

Dave and I had incredibly low expectations. Every time I had gone at her with the scissors to trim her bangs, or he had tried to calm her bed head in the morning with a spray bottle, or I had offered a blow out before bed, we were met with a universal response: squirming and screaming and general refusal to comply. As you can imagine, we were dreading 4 p.m. last Saturday with a deep, abiding fear.

What happened was pretty much the exact opposite. She played on the slide when we got there, chose to sit in a race car for the cut and sat quietly while stylist Leslie wielded all three things that were previously instruments of torture - spray bottle, scissors, hair dryer - and even smiled prettily for the camera when it was all over. She even let Leslie put a barrette in her hair, which she repeatedly pointed out to me for the rest of the day as “pretty.”

She was so good we immediately took her to a local discount retailer to choose new bedding for her “big girl bed” (a.k.a. the crib with the side taken off). She chose a Dora the Explorer bed set (big surprise) and I picked up some extra sheets - Dora and Diego.

I guess I’ve always known that “kids will surprise you.” And R is well-known for behaving like an angel while out in most public places. But this display… blew my mind. And that’s one thing that has seemed to happen an awful lot since December 28, 2005. She just blows my mind.

Elmo makes music … and Mommy tears

Well, we went to see this on Saturday. And suffice it to say that taking a toddler to a theater production of dancing characters she is only ¾-jazzed about is not the best way to spend a Saturday morning.

Inevitably, she will want to leave your $100 seats in the middle of the row shortly after intermission. And also inevitably, once you finally exit the theater, pissing off four other families and their equally fussy toddlers as you mumble “Excuse me, excuse me, excuse me, so sorry, so sorry” and trip your way to the aisle, you will make your way out of the theater and to the outside door representing freedom and McDonald’s French fries in your near future, your toddler will whine, “GO BACK IN. MOMMY! DADDY! GO BACK IN!!!!”

You will stare at your spouse with blank, helpless looks for a moment, before turning back around and dragging the toddler, diaper bag and Mommy purse back into the theater and claiming a few seats in the back, where the toddler can stand on your lap and dance along to the singing Elmo and Cookie Monster that mere moments before were the bane of her existence, requiring her to scream “GO HOME NOW” at the top of her little lungs whilst flailing about on the sticky floor.

But for all the hassle and the tantrums and the $8 Elmo balloon, I still found myself getting all teary and emotional, especially when R was really enjoying herself. I get that way a lot: Christmas morning, her birthday, Easter egg hunts, the fall festival… It’s happy tears. And they, too, are inevitable.

Make a Wish

Claudia tagged me with this Make a Wish meme. And while I want to be unselfish and giving and generous and worldly, I also want something else really badly.

1. Think about what it is that you want more than anything, what your heart’s desire and fondest wish is, and what it is that you would wish for if you were to see the above wishing star flame across the night sky.
2. Right click and SAVE the blank graphic below.
3. Use a graphics program of your choice and place your wish on this picture:

 

4. Post the Make A Wish Meme and your wishing star on your blog along with these rules.
5. Tag as many people as you like so that there can be wishing stars all across the Blogosphere and ask them to please link back to Linda at Are We There Yet? so that she can see what wishes others have made and share those wishes with others.

If you don’t currently have a graphics program and aren’t sure how to put your message on the picture you can either download one for free (Linda used IrfanView which is an image viewer but also allows you to customize and optimize your pictures) or email Linda at mouseski58@yahoo.com, tell her what you’re wishing for, and she’ll customize the picture for you and email it back to you so that you can then post it.

Anyway. I tag Erin (as always). And my new friend Mandy. And anyone else who could use a wish.

I wonder what Dave is going to say when he sees this.

religion and politics

Jodi wrote last week, in response to what I thought was a bit of a snarky comment, about her hopes for her son.

A liberal vegetarian Jew, Jodi has strong opinions and isn’t afraid to share them in a usually humorous and fun-to-read way. Her post got me thinking about what I want for R (and how do I parent her to get my desired outcome?).

I am a mostly liberal Christian, though I identify more with the “mostly liberal” part than the Christian part. I was raised very Catholic by a very Catholic mother who later divorced my Lutheran father and remarried and has thus been excommunicated. We went to church every Sunday and holy day (All Saint’s Day anyone?), attended Sunday School through our confirmation as juniors in high school and observed most Catholic rituals religiously. Ha-ha.

I attended church sporadically as an adult. When I met Dave, raised Lutheran, we would occasionally attend services, his or mine, together. We were married by a Methodist minister who was a friend of Dave’s family. When I got pregnant, it was important to both of us to give our child some kind of faith base. Because my church would not allow Dave to fully participate, we chose to be Lutheran. How’s that for choosing a religion?

When it comes time for R to find her spiritual path, I do not plan to force her into anything. She can choose on her own. I will provide her with some sense of Christianity, but if she chooses to go a different direction, I will support that too.

Additionally, I was raised in a household that was apolitical. Voting was a private thing my parents kept to themselves the entire time we were growing up. I suspect they are both Republican. They have never expressed disappointment or sadness at having raised three liberal Democrats. We all found our own way. I like that model very much, though I don’t think it worked out well for my parents (from their point of view).

And maybe it will backfire on me too. But I want R to be her own person, have her own faith and values and politics. Even if that means her beliefs are diametrically opposed to mine.Though I would really prefer they weren’t. But I’d love her anyway.