The One Where My Husband Comes Out Not The Douche

I read a blog comment a couple weekends ago that basically said a, "I get that ALL of you trust your hubbys a ridiculous amount, but you shouldn't because mine is untrustworthy" kind of thing. It didn't sit right with me, but I kept thinking about it instead of jerk reacting. I ended up talking it over with Isaac over a lovely dinner on Saturday and what I decided is this: While I'm sad that other women have married giant douche heads, I did not. And to assume that my husband is on the precipice of douche-headedness is unfair. At best.

I get the whole, "Don't be like me! I was too trusting!" reaction from someone who has been there, done that, but still. I hated the tone of the comment. To me, it was very holier than thou - like OF COURSE it was a HUSBAND who did something wrong. Like OF COURSE she was now going to have to WATCH HIS EVERY MOVE because WIVES are so put upon. Is it never the husband who is betrayed by the wife? Who worries and wonders and molds his life to keep it together? Are there not relationships full of trust and love and adoration that go the distance?

I read about my friend Bryn and the lovely Leah as they chronicle their lives, caring for their husbands with cancer. Bryn, who is so strong and loving. Leah, who's devotion comes through her writing so strongly, even as her husband passed last weekend. This is what love is, to me. These women who adore their partners and stand through thick and thin. For better or worse. Not just 'waiting' for their partners to make a stupid move.

I trust my husband, completely. I don't even think twice about what he's doing. And I don't think that makes me naive. Or misguided. Or ignorant. Why would I make him - the love of my life; MY partner for better or worse - guilty without him doing anything, simply because someone else's husband is a jerk? I would rather look to the examples of women like Bryn and Leah and emulate them rather than worrying if (or, worse, when) my husband is going to screw up simply due to his gender.

So, random internet woman whom I don't know, I am truly sorry you married who you married and you now have to babysit your husband. I honestly am. But please don't think my husband is cut from the same cloth. Because he is not. He has proven time and again that he is my champion and support and love of my life. And unless he proves otherwise (which I'm not holding my breath for), I will treat him as such and simply trust.


(oingo boingo, nothing bad ever happens to me)

So It Begins...

When I was in second grade (or there about), I always walked to the bus stop with my two friends. It was quite the walk (about 15 minutes) and I, living the farthest away, would walk by their houses on the way to pick them up. One day, as I passed a wall on the way to their houses, I noticed a note and dum-dum sucker stuck in a hole in the wall. It said, essentially, they didn't want to be friends anymore. I can't, for the life of me, remember why. It was sudden and stupid and very much a "girl" thing. So I went to school in tears and played alone on the playground and walked home alone, with them following me (we walked the same way!) and whispering. I think this "fight" lasted about a week. A very, very agonizing week. They eventually apologized and all was right again in the world. We grew apart by the time we reached middle school and I rarely talked to them once we hit high school. I'm facebook friends with one of them now, but our lives went very different ways, even if we did start out as thick as thieves, with minor girl drama. I think it's funny that that one instance in our years long friendship stands out to me. It clearly did something to me, all those years ago.

I can now see it happening already with Sammy. He gets his feelings hurt if his friends don't want to do the same thing he does. He follows so quickly, but never leads. He is the spitting image of his father in so very many ways, but in this way, I see a lot of me in him. It's hard, to see him play, and have his face contort into tears and have me know how he's feeling because I've felt it to. I can see that he just wants to be IN the mix. He wants to be IN the moment and IN that circle. So desperately, but he's scared to assert. And me, as his mother, wants to help him navigate these waters. I want to help and mold him into a healthy kid, with real friendships. But...But me, the 7 year old who was hurt and betrayed and left out more than I care to recount...I want to just hold him forever and shield him from it all.

This is the part of parenting I dread. How do I help him in areas I'm so obviously flawed in myself? How do I shed my natural inclination to shield? Why does this all have to start so early?

We worked hard this week on listening to others and playing their games. We worked on asking for things he wanted. We worked on being a little assertive, but not bossy. We worked and I think a little bit of it paid off. I only had to soothe a trembling lip once.



(jack johnson, you and your heart)

Casser-nope

So. I may or may not have spent eleventy thousand hours yesterday scouring etsy for vintage Pyrex. I'm not one for "vintage -y" stuff (see: OCD), but the thought of my kitchen full of cheery Pyrex from the 50s is really doing something for me right now.

Luckily, my mom has said she would save me some of her pieces (YAY for vintage I can live with!). One of them, specifically, is in this pattern. My mom has had that bowl since I can remember and I'm a little giddy that it will someday reside in my home. (Much like the love I have for this bowl that lovingly sits in my cupboard now - well, one similar sits in my cupboard, anyway.) Yesterday I found matching pieces and I want them all. Even (especially?) the casserole dishes.

But here's a little secret. I HATE casseroles. Anything "cream of" and then "top with cheese" and then "bake". Uh, nope. Won't do it. And there is a special corner in hell where tater tot casserole goes, I'm pretty sure. So what is the fascination with the casserole dishes all of a sudden? I'm not sure. But I'm LOVING them. Oh, so very much.

I think my lovely husband wouldn't mind a casserole from time to time, but, sadly, he would have to make them. And then eat it all. I just can not think of one I would gladly subject myself to. But I'm thinking a nice veggie lasagna would look lovely in this. Or this. Oooooh. And maybe two different pasta salads in this for a summer cookout...

Oh. Heaven help me and my kitchen cabinets!


(pride(in the name of love), u2)

Love Letter To My Town

Sunday night, my brother, his boys, their significant others, my sister and her family all packed into my house for egg enchiladas and games (Nerts!). It was glorious fun. (My town +1) Part way through the evening, I looked around and remembered why it is we moved back here. I forget sometimes, see. But Sunday night, it was clear again. We moved back so Sammy can have experiences like that. So we all can have experiences like that. Portland would be lovely and nearly perfect, but we wouldn't have those nights with cousins and siblings and games and food flowing out of our house.

My town gets a certain smell when it's finally TRULY spring (and not just the fake spring March sometimes brings). I've never smelled it anywhere else. It smells like home and I can never put it into words. Fresh, earthy love. Summer nights, here, are simply the best. (My town +1) I was driving home the other day with the window down and I got my first whiff of that smell this year. And it made me happy. No, more than happy. And content. So much love.

I see the green starting to peak through everywhere, but especially against the snow capped mountains and, with the warm wind blowing, I am so at peace. I love my town. I complain, especially all winter, about being here in the middle of nowhere, but, in all actuality, this is home. This beautiful little town of mine. As much as I miss Portland and wish we were there, I'm happy here. It's working out as we'd hoped. I don't know why I'm surprised, but I am. Being around family. Being in this town that is our home. It's working out. (knock on wood...) It's working out.

Well. Until later this week when we drop 30 degrees again. Then my town and I may be on a little break.


(love letters, alison moyet)

Charity Fail

We had a lovely charity dinner to attend this weekend. It was a 1920s theme and I had GRAND plans for this year. I was PLANNING on ordering this and these to wear to the gala. (ok. Let's be honest. I'll probably still get the shoes...) I procrastinated and ended up not ordering anything or doing anything REMOTELY 20s-ish for the occasion. And it's a good thing, too. Friday rolled around and I had less than any desire to go. I still wanted to take advantage of the booked babysitter, but getting dressed up and going to a dinner with hundreds of others? Eh. So we didn't. We went window shopping and out for ice cream, instead. And it was lovely. And perfect. And very us.

I've been missing my husband lately. We have both gotten busy and stressed and into a non-dating mode. I hate it. We are shorter with each other than I like. We tend to drift to doing our own things. Nothing major, but everything that adds up to missing my best friend. I remember how we used to window shop and just...hang out all the time. Pre-Sammy. It was on of our favorite things to do. We'd laugh and talk and wander and just be together. My idea of heaven, I swear. We went out on Saturday, as well, and saw Date Night. Aside from the absurdness, of course, it mirrored how I was feeling; the disconnect and routine.

By the time we got home Saturday night, things were much better. Getting out does that. Two lovely dates, hanging out and talking. I feel we're back on the same page and our universe is tilted back where it should be. It's such a simple thing, dating your spouse. I forget its magical powers. I forget that even though we forget and don't always take the time, we need to. Isaac is my best friend and my favorite person to hang out with. He always has been. We let life get in the way of that too often and while the missing him part doesn't always happen, sometimes it does.

Someday, I'd like to do something really crazy. Like an extended date, overnight. It's hard to imagine that day (I've only left Sammy overnight once!), but a girl can dream, right? But to imagine a weekend of just us. Wandering, finding things, browsing, talking and just hanging out. I love the thought.


(keane, somewhere only we know)