On This Day…

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There is a card in my dresser from ten years ago that was never signed, never sealed, and never given. It was a great find—a Far Side card where the apricot-filled candy-- the last one left in the box-- is taking field notes on what he has experienced as all of his compatriots have been brutally taken from their box home. I’m pretty proud of that card (although the one I found last year that said I would totally shiv someone in prison for the one I love was another exceptional find), but it will permanently remain in its place of dresser limbo. It—in and of itself—is a reminder of why I could not present that card to my husband on that day.

***

Before ‘the year 2000’ (Yes, that was totally a Conan reference; I’m a nerd, remember? He is our king.) if you had asked me what I thought about Valentine’s Day, I would have given you a snarky answer. And that’s if I was feeling polite.

I wasn’t big on Valentine’s, you might say.

The weekend of Valentine’s Day in 2000, however, is the first time I went out with J (after months of him asking me; he finally wore me down. Seriously. He’d been asking since September). It was awkward, as first dates usually are, and doubly so because it was so close to Valentine’s. And then there was the fact that he won a Victoria’s Secret gift card during the night, and was presented with the “Do I keep this and look like a creeper, or do I give this to her, and look like a creeper on a first date?” scenario. It was fun to watch him squirm. We’ve basically been inseparable since then.

***

That wasn’t the most exciting Valentine’s Day I’ve ever experienced, however. Ten years ago today, in the wee hours of the morning, I awoke to realize that I was (FINALLY) in labor with Ant.

I patiently waited until J awoke at six to go to work to tell him what was up—so that he could call in. We patiently took K to school, so he could attend his Valentine’s party. I patiently waited for my 9am OB appointment (given how far past my due date I was, they’d started seeing me twice a week). After my appointment, I decided to do some more patient waiting at home. With a bacon cheeseburger and some onion rings (last meal before ice chip hell). By 1pm, I started thinking about going to the hospital again—mainly because the blizzard had started. We got eight or nine inches of snow the night Ant was born. By 3pm I was settled in my L&D room. And by about 10pm, I thought we were going to finally see the little man who was a miracle—the baby that wasn’t supposed to be possible to conceive. The baby that I almost lost at 17 weeks.

Ant has always been a strong-willed child. He had other plans. He’s also a daredevil who likes to scare the crap out of me. We finally got to meet him on February 15^th, at 1:32 am, thanks to the chief of staff and an emergency c-section and an amazing pediatric team. Apparently my moderated activity prescription had worked a little too well. The baby that tried to be born too small ended up being way too large—at ten pounds, eleven ounces, at birth.

So, one could say that I forgot about the Valentine’s card I had purchased for J because I was a little occupied that day. A week later, when we finally got home, I found it on the dresser, we laughed about it, I placed in the dresser, and then I promptly found a comfortable spot on my own bed and took a nap. That card will remain in my dresser for the rest of my life.

***

Since 2000 and especially since 2003, Valentine’s has taken a completely new meaning for me. Yes, I still think it’s a bit too consumerist, and think a lot of the symbolism has been lost, I don’t need roses, per se, yada, yada, yada. Yet… now the day is full of excitement, remembrances, and anticipation for tomorrow. Tomorrow, my younger child will hit the double digits. I will have children who are 15 and 10, respectively. In my mind, it officially marks the end of our time of having small children. While I know that there will be no dramatic shift in the world’s gravitational pull tomorrow morning, and Ant will appear the same as he does today, for me… Valentine’s Day today just feels as if it is the end of one chapter and the beginning of another. 

This post written for the Mama Kat’s prompt: A Valentine's Day you remember.

How I Imagine it Would Go Down

An imaginary conversation between me and the kindly police officer, had he pulled me over last Sunday night, instead of the car directly behind me…

Officer: Ma’am, do you know why I pulled you over?

Me: For going about 37 in a 30 MPH zone.

Officer: May I ask why you were going so fast, ma’am?

Me: I’ve got a 9-year-old and a dog guarding the first two dozen cookies. How long do you think that will last?

Officer: I’m sorry?

Me: The recipe lied. I knew it was lying—in fact, I doubled it-- I just didn’t know how much it had underestimated the white chocolate needed to make 6 dozen White Chocolate Peppermint Oreos.

This is where I would gently pat the four additional packages of Ghiradelli white chocolate baking morsels I’d just purchased.

Officer, amused: Oh! Class party?

Me: No. Office cookie exchange.

Officer: Ho, boy! Today has not been your day today, has it?

Me: No, officer. In fact, we’re quickly leaving ‘throat punch’ territory and going to full-throttled ‘stabby’.

Officer: I hope you’re not referring to this encounter.

Me: No, mostly to the long list of unfortunate events which have preceded this encounter today.

Officer: Well, I’m a kindly officer who knows when a woman has reached her limit and I am letting you off with a warning. Please do not speed, but do return home quickly in order to save what cookies may remain from the first batch you tried to make.

Me: Thank you, kindly officer.

Am I the only one who has these imaginary scenarios running through their heads on an almost continuous loop? Yes? Well, the good news is that everyone is usually caring and polite in these scenarios. That must count for something.

You can find the recipe for the White Chocolate Peppermint Oreos—which we will be leaving for Santa, because they’re delicious—here. Also, they should be credited for the photo. Just make sure you know that it will take about a bag of white chocolate morsels for each dozen. 

This post, under the prompt, "What cookies are you leaving for the big guy?" was written for: 

They’ve Got Nothing on St. Nicholas

We have a lot of traditions in our house. I’m a big believer in the holiday traditions. I like making a big deal of almost all of the holidays—New Year’s Eve (the Nana’s birthday), Valentine’s (J and my first date anniversary, and also the day I went into labor with Ant), Easter (HAM…), Fourth of July, you name it. Halloween/Samhain is favorite holiday by far, but I have no problem making a big deal out of Christmas as well.

All I’ve got to say is this: I always wanted my children to look forward to the holidays. I didn’t always look forward to them as a child, and I wanted to make damn sure my kids have tons of wonderful memories.

So, during Christmas, we decorate the Friday after Thanksgiving, we observe St. Nicholas (patron saint of children and gift-giving, he fills the children’s shoes with candy and small toys, to tide them over until Christmas), we have a night of cookie making (the weekend before Christmas), we always have the boys make their gifts for our family members, we observe the Longest Night (Winter Solstice/Yule) you name it! We’ve got the traditions down pat.

To J and me, it’s much better to have and promote the traditions than it is to buy and promote consumerism. In fact, we have limits for the boys’ gifts; they have to fill their Christmas list with four things—something they want, something they need, something for fun and something educational. That’s what they get to ask for.

You can thank the Nana—who did the same thing with me—for that one.

Last night was St. Nicholas. Today is supposed to be the ‘feast’ (and I’ll be making my famous chicken parmesan and J’s garlic cheese bread), but last night was the big fun—as it was the time the boys were supposed to put out their shoes in anticipation of candy and treats. This does require some elaborate planning (especially on how we will keep Sophie from going to the animal hospital with a chocolate overdose).

Plus, now that they’re older… well, it’s less about the magic (let’s face it, we all know Santa is a ghost now, right?) and more actively participating in the traditions. Usually by making a series of raucous jokes.

This semester has been very busy, and so this time around, I put J in charge of procuring the treats which would end up in the shoes. “No problem. I know my boys,” my husband proffered when I asked if he could help out with this. My mother-in-law (and partner in crime when it comes to blowout birthday parties and things like St. Nicholas, or the most elaborate egg dying sessions you can imagine) was sending me text reminders (more on how my teen has taught both grandmothers to use their smart phones at another time) and ideas and potential scenarios, which I was then forwarding to my husband. “No worries, babe. I got this,” was his reply.

And he did have it. He did a great job. And he was even able to handle the curve ball the boys threw at him. They decided that no ordinary shoes would do this year. They needed something…. Bigger. J decided that they needed some…Guidance… on that subject.

We don't fill hiking boots, for instance.

Or roller blades, brooding teen!

We will hide your goodies in normal shoes downstairs... and away from the dog.

Do you have awesome family traditions that you hope to carry on through your child(ren)'s childhood? Or do you want some ideas? Because I'm like the Pinterest of holiday traditions, I swear!

Repeat Week- Introduction to Jasonisms

Yesterday we started repeat week. Life be crazy-busy right now, and while I cannot even begin to fathom blog-post worthy material, I thought a week of reruns would be welcome. You play catch-up reading posts from way back, and I play catch-up with work and laundry and bills…

Today is the first Jason post…It explains a lot, actually.

We're gonna create a diversion here, see... Photo Credit

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

Introduction to Jasonisms 

Many people think my husband is sweet, charming, gentle. Mellow. Quiet. A teddy bear, really, in a giant’s body. Only I know the real J.

J has the amazing gift of being able to bring humor into any situation. He doesn’t share it with the outside world often—it’s often rather vulgar. He’s very private. Which is why I’ve decided to blog about it. You know, because his rare gift needs to be shared with the world, whether he likes it or not.

He has a thing for play on words and one-liners. We call them Jasonisms. Remember- this is the man who has diagnosed me with “early-morning Tourette’s”. I tend to curse in the mornings, if you attempt to engage me in any way…

Most of them are wildly inappropriate, and not for blog consumption. Sheesh, someone’s already reported me for objectionable content—I don’t need to quote some of those gems and get shut down.

You’ll just have to take my word for it when it comes to those.

We’re watching the Olympics right now, and the inevitable commercials. Ever see the one where the female narrator is talking about how easy family travel is now that she has the iPhone app that turns off the house lights?

Tangent: J has a thing for not leaving things unfinished, unless it involves folding a putting away laundry. He hates the idea of a light being left on or the car doors left unlocked. Ever want to have some fun at his expense? Wait until he gets into bed, with the lights off. Let him get snuggled up and comfortable, and then say something like this:

“Hey, hon, did YOU lock the front door? Really? Are you sure it’s locked?”

This is a good way to get the better pillows by switching them while he’s up checking.

J is enamored with this commercial. He wants an iPhone, just to have this app. I ruthlessly mock him, because, well, that’s what married couples do, right?

J: That would be so cool. You could be away from the house, and turn the lights on! The bank robbers could be right there, at your front door, and then whoosh! The lights are on! Their plans are foiled. All because of one little app.
Me: Huh. Yeah, that would be cool. Except…
J: What?
Me: Well, what would BANK robbers being doing at the house? They’re bank robbers, not…
J: Well, duh. They are creating a distraction, so they can get the real job done with no interruptions.
Me: You know, this—what you just said-- it is either going to end up on my Facebook, or on my blog.
J: Yeah, that sucks.
Me: Really, why?
J: Well, I would prefer it if you gave me a cool name. The other mommy-bloggers give their husbands cool names.
Me: What?
J: You know, that one blog you’ve read for years? She had that name, f-ball…
Me: That is Damomma, and that was her husband’s name for the cat. Not for her husband.
J: Well, I’m just saying…
Me: You want me to call you f-ball on my blog?

These are the private, inner sanctum conversations of married life. You know, that secret, private spouse language that all the relationship gurus talk about. The thing that is supposed to make your marriage last and last. It all comes down to the super-cool name your husband wants on your blog, and the fact that you use the front door as a ploy to get to sleep before he starts to snore…

Because you know that once you suggest one door is unlocked, he has to check them all.

And then I think, maybe that is the secret to a successful marriage. I had a dreaded dentist appointment today, and a sore mouth this evening. I’ve been in a bad mood all day, either in anticipation of the dentist’s office, or as the response. My husband picked up on it, and came up with something humorous to distract me.

Then he made fun of me as I tried to fulfill my craving for fruity cheerios without causing too much pain…