July 29, 2011

You are the only exception.

So funny.  I sit down to write when I'm sure I have something to say that means something- and then my cursor flashes (hesitates, more like it) on the "Title" section and my mind farts.  Loudly and inappropriately.  It sharts.

But anyways, when I put some of my songs of the moment on, and sip my beverage of choice, serendipitously my thoughts come back home.  I can find them.

I've been noticing that this blog has replaced my singing.  For me this is a large, life-sized realization that can only be truly assessed through lots of convoluted, symbolic, self realization that I'm just not in the mood to deal with at the moment.  But there's some literal foreshadowing for you.  So stay tuned, I suppose.

I sit here on this virtual podium to proclaim that my beloved husband and I had an argument tonight and I stormed out of the hearth and home with only my keys, my Kate Spade wallet and my iPhone.  And my indignant refutations of his seemingly out of nowhere, insensitive proclamations from this evening.  I'm mad.  I'm hurt.  I feel like crap.  And all I want is a scene that is not the one I just left.  I was just about to break something I liked.  Really, I like all the stuff in our house.

Here is where my soul fibers kick in with my fine print and the magnifying glass.  We must read these things:  I adore and love my husband.  I think he's really handsome.  When he walks in the door, I instinctually, gut reactionally think, wow- he's sooo pretty in a manly-I'd-hang-his-poster-over-my-bed-when-I-was-a-teenager-and-cry-at-his-concert sort of way.  But, I also simultaneously think, phew-another-set-of-hands-is-really-desirable-in-so-many-other-ways type of way.  We must read that as much as I made the effort with other past "relationships" (which is in quotations for very obvious reasons, cause they all shaped me and for that I'm thankful, but really in the end- sucked which is why they ended), my husband has always been and, I'm willing to bet my life, will always be my One.  And we must read that he can only make me crazy cause I love him.  Crazy in a safe way; crazy in an "I'll scratch my own eyeballs out and maybe even his out" if that helps sort of way when we disagree cause I really am not a fan of disagreeing with him cause I love him.  But MAN, he can make me CRAZY.  Sigh.  Stomp.

Stomp, stomp.         Stomp.         Sip of cosmo.

It's not even cute.  It's not even self fulfillingly validating to say that I'm old enough and at a place where I'm fed up with my Mister because he doesn't appreciate what he has.  Which is me.  Which he should appreciate.  And which he does 99% of the time.  Read that.  But there are times when, cause he's a guy, he so easily overlooks my daily labor to create an interesting, clean palette of a home that is so lovingly and meticulously comprised of color, love and decisive placement that he can leave me with my head spinning.

I'll do my best to make this short, because the point of this isn't the details of the argument.  The point is I work really hard to be a good wife and mom.  I make our home pretty.  I make it clean.  It smells of Lysol and Windex and furniture polish.  And sometimes candles.  And garlic, peppers and onions when making someone dinner.  After I have not only worked, ran errands, cared for, fed, loved on, changed and bathed someone's daughter.  We live in a home where we walk around in bare feet all day and nothing is there to make our feet dirty.  You barely feel anything on the floors besides wood and shellac.  Someone has it nice, pal.

He has the largest balls in the world I must say.  There it is.  I'd be proud if I wasn't so keen on making a sport out of them at this point.

After all that, my groom comes home- watches me reorganize our office space for FOUR mother-effing hours,  while he watches X-Men car-mother-effing-toons and tells me, "I'm hungry."

Oh, right, Thursday's fajita night.

I am a wife that literally blogs about being a hot mama partially to please my other half.  What, oh wait... do I try to be hot cause I love the mirror so much... it really does so much for me?  NO.  It's because I believe that me being happy in my skin makes him happy with me in my skin and therefore helps the foundation of our marriage stay strong.  I believed that tonight, while I was so thoughtlessly inconveniencing the world with my project of organizing mine and someone else's office, I was actually doing something for that guy.  For us.  But, silly Coley!  I forgot!  We live in the early nineteen hundreds.  I should be done with the housework before someone gets home so that when he does, dinner is cooked and I greet him in lingerie while the baby sleeps and so I can be captivated by the story of some random kid playing with a yo-yo at the summer camp. Yeah.  Makes sense.  I'm right there with you.

I'm in trouble because I didn't pay enough attention to the yo-yo story (I'm not kidding) while I was doing the dishes after I cooked, after I cleaned our house, took care of our baby and worked.  All I heard was "I can't believe you tell people you're good at multi-tasking, when you're clearly not because you can't clean the counters at 9 o'clock at night while looking me straight in the eye about some kid's yo-yo act at camp."  Which I'm sure was mind blowing.  And seeing as how it was about to knock the Earth off it's axis, it couldn't have waited five minutes for me to be able to actually be done and listen.

If I didn't leave the house right then and there, I would have thrown something.  It would have broken two things I liked and thoughtfully picked out; itself and someone's handsome face.

So I grabbed my keys, my wallet and my phone.  And I did something for the first time since before the baby's been born.  I drove at night with the windows open, with my music on, by myself.  I cried out of frustration.  I tried to be mad.  I tried to sing.  I then stopped crying, because why was I crying?  I'm not going to feel bad.  I love my husband and he's a good man.  But I'm not going to cry over this.  

I went to our friends house.  I vented fairly and objectively.  They adore him and are objective, so it's cool.  And I get it.  My ears and attention matter (thanks, baby).  They matter cause I'm half of this marriage.  I get it that I should actively listen to the yo-yo story.  But, can I get a little slack over here?  I can't be perfect.  I will never be and never have been.  I can only go so far, do so many things and be so unaffected at the end of the day that falls at the end of the week.  The only time I have to do these projects are when someone else is home so the baby has love and I can take care of this house.  And, I was listening.  I heard the story, so I just don't get why He Who Shall Not Be Named got so mad at me.  I was asked to finish cleaning quickly (due to large, elephantitis of...an...ego) and then got in trouble for focusing hard on what I was doing to finish quickly...So frustrating.

Maybe I'm missing some part of this story that will make it all make sense.  When I join my husband in bed tonight I will have these things:  I only do what I do because you, my friend, are the only exception to all of my rules.  You are the only one I'll go back to, unequivocally.  You love me through and through, which is why, for some reason I made you feel bad for not listening (but I was).  I'll join you in bed because it will always be OK because we will always make the other half feel full.  Because my ankle will always search for yours under the covers.

But, for tonight, I will wonder how you sleep on your stomach will balls that fricken big.

July 17, 2011

Please hold: system processing.

When people say to you that once you have a baby- everything changes- believe it.  Don't be surprised when it happens, because often that "surprise" begets a bit of hurt feelings, maybe some nostalgia, and your heart protecting itself tells you to just move on.

I don't know if all of that is necessarily truth in terms of 'this is definitely objectively what is going on.'  But it sure as shit feels this way and I'm undergoing a bit of a spell where this surprise makes me feel slightly abandoned.  I'm in it right now.  Trying to figure all this out.  Processing it.

The life changes that you expect are, you know, by definition changes and you're not immediately used to the demands of no sleep, constant feeding, living to serve and sustain another human life... but they're ok.  And come with the territory of having a baby.

The change I didn't expect was the progressively encroaching cracks in the foundation of a few of my friendships.  Reasons being that their lives are no longer where mine is, or that simply I got here first before they inevitably get here one way or another...  To be fair, I can't expect these people who aren't married with babies to fully fathom how the tables of my life have flipped nor can I expect them to transpose their lives to match mine just when we're at the at the same party.

But when I was pregnant I had these happy, rosy visualizations of my friends loving on my nugget, passing her around and laughing with my husband and I about her cuteness.  But it's just not like that.  I couldn't for the life of me tell you why.  I wanted so badly to share with some of my best friends this new little life I'm working so hard at raising well.  I'm going through so many changes as a person (and yes, I'm still me) that I need my friends to keep me sane as I go through it.  But I feel like some are no longer there.

In spirit, these friends will always be friends.  But in real time, real life... now?  I'm not sure.  Which feels like a punch in the gut.

I had a little runny mascara today.  It promised not to run.  But I guess lots of things do, sometimes, when they're not supposed to.

July 5, 2011

Catch you on the flip side. We're going on a stay-cation.

Lesson learned.  My husband and I attempted to whisk our little family away to Newport for the Fourth of July weekend and need a vacation from vacation.

Apparently with an infant, you must pack as much crap for a one night stay as you'd need for a week.  Or two.  Not only that, but we have a schedule to uphold here.  If little miss Via Maria misses her nap then her whole day is thrown off.  She is so happy and lovable and it's my job to protect that.  With a five month old, the best protection is healthy sleep and routine eating and play habits.

What else... Beach?  Not likely.  I'd be walking into a living nightmare with all of our baby stuff peppered with sand.  She gets hot then sweaty then nudgie then fussy and so I become stressed out.  She needs shade which requires an umbrella.  She needs blankets, a place to sleep, diapers, food- which requires a cooler... Ya, no.  That's not vacation for the mommy.  You'd find mommy in the beach Port-a-Potty chugging Corona's to calm the nerves.  We attempted the pool but minus the sand it's the same story.  So... much... shit.

If I were going to a vacation home where I had summer versions of my real life baby gear, then I'd be singing a different tune.  But I wasn't and so I'm not.  It's also hard to go away on a family vacation when the family is big.  The up-side is there are many hands to love and help.  The down side is being pulled in a bunch of different directions when the only direction I'm accustomed to moving in is where ever Vienna needs to go.  I came off like a baby nazi.  So rigid and hard, overwhelmed at times.  But I could feel Vienna's system unraveling due to the heat and ass backwards schedule.

By the time we decided to leave, we had to repack all our stuff, re-load the car and re-drive home.  And then, cue horror movie music, we had to unpack.  After vacation, people are supposed to come home relaxed and ready for the world.  I, on the other hand, was walking around like I needed a swipe of Desitin on my diaper rash.  I was salty, tired and so over the amount of cleaning and reorganizing I had to do.

Alas, a stay-cation is all we need.  Baby is happy in her usual routine with her toys, mommy is happy knowing that baby is happy and no unpacking is necessary, and daddy is happy cause, well, I'm happy and not up his ass about being unhappy.  See?  We all win on stay-cation.

                                             Happy at home.  After we unpacked.