This pregnancy, I gained a grand total of 50lbs! Whoot! And I've lost 20 so far, so yay for big babies. But it's time to think about if and how I'm going to be slim again for the summer. I know most people can't tell that I'm still 30lbs over my pre-pregnancy weight, but none of my clothes fit, and that's my biggest motivator.
My darling husband is also about 30lbs away from his ideal weight, so we made a friendly wager: Whoever loses 30lbs first, or the person to lose the most by April 15th gets a sweet prize.
At first he thought I had an unfair advantage because I'm nursing, but I had to remind him that it took me a full 9 months to lose the 41lbs I gained while pregnant with Boogie. And he's got a huge advantage over me since he actually has a gym membership and has a while 16 week course laid out for him. So I think we're mostly even except...
1. I'm going to plateau way before him. We're both carrying extra weight, but my body is going to try to hold onto it as long as possible so that I have reserves for nursing. His isn't, but he'll be gaining muscle while he loses fat, and I'm hoping that will be enough to let me win. :)
2. I have way more willpower when it comes to food and have healthier habits already established. At midnight when we finish a movie and are both a bit hungry, I'm fine with an orange and a glass of water, while he will eat another plate of carne and mandioca. At midnight. Plus, I'll be home and able to prepare my own food when he goes back to work, and he'll most likely be too lazy to bring his food, and will then be eating more calories, fat, etc from take-out.
3. I can't exercise for 4 more weeks, due to my 'birthing injury' so he has almost a month head start on me. But, when I do start I'll probably be carrying Gorilita so I'll burn more calories since I'll be lugging an extra 10-12lbs with me.
So, we'll see. And I'll of course keep a log of how much I'm losing and how... if anything.
Showing posts with label P-Dely. Show all posts
Showing posts with label P-Dely. Show all posts
December 13, 2008
June 6, 2008
Out of the Mouth of an Ass
P: Babe, we're definitely having a boy this time.
Me: Why do you say that, all of a sudden?
P: You remember what Vic said about Ally being ugly in the face when she was pregnant with Jackson? That's you, all the way.
Me: WHA...?
P: No, Baby, I'm happy though! We need to have a boy this time!
Me: You suck.
Me: Why do you say that, all of a sudden?
P: You remember what Vic said about Ally being ugly in the face when she was pregnant with Jackson? That's you, all the way.
Me: WHA...?
P: No, Baby, I'm happy though! We need to have a boy this time!
Me: You suck.
June 3, 2008
Girly Bar-B-Que
It's not that I wouldn't BBQ, but I don't know how. I've never got the charcoals going, or seasoned the meat for it so I'm not sure how it would work. Plus, I'd have to watch Boogie while I was cooking, and the thought of stoking the moldering coals with a child on my hip scared the heebee-jeebees out of me.
So last night, I was at a loss for what to make for dinner. I had been picking up meat and corn and potatoes and stock-piling the perfect BBQ meal, but I was missing the man to make it. So I got bold, damnit.
I decided to do a girly BBQ!
That may be really sexist, but I can say this, my oven BBQ tasted damn good, even P was surprised and said that I gave him a good idea next time he makes ribs or carnitas.
My little trick? I bolied the meat in seasoned water for like 20 minutes before I popped it in the oven. And I was literally working for maybe 20 minutes. Cut the ribs apart, put in the water, and boil. While I was boiling, I peeled the potatoes for the salad, cut them up and stuck them in water too. Then I shucked the corn, cut it up, wrapped them in foil with salt, pepper and a pat of butter. When the ribs finished boiling, I plopped them in a backing dish with a couple different BBQ sauces, and some extra spices, covered it, and stuck it in at 400.
After I put the meat in the oven, I took Boogie for a quick Safeway run for milk, eggs, and lettuce. When we got home I put the potatoes on to boil, turned the meat and left it in the the oven some more. When the potaotes were almost done, threw in some frozen veggies, the kind I like, and cooked a bit more, drained, then stirred in some mayo and salt. When the meat was almost done, I took the foil off for about 20 minutes to brown it. And when the meat was finally finger-licking finished, I threw the foiled corn in the oven.
Seriously, that was one of the easiest meals I've ever made in my life. And the meat was so tender you didn't even need a knife. I wish I had made more, so I could make a sandwich later, yummy! BBQ pulled pork with cheese. And I loved seeing P's face when I told him I BBQed or him, but when he took a bite, he was amazed.
Yay me!
So last night, I was at a loss for what to make for dinner. I had been picking up meat and corn and potatoes and stock-piling the perfect BBQ meal, but I was missing the man to make it. So I got bold, damnit.
I decided to do a girly BBQ!
That may be really sexist, but I can say this, my oven BBQ tasted damn good, even P was surprised and said that I gave him a good idea next time he makes ribs or carnitas.
My little trick? I bolied the meat in seasoned water for like 20 minutes before I popped it in the oven. And I was literally working for maybe 20 minutes. Cut the ribs apart, put in the water, and boil. While I was boiling, I peeled the potatoes for the salad, cut them up and stuck them in water too. Then I shucked the corn, cut it up, wrapped them in foil with salt, pepper and a pat of butter. When the ribs finished boiling, I plopped them in a backing dish with a couple different BBQ sauces, and some extra spices, covered it, and stuck it in at 400.
After I put the meat in the oven, I took Boogie for a quick Safeway run for milk, eggs, and lettuce. When we got home I put the potatoes on to boil, turned the meat and left it in the the oven some more. When the potaotes were almost done, threw in some frozen veggies, the kind I like, and cooked a bit more, drained, then stirred in some mayo and salt. When the meat was almost done, I took the foil off for about 20 minutes to brown it. And when the meat was finally finger-licking finished, I threw the foiled corn in the oven.
Seriously, that was one of the easiest meals I've ever made in my life. And the meat was so tender you didn't even need a knife. I wish I had made more, so I could make a sandwich later, yummy! BBQ pulled pork with cheese. And I loved seeing P's face when I told him I BBQed or him, but when he took a bite, he was amazed.
Yay me!
May 22, 2008
Bad News, and Something Good Too
Well, the Mazda crapped out.
I knew it was bound to happen eventually, I've been incredibly lucky with mt repair record for the last 9 years, pretty much oil changes and tune-ups, tires, but nothing out of the ordinary so far. Late last week, the "check engine" light came on, and I was planning to drop it off soon at the repair shop to check it out, but, it didn't make it that long. I think she was angry that I was eyeballing other cars.
Wednesday morning P called me to say it kept stalling out and he got a ride to work from the neighbor. This morning we tried to drop it off, him driving and me following in the Camry, but it only made it about 1/4 mile, and we had to call a tow truck.
So, we'll see. I don't even know when they will have a chance to look at it, or how much more this little clunker is going to cost me.
P had to drop me off at work this morning, 2 hours before he has to be at work. He woke up early, got ready in 15 minutes, met the tow-truck guy, then came back to my job so I could drop him off at work and take the car to see Boogie at lunch.
Then, he validated my parking and bought me breakfast. What a doll.
I knew it was bound to happen eventually, I've been incredibly lucky with mt repair record for the last 9 years, pretty much oil changes and tune-ups, tires, but nothing out of the ordinary so far. Late last week, the "check engine" light came on, and I was planning to drop it off soon at the repair shop to check it out, but, it didn't make it that long. I think she was angry that I was eyeballing other cars.
Wednesday morning P called me to say it kept stalling out and he got a ride to work from the neighbor. This morning we tried to drop it off, him driving and me following in the Camry, but it only made it about 1/4 mile, and we had to call a tow truck.
So, we'll see. I don't even know when they will have a chance to look at it, or how much more this little clunker is going to cost me.
P had to drop me off at work this morning, 2 hours before he has to be at work. He woke up early, got ready in 15 minutes, met the tow-truck guy, then came back to my job so I could drop him off at work and take the car to see Boogie at lunch.
Then, he validated my parking and bought me breakfast. What a doll.
April 22, 2008
While watching Cloverfield....
Me: You would go back and get me right?
P: Yeah...no.
Me: What if I was pregnant?
P: Then I'd think about it.
P: Yeah...no.
Me: What if I was pregnant?
P: Then I'd think about it.
March 18, 2008
Hairless
P shaved his goatee and mustache off the other night. Ever since, Boogie has been saying "ouchie" whenever she sees him, and kisses his chin like he hurt himself.
Sappy Anniversary Blog
Yep, it's been six years, and I've sort of exhausted all those lovely "how we met" stories and "why I love him so much" raves.
Can you tell? It's a few days past the big day, and I'm just now getting around to writing about it. Our night was mediocre, we had dinner at a place with great food, but crappy service. He did buy me my favorite perfume, Issey Miyake, and bought himself the men's version because he knows I love it.
I guess after six years, it's the little things that make all the difference. It's the BBQ when I'm dying for smoking carcinogenic goodness, and staying up with me until 1am to watch a dumb movie when he's exhausted and has to work the next morning.
It's waking up at 3am to feed Boogie her oatmeal and put her back to sleep, so that I can get my 8 hours of (mostly) uninterrupted sleep.
It's agreeing to have another baby, although he dreads the idea of more sleepless nights, food battles, and early mornings. Because he knows nothing else in the world makes me as happy as seeing our beautiful baby girl.
After six years of marriage, we're still figuring things out. At 18, I had no idea that it would be this hard, that it would take this much work, that I could be completely miserable one night, and maniacally joyful the next morning.
But I am. We are. And I'm glad we chose each other to learn from.
Happy Belated Anniversary, Punkin.
Can you tell? It's a few days past the big day, and I'm just now getting around to writing about it. Our night was mediocre, we had dinner at a place with great food, but crappy service. He did buy me my favorite perfume, Issey Miyake, and bought himself the men's version because he knows I love it.
I guess after six years, it's the little things that make all the difference. It's the BBQ when I'm dying for smoking carcinogenic goodness, and staying up with me until 1am to watch a dumb movie when he's exhausted and has to work the next morning.
It's waking up at 3am to feed Boogie her oatmeal and put her back to sleep, so that I can get my 8 hours of (mostly) uninterrupted sleep.
It's agreeing to have another baby, although he dreads the idea of more sleepless nights, food battles, and early mornings. Because he knows nothing else in the world makes me as happy as seeing our beautiful baby girl.
After six years of marriage, we're still figuring things out. At 18, I had no idea that it would be this hard, that it would take this much work, that I could be completely miserable one night, and maniacally joyful the next morning.
But I am. We are. And I'm glad we chose each other to learn from.
Happy Belated Anniversary, Punkin.
March 13, 2008
Terible Two's in FULL EFFECT
Oh my Sweet Jesus. If I said 10 things to Boogie this morning, 8 were "NO!" Sprinkled of course with a few, "Don't play with that, please" and a "Where did you find that?"
Another phrase getting more and more common is "Don't climb on that [...] or else..." as in "Don't climb on that bookshelf or else you're going to fall and break your neck" or "Don't climb on that dog or else he's going to bite you again."
I'm exhausted. I think maybe it would be more bearable if it didn't start at 5am. After a 1:30 am alarm clock of "MAMA! OATMEAL!" And just for right now, I can't think of having two kids. Prayers are oozing out my brain that she'll be over this whole testing limits thing by the time I have another one. And that I'll learn a better way of handling it.
Which normally, I think I'm pretty patient, good at re-directing and finding things she can explore, rather than just saying NO to everyting. But it's hard to get ready in the morning and watch a toddler without any help. At. All.
But. I also know that I'm being tested right now, by both P and Boogie, and I need to stay firm, set limits, and redirect both of them to acceptable activities. It's short term, at least in the sense that this particular phase for both will end sometime, probably right when I get the hang of dealing with them, and then I'll be presented with a new challenge.
Such is life.
I'm off to research how to get this kid off the boob, and to sleep in later than 5:30am.
Another phrase getting more and more common is "Don't climb on that [...] or else..." as in "Don't climb on that bookshelf or else you're going to fall and break your neck" or "Don't climb on that dog or else he's going to bite you again."
I'm exhausted. I think maybe it would be more bearable if it didn't start at 5am. After a 1:30 am alarm clock of "MAMA! OATMEAL!" And just for right now, I can't think of having two kids. Prayers are oozing out my brain that she'll be over this whole testing limits thing by the time I have another one. And that I'll learn a better way of handling it.
Which normally, I think I'm pretty patient, good at re-directing and finding things she can explore, rather than just saying NO to everyting. But it's hard to get ready in the morning and watch a toddler without any help. At. All.
But. I also know that I'm being tested right now, by both P and Boogie, and I need to stay firm, set limits, and redirect both of them to acceptable activities. It's short term, at least in the sense that this particular phase for both will end sometime, probably right when I get the hang of dealing with them, and then I'll be presented with a new challenge.
Such is life.
I'm off to research how to get this kid off the boob, and to sleep in later than 5:30am.
February 14, 2008
My Favorite Commercial Holiday, After Christmas and St. Patrick's Day
By Aletta C
In most situations, I am not one to be seduced by commercialism, but in the case of today, I am all for celebrating a made-up holiday.
Some people have blogged about how dumb it is to spend all this money to show someone you love them, and why do you need a certain day set aside for that anyway? Well, I’m here to tell you that maybe I picked the short straw out of the bunch, but my husband does not send me flowers at work “just because.” I do regularly get awesome gifts from him, but only because our wedding anniversary, my birthday, our first kiss and Christmas are roughly every three months throughout the year.
I’m not jealous of you people who get diamonds every year, and a dozen roses because you weren’t smiling in the morning when you left for work. Really? I’d rather my husband surprise me with a clean house and a home-cooked meal, than to splurge on an over-priced bouquet of roses that smell like tomatoes, or to buy yet another piece of jewelry that I won’t wear because I don’t want to lose it. Better yet, let me sleep in Sunday morning, and go pick some daisies with Boogie for me.
That being said, I sure as shit am not passing up a free meal at the restaurant of my choice. We’re doing our part to slow down the recession, and if that involves eating fresh-caught swordfish and oysters that were scraped off a rock while I was making my coffee that morning (hopefully not from the hideously polluted Richardson Bay though..) how can I shun commercialism for that?
Now, we don’t buy each other $4 cards, or spend $30 on chocolates. We go to dinner, a nice, romantic moment alone, which we rarely have the opportunity to indulge in between work, taking care of Boogie, and our various other social engagements. The next weekend we exchange Valentine goodies, when we can get them for 95% off, and laugh at people who actually paid full-price for them.
But that’s just us.
We can still smile at the new couples who are all stressed out the day before, running to find the flowers and balloons, and the couple the night of whose limbs are entwined throughout dinner. We think it’s cute, but we’ve been together long enough to know 1) this day is an excuse (yay! Free babysitting!) for us to go out alone and 2) there is so much more we’d like to do with the money we would have been spending on all the gifts and flowers.
I did get him a present though. I figure that since he’ll be paying for dinner, I could get away with buying him some “manly essentials” which he always procrastinates buying for himself.
So, Happy Valentine’s Day! Hope you make of it whatever makes you happiest!
In most situations, I am not one to be seduced by commercialism, but in the case of today, I am all for celebrating a made-up holiday.
Some people have blogged about how dumb it is to spend all this money to show someone you love them, and why do you need a certain day set aside for that anyway? Well, I’m here to tell you that maybe I picked the short straw out of the bunch, but my husband does not send me flowers at work “just because.” I do regularly get awesome gifts from him, but only because our wedding anniversary, my birthday, our first kiss and Christmas are roughly every three months throughout the year.
I’m not jealous of you people who get diamonds every year, and a dozen roses because you weren’t smiling in the morning when you left for work. Really? I’d rather my husband surprise me with a clean house and a home-cooked meal, than to splurge on an over-priced bouquet of roses that smell like tomatoes, or to buy yet another piece of jewelry that I won’t wear because I don’t want to lose it. Better yet, let me sleep in Sunday morning, and go pick some daisies with Boogie for me.
That being said, I sure as shit am not passing up a free meal at the restaurant of my choice. We’re doing our part to slow down the recession, and if that involves eating fresh-caught swordfish and oysters that were scraped off a rock while I was making my coffee that morning (hopefully not from the hideously polluted Richardson Bay though..) how can I shun commercialism for that?
Now, we don’t buy each other $4 cards, or spend $30 on chocolates. We go to dinner, a nice, romantic moment alone, which we rarely have the opportunity to indulge in between work, taking care of Boogie, and our various other social engagements. The next weekend we exchange Valentine goodies, when we can get them for 95% off, and laugh at people who actually paid full-price for them.
But that’s just us.
We can still smile at the new couples who are all stressed out the day before, running to find the flowers and balloons, and the couple the night of whose limbs are entwined throughout dinner. We think it’s cute, but we’ve been together long enough to know 1) this day is an excuse (yay! Free babysitting!) for us to go out alone and 2) there is so much more we’d like to do with the money we would have been spending on all the gifts and flowers.
I did get him a present though. I figure that since he’ll be paying for dinner, I could get away with buying him some “manly essentials” which he always procrastinates buying for himself.
So, Happy Valentine’s Day! Hope you make of it whatever makes you happiest!
February 11, 2008
Living in the Moment
You know, I've always thought that one of the main reasons I was so anxious all the time was that I didn't live in the moment, but I discovered last night, that is far from the truth.
I was huffing around the house, irked that I was cleaning up after dinner, after walking the dogs, after feeding Boogie, doing laundry, cleaning the litter box, generally spending my Sunday taking care of everything and everyone but me. I was also trying to impress upon my husband the fact that Boogie is going to copy whatever he does, so he needed to get his act together. He had been eating corn kernels with his fingers, belching at the dinner table and generally being a pig, and she mimicked every disgusting act that he performed.
So I was standing in the hall surveying the damage to my house and plotting how to clean the biggest mess with the least amount of effort so that I could go upstairs and start a new book before I fell asleep. P bent over to put his shoes on to take out the trash, and let one rip. I restrained my fury and called him a pig. Feeling proud of myself for not losing my cool, I started cleaning the massive piles of newspaper that were beginning to take over the house since we started delivery. P came inside to grab the recycling, and as he walked past me he let out a huge stinking belch that reeked of corn and salmon, mayo and hippy water ... and I socked him in the arm.
In that moment, that single instant without thought, where my arm flew out from my side and connected with the source of my disgust and fury, I realized, Dude! I was totally in the moment right there!
And see, now I realize that when I am truly aggravated, I'm entirely in the moment, not contemplating the future repercussions of my actions. Now I just have to figure out how to do that more when I'm happy.
:)
I was huffing around the house, irked that I was cleaning up after dinner, after walking the dogs, after feeding Boogie, doing laundry, cleaning the litter box, generally spending my Sunday taking care of everything and everyone but me. I was also trying to impress upon my husband the fact that Boogie is going to copy whatever he does, so he needed to get his act together. He had been eating corn kernels with his fingers, belching at the dinner table and generally being a pig, and she mimicked every disgusting act that he performed.
So I was standing in the hall surveying the damage to my house and plotting how to clean the biggest mess with the least amount of effort so that I could go upstairs and start a new book before I fell asleep. P bent over to put his shoes on to take out the trash, and let one rip. I restrained my fury and called him a pig. Feeling proud of myself for not losing my cool, I started cleaning the massive piles of newspaper that were beginning to take over the house since we started delivery. P came inside to grab the recycling, and as he walked past me he let out a huge stinking belch that reeked of corn and salmon, mayo and hippy water ... and I socked him in the arm.
In that moment, that single instant without thought, where my arm flew out from my side and connected with the source of my disgust and fury, I realized, Dude! I was totally in the moment right there!
And see, now I realize that when I am truly aggravated, I'm entirely in the moment, not contemplating the future repercussions of my actions. Now I just have to figure out how to do that more when I'm happy.
:)
February 3, 2008
Why? Again...
I just don't get how people can consciously ruin a relationship.
This is one of those days where I truly believe that I would be better off alone. I don't want to be a divorced single mother at 25, but I don't know if my sanity will allow me to stay here much longer. It's madness.
We had a good stretch going, and he goes and does this. It's 1:08pm, and he still isn't home, thinks he's being a good guy by calling to tell me he's still too drunk to drive, and oops, I forgot we were having people over today to watch the game, and later a small birthday party, but Baby, I love you, I promise I'll make it up to you.
And I'm stuck here, because he took the carseat. I can't go anywhere because I have the baby, and no way to transport her. SO I have to call and email people back that, hey, sorry for the late notice but you can't come over anymore because I can't go to the store to get supplies, and by the way, P isn't back from a night out getting drunk either. Even though the last time was supposed to be the end of it.
Like always.
I just don't know how much I am supposed to take before I snap? I don't know where the line is drawn between enabling his alcohol addiction, and just taking care of Taryn and myself? I don't know if these actions would bother me so much if they didn't affect me... if he had left the carseat and I could get on with my life, would I care so much that he's out drinking and smoking with the boys?
So am I angry because I'm selfish? Am I angry because he's killing himself, or because he is interfering with my life? I found an apartment I can afford, cheaper child care, a trade-in for my car... I can do it myself, I don't know why I'm still here.
This is one of those days where I truly believe that I would be better off alone. I don't want to be a divorced single mother at 25, but I don't know if my sanity will allow me to stay here much longer. It's madness.
We had a good stretch going, and he goes and does this. It's 1:08pm, and he still isn't home, thinks he's being a good guy by calling to tell me he's still too drunk to drive, and oops, I forgot we were having people over today to watch the game, and later a small birthday party, but Baby, I love you, I promise I'll make it up to you.
And I'm stuck here, because he took the carseat. I can't go anywhere because I have the baby, and no way to transport her. SO I have to call and email people back that, hey, sorry for the late notice but you can't come over anymore because I can't go to the store to get supplies, and by the way, P isn't back from a night out getting drunk either. Even though the last time was supposed to be the end of it.
Like always.
I just don't know how much I am supposed to take before I snap? I don't know where the line is drawn between enabling his alcohol addiction, and just taking care of Taryn and myself? I don't know if these actions would bother me so much if they didn't affect me... if he had left the carseat and I could get on with my life, would I care so much that he's out drinking and smoking with the boys?
So am I angry because I'm selfish? Am I angry because he's killing himself, or because he is interfering with my life? I found an apartment I can afford, cheaper child care, a trade-in for my car... I can do it myself, I don't know why I'm still here.
December 26, 2007
Patting Myself on the Back
Christmas Eve was nice, Nonny, Boogie and I went and had sushi, then drove around looking at Christmas lights for a while before Boogie and I headed up to Petaluma to celebrate the Eve with the husband's fam. I guess people thought I wasn't going to go, since P was in transit back to the US, but it was nice, and busy. The food was good, and I liked having a chance to catch up with everyone.
Boogie was exhausted, but she did well, letting family hold her, dancing a bit, and opening presents. Around 1am, she was sitting with a new toy on her lap, eyes glazed over, not moving, not speaking, so I decided it was probably time to take her home to sleep.
The next morning P called to let me know he had missed the last leg of his flight, so Boogie went down for another nap, I prepped a dish for dinner, and Nonny stayed at the house cooking while I went to the airport with Boogie. When we got there, she was all smiles to see her Papa, and when I took her from him so he could get the suitcases in the car, she was devastated and cried her soul out until he took her back. They had a long time to get reacquainted in the back seat because it took us two hours to get home from SFO. Traffic was horrible, and I cried once from something P said, but not an entirely unenjoyable ride. Once I got over the hurt and realized he was reacting from being hungry and tired, I tried to enjoy my solitude in the front seat and actually 19th Ave is quite beautiful when you are forced to take it all in, in slow motion.
Anyway, dinner was awesome, and we have just enough left-overs to gorge ourselves but not get sick of the food. Boogie only opened about half her presents, when she got to one of the baby dolls I bought for her, she lost interest in the others and just wanted to play with her. But then the fussies came, and she got a nice bath with Papa and went to sleep.
And this morning P was up early with her so I was able to sleep in late for the first time in weeks, but when he brought her to me to nurse for her morning nap, she kept getting distracted trying to figure out where "Baby" was. I had to cradle Boogie and her doll both so that she could feel the heavy plastic doll next to her, then put them both to sleep. And she has a super-soft new pillow and blanket, from her Nonny, to sleep with, and super-adorable PJ's from Jojo.
So all-in-all, a typical Christmas for us. It was nice, lower-key than normal, less stress, and Boogie and I both got our Babies, mine from the airport, hers from a cardboard box. And I'm totally subscribing to Christmas being for the kids from now on, and folks wil have to wait for their birthdays for presents. I thought I might mind a bit not getting anything, but I was okay, I love watching Boogie rip strips of paper off and yelling "Wow" when she sees the gifts. And we have more to open today (mostly what I gave her) though I don't know where they are going to fit. Maybe I'll have to clean out more of the baby toys, and go get a toy box asap.
So, Happy Holidays to everyone, hope your days are filled with good food and family.
Boogie was exhausted, but she did well, letting family hold her, dancing a bit, and opening presents. Around 1am, she was sitting with a new toy on her lap, eyes glazed over, not moving, not speaking, so I decided it was probably time to take her home to sleep.
The next morning P called to let me know he had missed the last leg of his flight, so Boogie went down for another nap, I prepped a dish for dinner, and Nonny stayed at the house cooking while I went to the airport with Boogie. When we got there, she was all smiles to see her Papa, and when I took her from him so he could get the suitcases in the car, she was devastated and cried her soul out until he took her back. They had a long time to get reacquainted in the back seat because it took us two hours to get home from SFO. Traffic was horrible, and I cried once from something P said, but not an entirely unenjoyable ride. Once I got over the hurt and realized he was reacting from being hungry and tired, I tried to enjoy my solitude in the front seat and actually 19th Ave is quite beautiful when you are forced to take it all in, in slow motion.
Anyway, dinner was awesome, and we have just enough left-overs to gorge ourselves but not get sick of the food. Boogie only opened about half her presents, when she got to one of the baby dolls I bought for her, she lost interest in the others and just wanted to play with her. But then the fussies came, and she got a nice bath with Papa and went to sleep.
And this morning P was up early with her so I was able to sleep in late for the first time in weeks, but when he brought her to me to nurse for her morning nap, she kept getting distracted trying to figure out where "Baby" was. I had to cradle Boogie and her doll both so that she could feel the heavy plastic doll next to her, then put them both to sleep. And she has a super-soft new pillow and blanket, from her Nonny, to sleep with, and super-adorable PJ's from Jojo.
So all-in-all, a typical Christmas for us. It was nice, lower-key than normal, less stress, and Boogie and I both got our Babies, mine from the airport, hers from a cardboard box. And I'm totally subscribing to Christmas being for the kids from now on, and folks wil have to wait for their birthdays for presents. I thought I might mind a bit not getting anything, but I was okay, I love watching Boogie rip strips of paper off and yelling "Wow" when she sees the gifts. And we have more to open today (mostly what I gave her) though I don't know where they are going to fit. Maybe I'll have to clean out more of the baby toys, and go get a toy box asap.
So, Happy Holidays to everyone, hope your days are filled with good food and family.
November 15, 2007
The American Dream
I have always said I don't want to be rich, I just want to be comfortable. I want to go an entire year without worrying about money: how will we pay our bills? How can we pay down our debt? What the hell are we going to do if P doesn't get a job soon?
I don't want to win millions of dollars in the lottery, but I can't say that I'd complain if I won enough to pay off our debts and fund our retirement accounts. I try not to worry about the future too much, I have enough to stress off right now, but this job puts it in perspective. If I don't start saving now, I might be on the other side of the desk in 40 years.
I'm frustrated that it feels like life is one hurdle after another. I don't want to be catching up for the rest of my life. I do dream of a bigger house with a yard, but mostly so that I can get my mind off that fact that we can barely pay our mortgage right now.
I know part of the problem is that we're trying to do too much. We're trying to help friends and family financially, and there is simply not enough to go around right now. We've cut out most of the extras, no new clothes, no eating out, no movies, no clubs, no presents, and it still just isn't enough. We're trying to be understading of other people who think they are in a similar position, but we see what their money is spent on, and for us, it's not even an option. And it's frustrating to hear people complain about how broke they are when they are sporting new clothes or whatever.
We're trying to be understanding, we really are. But we are thisclose to losing it all. And the only person who can really understand this is P, because he can see what we are missing.
I can see the silver lining though. We are bonding over our anxiety. We sit and talk about what we'd do if we have a million dollars, and it's a pipe-dream, but it takes us out of the misery of the present. We discuss what is really important to us: do we save for retirement, or for Taryn's school fund? And it's kind of scary that we haven't been this deep on certain issues before, but it always happens at the right time.
And I know it will be okay. Eventually, things will turn up again, I just feel like I can't catch a break right now, and it's depressing. Even when I win, I lose. I am grateful that we are all healthy right now, we have enough food, we have a place to live, we're going to visit family and at least for those few weeks we are gone, we won't have to worry about how far we are from the American Dream.
I don't want to win millions of dollars in the lottery, but I can't say that I'd complain if I won enough to pay off our debts and fund our retirement accounts. I try not to worry about the future too much, I have enough to stress off right now, but this job puts it in perspective. If I don't start saving now, I might be on the other side of the desk in 40 years.
I'm frustrated that it feels like life is one hurdle after another. I don't want to be catching up for the rest of my life. I do dream of a bigger house with a yard, but mostly so that I can get my mind off that fact that we can barely pay our mortgage right now.
I know part of the problem is that we're trying to do too much. We're trying to help friends and family financially, and there is simply not enough to go around right now. We've cut out most of the extras, no new clothes, no eating out, no movies, no clubs, no presents, and it still just isn't enough. We're trying to be understading of other people who think they are in a similar position, but we see what their money is spent on, and for us, it's not even an option. And it's frustrating to hear people complain about how broke they are when they are sporting new clothes or whatever.
We're trying to be understanding, we really are. But we are thisclose to losing it all. And the only person who can really understand this is P, because he can see what we are missing.
I can see the silver lining though. We are bonding over our anxiety. We sit and talk about what we'd do if we have a million dollars, and it's a pipe-dream, but it takes us out of the misery of the present. We discuss what is really important to us: do we save for retirement, or for Taryn's school fund? And it's kind of scary that we haven't been this deep on certain issues before, but it always happens at the right time.
And I know it will be okay. Eventually, things will turn up again, I just feel like I can't catch a break right now, and it's depressing. Even when I win, I lose. I am grateful that we are all healthy right now, we have enough food, we have a place to live, we're going to visit family and at least for those few weeks we are gone, we won't have to worry about how far we are from the American Dream.
August 23, 2007
Psychosomatic
I feel sick.
My neck hurts, my stomach is upset, my throat is sore with the dry coughing and I’m irritable.…
I thought maybe I caught a bug somewhere, but when I called P to ask how he was feeling, he suggested maybe I’m just stressed. I can see that, maybe, considering the circumstances and my lack of control about them, maybe I’m a bit stressed. But I thought I was handling this well. I thought I wasn’t too worried about anything, that money wouldn’t be too much tighter than it is now, but I’m rethinking that idea, and it’s very possible that I’m psycho-somatizing.
Is that even a word?
I’ve been feeling really tired lately, and that gaping chasm in the earth that is my depression feels like it’s going to swallow me whole again. But this time instead of hurling myself over the edge without abandon, I feel like one of those circus-clown bears riding a pink miniature bike with streamers flowing off the handlebars and those clickety-clack beads on the spokes bouncing up and down as I slowly spiral my way into it.
I thought I was handling this well, but I’m scared.
Being faced with possibly losing the house when we already barely have enough cash after bills to pay for food and gas is terrifying. Where would we go? Would our marriage survive a loss like that? We are so far from being content with each other as it is, the stress of worrying more than we already do about money is taking its toll. But I know we’ll have enough, and he’ll find another job soon. At least I think we’ll have enough. We have no savings. I can’t afford insurance for him and if something happened…. We would be screwed.
But I didn’t realize I was so worried about this. The loss of control, and knowing that next week there will be another check is hard. We’ve been hand to mouth for so long I thought we would be comfortable by now, but we’re not. One thing could ruin everything we’ve worked so hard for. It wouldn’t be like this if he listened to me, but part of marriage is letting the other person have a say and this is what happens when he makes financial decisions for us.
I feel awful. I don’t even have the energy to want to read a book and oink out on ice cream, just want to sleep it all away. I really did think I was handling this better, but I guess suppressing the fear and anxiety just makes it manifest in another way.
Damn.
My neck hurts, my stomach is upset, my throat is sore with the dry coughing and I’m irritable.…
I thought maybe I caught a bug somewhere, but when I called P to ask how he was feeling, he suggested maybe I’m just stressed. I can see that, maybe, considering the circumstances and my lack of control about them, maybe I’m a bit stressed. But I thought I was handling this well. I thought I wasn’t too worried about anything, that money wouldn’t be too much tighter than it is now, but I’m rethinking that idea, and it’s very possible that I’m psycho-somatizing.
Is that even a word?
I’ve been feeling really tired lately, and that gaping chasm in the earth that is my depression feels like it’s going to swallow me whole again. But this time instead of hurling myself over the edge without abandon, I feel like one of those circus-clown bears riding a pink miniature bike with streamers flowing off the handlebars and those clickety-clack beads on the spokes bouncing up and down as I slowly spiral my way into it.
I thought I was handling this well, but I’m scared.
Being faced with possibly losing the house when we already barely have enough cash after bills to pay for food and gas is terrifying. Where would we go? Would our marriage survive a loss like that? We are so far from being content with each other as it is, the stress of worrying more than we already do about money is taking its toll. But I know we’ll have enough, and he’ll find another job soon. At least I think we’ll have enough. We have no savings. I can’t afford insurance for him and if something happened…. We would be screwed.
But I didn’t realize I was so worried about this. The loss of control, and knowing that next week there will be another check is hard. We’ve been hand to mouth for so long I thought we would be comfortable by now, but we’re not. One thing could ruin everything we’ve worked so hard for. It wouldn’t be like this if he listened to me, but part of marriage is letting the other person have a say and this is what happens when he makes financial decisions for us.
I feel awful. I don’t even have the energy to want to read a book and oink out on ice cream, just want to sleep it all away. I really did think I was handling this better, but I guess suppressing the fear and anxiety just makes it manifest in another way.
Damn.
August 11, 2007
Loyalty
There aren't a whole lot of times in the course of a friendship in which you are able to prove, without a doubt, that you got your friend's back.
One I remember was at a party a few years ago. We were all standing around outside, drinking beer and having a cig break from the noise inside. Two guys started fighting about some BS, something about one being Mexican and one Brazilian, and they got all macho on each other and started swinging. Tere got popped in the face, and my first reaction was to jump on the guy who hit her. P grabbed me, picked me up and carried me inside where B was getting ice for her face.
Now I understand that B wanted to take care of his girl, it's sweet really, but I wasn't about to let someone walk away without getting hit back for punching her like that. And I didn't care if it was an accident, I didn't think, I just reacted.
Last night was another one of those nights. P got into an altercation with a restaurant manager. The manager started shoving him around, and without thinking my first reaction was to jump in the middle of them and try to get the guy off my husband. P was trashed. He wasn't thinking straight enough to defend himself, and none of his "boys" were doing a damn thing either.
The manager shoved me out of the way, grabbed P by the neck and pushed him down an outdoor flight of stairs. So I, in all my unthinking glory, jumped on the manager's back, holding onto his arms so he wouldn't go after him again. P was stumbling to get up, and the manager was a lot stronger than me and shook me off. He shoved P again, knocking him into a table and he tripped over a chair and fell. I grabbed the manager's face and was shoving him away from P, the guy kept raising his hand to hit me, and I dared him to do it, knowing he'd never make it out of a crowded bar alive after hitting a female in front of a bunch of drunk men. Finally some big guy from the bar came over and held the manager back while I calmed P down who was ready (haha) to kick the guy's ass.
And I was pissed. I couldn't fathom why in the fuck all these guys would stand around and let P get beat on, knowing how drunk he was, and not even stepping in when I was the only one trying to break up the fight. I don't want to be racist, but is it a thing with only minorities that we will defend each other no matter what? I knew P probably provoked the guy, but I also knew P couldn't fight him off, and I think his friends knew that too, but they would have let him get his ass kicked.
I wasn't even drunk, because if I had been I might have started swinging on the manager, which is not the right thing to do. But since I had stopped drinking probably 3 hours before, my only thought was to protect him from this guy who was raging. I'm so disappointed not only in how P was acting, but the lack of reaction from his friends. And maybe it's misplaced anger, but I would hope that my friends would jump into a fight with me if they thought I was getting my ass kicked. At least step in to help break it up.
And I'm not talking about high school, hunting some chick down and jumping her for some stupid reason. I'm talking about seeing your friend in a situation in which they could potentially be seriously hurt (like being shoved down a flight of stairs) and not remaining a bystander.
But whatever. That's how I feel about my friends. I'm loyal. Even if you've pissed me off recently, I'm still going to be the one to jump into a bar fight with you, or lock you in the trunk of my car so the police don't get you while you're still drunk. And I'll be the one to admit to the police that yes, I jumped in. So if you're going down for assault and battery charges, I'm going right with you.
One I remember was at a party a few years ago. We were all standing around outside, drinking beer and having a cig break from the noise inside. Two guys started fighting about some BS, something about one being Mexican and one Brazilian, and they got all macho on each other and started swinging. Tere got popped in the face, and my first reaction was to jump on the guy who hit her. P grabbed me, picked me up and carried me inside where B was getting ice for her face.
Now I understand that B wanted to take care of his girl, it's sweet really, but I wasn't about to let someone walk away without getting hit back for punching her like that. And I didn't care if it was an accident, I didn't think, I just reacted.
Last night was another one of those nights. P got into an altercation with a restaurant manager. The manager started shoving him around, and without thinking my first reaction was to jump in the middle of them and try to get the guy off my husband. P was trashed. He wasn't thinking straight enough to defend himself, and none of his "boys" were doing a damn thing either.
The manager shoved me out of the way, grabbed P by the neck and pushed him down an outdoor flight of stairs. So I, in all my unthinking glory, jumped on the manager's back, holding onto his arms so he wouldn't go after him again. P was stumbling to get up, and the manager was a lot stronger than me and shook me off. He shoved P again, knocking him into a table and he tripped over a chair and fell. I grabbed the manager's face and was shoving him away from P, the guy kept raising his hand to hit me, and I dared him to do it, knowing he'd never make it out of a crowded bar alive after hitting a female in front of a bunch of drunk men. Finally some big guy from the bar came over and held the manager back while I calmed P down who was ready (haha) to kick the guy's ass.
And I was pissed. I couldn't fathom why in the fuck all these guys would stand around and let P get beat on, knowing how drunk he was, and not even stepping in when I was the only one trying to break up the fight. I don't want to be racist, but is it a thing with only minorities that we will defend each other no matter what? I knew P probably provoked the guy, but I also knew P couldn't fight him off, and I think his friends knew that too, but they would have let him get his ass kicked.
I wasn't even drunk, because if I had been I might have started swinging on the manager, which is not the right thing to do. But since I had stopped drinking probably 3 hours before, my only thought was to protect him from this guy who was raging. I'm so disappointed not only in how P was acting, but the lack of reaction from his friends. And maybe it's misplaced anger, but I would hope that my friends would jump into a fight with me if they thought I was getting my ass kicked. At least step in to help break it up.
And I'm not talking about high school, hunting some chick down and jumping her for some stupid reason. I'm talking about seeing your friend in a situation in which they could potentially be seriously hurt (like being shoved down a flight of stairs) and not remaining a bystander.
But whatever. That's how I feel about my friends. I'm loyal. Even if you've pissed me off recently, I'm still going to be the one to jump into a bar fight with you, or lock you in the trunk of my car so the police don't get you while you're still drunk. And I'll be the one to admit to the police that yes, I jumped in. So if you're going down for assault and battery charges, I'm going right with you.
August 9, 2007
So the Truth Finally Comes Out
(You may want to get some coffee first .... this is a long one)
For the past two and a half years, a beat-up old Cutlass Supreme has been sitting in the only covered parking space available at my house. From my doorway, it looked like a dusty black, but in fact it has red stripes up the hood (spray painted on, thankyouverymuch) and the opposite side of the care is alternately a baby-ish blue and stripped metal. He never got around to painting the other side.
For the fisrt few months, P worked on the car every weekend, sanding down the paint, attempting to hammer out some of the dings, and laying a dingy blue rug throughout the interior to cover the lack of floor panels and ripped blue leather. The car is an eyesore, although that may really be an understatement. A piece of carpet was placed under it so that the oil oozing from the engine would be somewhat soaked up. Two tires are flat, and I found a hubcap in a bush a few weeks ago. The engine will only start if it's jumped, but otherwise that part at least is in decent shape.
The car was not exactly gifted to P. He sort of inherited it when La Tia threatened to send it to the junk yard. His Tio Toto loved that car, and drove it into the ground. When Tio Toto passed away from a misdiagnosed, God-awful cancer which ravaged his body making him unable to eat or walk, but left his razor-sharp mind intact, he gifted the Cutlass to Julio, who didn't have the money to make it driveable, so he left it in front of La Tia's house in Petaluma. And P claimed it.
So for two years, it has sat untouched in our carport, save the readjustments to the cover when the wind blew more than a single gust. Finally he got frustrated with the cover too, and left the car to blind anyone passing by, with it's degraded glory. For two years we begged foregiveness from the neighbors for leaving such an ugly, inoperable, unregistered vehicle park where they were forced to see it daily. And finally they started complaining to the HOA.
So I saw a note on it a few days ago that it was going to be towed. The note was old though, that's how much attention was paid to the car, and it was supposed to be gone a week before I found it. I finally convinced P that we needed to do something with it before they took it from him, and we decided it would be better to donate it to charity than have it torn apart for scrap metal. I looked online, contacted Marin AIDS Project who agreed to come tow it, and as of about 12:30pm yesterday, it was gone.
P had a really rough day. As he walked back into the house and the tow truck was pulling away from the curb, I could see him fighting back tears. There were people around, so I cracked a joke to give him some composure time, and headed back to work.
Last night I stopped at Safeway to get some beer, knowing he needed to grieve and that he wouldn't allow himself to lose face by doing it sober. We danced around the issue for a few hours, but he refused to discuss it, each time we came close tears welled up in his eyes, and he would angrily wipe them away and change the subject. When he finally had enough to drink to let his guard down, the tears streamed down his face and my heart broke open.
I don't understand. I've lost people before, but none were that closed to me. My great grandmother passed recently, and as heartbroken as I was it was more for the loss of life in general, than any real attachment to her as a person. It sounds cruel, but I didn't know her. We had a blood bond, but that was all. My uncle passed a few months after Tio Toto, and again I cried, but I didn't know him well. I mourned the sudden-ness of it, and the suffering my aunt would endure, and he was a good man, but I'd only met him once and so the grieving was relatively short.
But once the tears started flowing they quickly went from genuine grief to this overly dramatic spilling a sip of beer in his name, kissing his hand and holding it over his heart, asking for forgiveness, and I couldn't take it. I snapped. It was only for 10 minutes or so that he did that, and I'm sure I was a complete a-hole in the moment, but I told him to be real. I told him that if he was going to grieve, he needed to do it for the right reason. I said he didn't give away his uncle, he gave away the car, and I apologized for pressuring him, but told him that he needed to keep his Tio Toto in his heart and mourn his death, not giving away a material object that he once owned.
And I think he got it. He sat quietly for a minute, and then said, yes, I was right. He felt guilty that the day before Tio Toto passed away, he had called P to go visit him and he didn't. He regretted not going to say goodbye, and it felt like a double betrayal that he is now giving away the one thing he had left of him.
I remember at his funeral, P didn't want to say goodbye. I basically forced him to go up to the casket and say a prayer for him. I knew that if he didn't do it, as much as he opposed it in the moment, he would not forgive himself for missing that opportunity. I knew there was something wrong at the funeral, but I was busy taking care of the kids so the adults could say their goodbyes, and I never pressured him to tell me.
So there it is. Guilt is an ugly thing. It makes you irrational, and it sucks that people feel so much shame, so much that they can't face what it really is about in order to work through it. I dont' think I did anything to "solve" his problems, but I'm hoping that when he starts to feel that guilt and shame he can remember that it isn't about the car. And anyway, we did a good thing. Hopefully when they auction the car off they'll get enough to help someone out with medications or doctor's appointments or something. Hopefully.
I know this is long, there is a lot to this. But P also said something that broke my heart and confirmed years-old suspicions that I've had.
He said that one of the reasons he felt so close to Tio Toto was that they both loved women their families hated.
Yeah. He finally admitted what I've known for years. His family hated me. I don't think they do anymore, but he made me out to be this crazy American bitch who broke his heart and trampled his self-worth, turning him into a depressed, angry, alcoholic recluse. And then when we got back together, I was the Golden Child. I saved him from himself.
At Tio Toto's funeral, people were whispering about the "other woman." The mother of his children would not allow her to pay her respects, even though he had been divorced for decades and the "other woman" had been by his side, loving him and caring for him when nobody else would. P said he understood the ostracism, loving an American, choosing a woman over his family.
And on some level, I always knew it, although he denied it up and down for the past 7 years, I knew it, and now I can stop worrying about pleasing them. It's hard to be yourself when you have a suspicion someone doesn't like you, but won't admit it. It's a weird feeling. It doens't change my feelings toward them, I love his family, but I'm glad to finally know why I felt so out of place for so many years.
For the past two and a half years, a beat-up old Cutlass Supreme has been sitting in the only covered parking space available at my house. From my doorway, it looked like a dusty black, but in fact it has red stripes up the hood (spray painted on, thankyouverymuch) and the opposite side of the care is alternately a baby-ish blue and stripped metal. He never got around to painting the other side.
For the fisrt few months, P worked on the car every weekend, sanding down the paint, attempting to hammer out some of the dings, and laying a dingy blue rug throughout the interior to cover the lack of floor panels and ripped blue leather. The car is an eyesore, although that may really be an understatement. A piece of carpet was placed under it so that the oil oozing from the engine would be somewhat soaked up. Two tires are flat, and I found a hubcap in a bush a few weeks ago. The engine will only start if it's jumped, but otherwise that part at least is in decent shape.
The car was not exactly gifted to P. He sort of inherited it when La Tia threatened to send it to the junk yard. His Tio Toto loved that car, and drove it into the ground. When Tio Toto passed away from a misdiagnosed, God-awful cancer which ravaged his body making him unable to eat or walk, but left his razor-sharp mind intact, he gifted the Cutlass to Julio, who didn't have the money to make it driveable, so he left it in front of La Tia's house in Petaluma. And P claimed it.
So for two years, it has sat untouched in our carport, save the readjustments to the cover when the wind blew more than a single gust. Finally he got frustrated with the cover too, and left the car to blind anyone passing by, with it's degraded glory. For two years we begged foregiveness from the neighbors for leaving such an ugly, inoperable, unregistered vehicle park where they were forced to see it daily. And finally they started complaining to the HOA.
So I saw a note on it a few days ago that it was going to be towed. The note was old though, that's how much attention was paid to the car, and it was supposed to be gone a week before I found it. I finally convinced P that we needed to do something with it before they took it from him, and we decided it would be better to donate it to charity than have it torn apart for scrap metal. I looked online, contacted Marin AIDS Project who agreed to come tow it, and as of about 12:30pm yesterday, it was gone.
P had a really rough day. As he walked back into the house and the tow truck was pulling away from the curb, I could see him fighting back tears. There were people around, so I cracked a joke to give him some composure time, and headed back to work.
Last night I stopped at Safeway to get some beer, knowing he needed to grieve and that he wouldn't allow himself to lose face by doing it sober. We danced around the issue for a few hours, but he refused to discuss it, each time we came close tears welled up in his eyes, and he would angrily wipe them away and change the subject. When he finally had enough to drink to let his guard down, the tears streamed down his face and my heart broke open.
I don't understand. I've lost people before, but none were that closed to me. My great grandmother passed recently, and as heartbroken as I was it was more for the loss of life in general, than any real attachment to her as a person. It sounds cruel, but I didn't know her. We had a blood bond, but that was all. My uncle passed a few months after Tio Toto, and again I cried, but I didn't know him well. I mourned the sudden-ness of it, and the suffering my aunt would endure, and he was a good man, but I'd only met him once and so the grieving was relatively short.
But once the tears started flowing they quickly went from genuine grief to this overly dramatic spilling a sip of beer in his name, kissing his hand and holding it over his heart, asking for forgiveness, and I couldn't take it. I snapped. It was only for 10 minutes or so that he did that, and I'm sure I was a complete a-hole in the moment, but I told him to be real. I told him that if he was going to grieve, he needed to do it for the right reason. I said he didn't give away his uncle, he gave away the car, and I apologized for pressuring him, but told him that he needed to keep his Tio Toto in his heart and mourn his death, not giving away a material object that he once owned.
And I think he got it. He sat quietly for a minute, and then said, yes, I was right. He felt guilty that the day before Tio Toto passed away, he had called P to go visit him and he didn't. He regretted not going to say goodbye, and it felt like a double betrayal that he is now giving away the one thing he had left of him.
I remember at his funeral, P didn't want to say goodbye. I basically forced him to go up to the casket and say a prayer for him. I knew that if he didn't do it, as much as he opposed it in the moment, he would not forgive himself for missing that opportunity. I knew there was something wrong at the funeral, but I was busy taking care of the kids so the adults could say their goodbyes, and I never pressured him to tell me.
So there it is. Guilt is an ugly thing. It makes you irrational, and it sucks that people feel so much shame, so much that they can't face what it really is about in order to work through it. I dont' think I did anything to "solve" his problems, but I'm hoping that when he starts to feel that guilt and shame he can remember that it isn't about the car. And anyway, we did a good thing. Hopefully when they auction the car off they'll get enough to help someone out with medications or doctor's appointments or something. Hopefully.
I know this is long, there is a lot to this. But P also said something that broke my heart and confirmed years-old suspicions that I've had.
He said that one of the reasons he felt so close to Tio Toto was that they both loved women their families hated.
Yeah. He finally admitted what I've known for years. His family hated me. I don't think they do anymore, but he made me out to be this crazy American bitch who broke his heart and trampled his self-worth, turning him into a depressed, angry, alcoholic recluse. And then when we got back together, I was the Golden Child. I saved him from himself.
At Tio Toto's funeral, people were whispering about the "other woman." The mother of his children would not allow her to pay her respects, even though he had been divorced for decades and the "other woman" had been by his side, loving him and caring for him when nobody else would. P said he understood the ostracism, loving an American, choosing a woman over his family.
And on some level, I always knew it, although he denied it up and down for the past 7 years, I knew it, and now I can stop worrying about pleasing them. It's hard to be yourself when you have a suspicion someone doesn't like you, but won't admit it. It's a weird feeling. It doens't change my feelings toward them, I love his family, but I'm glad to finally know why I felt so out of place for so many years.
May 27, 2007
Smokey Wasps
P just smoked out a hive of wasps, or hornets or something. Then he picked up the nest with his tongs and threw it on the BBQ.
A couple days ago, I noticed a wasp in the house. I thought it was a fluke thing, that we had just left the door open and it happened to get caught inside. P shoo'ed it out, and we didn't think much of it until yesterday there was another one, or maybe the same one, just posted up on the living room window. T-Boog loved it, she was pointing and making faces and I started to get a little worried. it was there for hours, and I remember some folks complaining of wasp nests in their eaves a few blocks away. I looked under ours, but didn't see a thing.
Until this morning. I went outside to water my tomatoes, and noticed a couple flying around. I ran back inside (because I'm a weenie) and just watched them cruise until I figured out where the nest was. Right smack across from the patio door, up in the corner under the computer chair mat that we've been meaning to give to Arturo and Elba. The nest was pretty small, maybe the size of a small potato, and there were maybe three of four wasps flying in and out.
So P, brave man he is, decides to get a long stick, ties a towel around the end, lights it on fire, and tries to smoke them out. The towel of course burns pretty quickly, and starts falling apart, one piece on the bag of charcoal under the nest, another piece onto the chair to the side which catches on fire and starts burning away. So I'm pounding on the glass door pointing to the burning chair, which he didn't see, so scrap that idea.
Then he pulls the BBQ right up under the nest and burns some dry cornhusks which works pretty well and they fly away long enough for him to grab the nest and throw it in the BBQ to burn.
Which we thought would be fine, but now there are like 10 wasps outside, flyign around looking for their nest.
Shit.
A couple days ago, I noticed a wasp in the house. I thought it was a fluke thing, that we had just left the door open and it happened to get caught inside. P shoo'ed it out, and we didn't think much of it until yesterday there was another one, or maybe the same one, just posted up on the living room window. T-Boog loved it, she was pointing and making faces and I started to get a little worried. it was there for hours, and I remember some folks complaining of wasp nests in their eaves a few blocks away. I looked under ours, but didn't see a thing.
Until this morning. I went outside to water my tomatoes, and noticed a couple flying around. I ran back inside (because I'm a weenie) and just watched them cruise until I figured out where the nest was. Right smack across from the patio door, up in the corner under the computer chair mat that we've been meaning to give to Arturo and Elba. The nest was pretty small, maybe the size of a small potato, and there were maybe three of four wasps flying in and out.
So P, brave man he is, decides to get a long stick, ties a towel around the end, lights it on fire, and tries to smoke them out. The towel of course burns pretty quickly, and starts falling apart, one piece on the bag of charcoal under the nest, another piece onto the chair to the side which catches on fire and starts burning away. So I'm pounding on the glass door pointing to the burning chair, which he didn't see, so scrap that idea.
Then he pulls the BBQ right up under the nest and burns some dry cornhusks which works pretty well and they fly away long enough for him to grab the nest and throw it in the BBQ to burn.
Which we thought would be fine, but now there are like 10 wasps outside, flyign around looking for their nest.
Shit.
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