The 17 Month Itch

We've all heard of the seven year itch - the psychological theory that suggests that happiness in a relationship declines during year seven of a marriage. But have you heard of the seventeen month itch? It's the prescence of a red, itchy, scaly ring of skin under one's wedding ring. The internet also calls it "wedding ring rash". If you have a weak stomach, do NOT google that. Take my word that it's gross.

Turns out that gold is really soft, so jewelers supplement it with nickel, a metal that 17% of the general population is allergic to. This number intrigued me, seeing as it is my favorite number and also the amount of time which I've been wearing my ring, so I did some research and it seems that 17% is not a terribly fortunate percentage. 17% represents the number of patients on a waiting list at the Mayo Clinic. 17% of Americans binge drink four or more times per month. 17% of Poland's population was killed in the Holocaust. 17% of ALL OF HUMANITY lacks basic access to clean water. You see my point? 17% is not a great category to be in. And yet I somehow managed to escape being in any of these statistics (arguably, at least), except one. I land in ONE 17% bracket, and it just had to be the one that included an intolerance to wearing sparkly things.

So apparently I'm allergic to marriage. Or at least to nice jewelry. Are you FREAKING kidding me?!? It took me until I was 26, and a looooooooong string of kissing frogs, to find someone I wanted to marry. Then it took another 9 months to get the ring, and 17 months later I'm ALLERGIC to it?!? Fan. Freaking. Tastic.

Never one to be told what to do, I decided that I was not going to give in. I refused to be a statistic. Mind over matter. "If I don't acknowledge it, it isn't really happening" logic. Don't knock it - pretending that I couldn't hear the adult who was telling me that it was time to get out of the pool ALWAYS bought me a solid extra five minutes of swimming when I was a kid.

So I ignored it. I was blessed with a man with great taste, so I have a GINORMOUS sparkly rock on my finger that conveniently covers up the area affected by an allergy that 17% of the human population can relate to. Looks like luck is finally turning my way. I'll just cover it up, pretend it isn't there, and divert my eyes away from the problem(aka "Operation: more pool time")when washing my hands.

Fast forward two weeks. I had my weekly hives breakout last night, prompting me to get drunk on antihistamines and pass out for 9.5 hours. When my alarm woke me from my Benadryl bender, I was terribly groggy and forgot to avert my eyes when I pried my ring off of my finger before getting in the shower. It may have been the drugs, but I'm 17% sure that my finger looked like a bloated, sunburnt lizard. An angry one.

I'm thinking that skin allergies don't really care about me giving them the silent treatment. Which is a shame for more than one reason. I'd try Benadryl again, but I think sleeping at work is frowned upon. (Blogging at work is fine). You win this round, red scaly finger.

Luckily, that husband with great taste started out as a boyfriend with great taste, and the sparkly necklace he bought me our first Christmas together just got a new sparkly pendant added to it until my finger stops pouting. Stay tuned for what's almost a certain future post, "How to tell your husband you broke your necklace that had your wedding ring on it."

The Beaches of Alabama

One year ago, we stood at the front of the church where we met and said 'I do'. Okay, so it was a year and 15 days ago, and I'm a bit behind on my blogging. The point is that we made it and we can officially stick our tongues out and say 'neiner neiner neiner' to anyone who took the 'under' line.

To celebrate this occasion, we headed down to Alabama to spend a few days on the beach and watch Ryan's cousin Chris marry his fiancee Brandy. Well to be exact, first we got a map and Ryan explained to me how it was possible for Alabama to have a beach, as I was convinced they had mistakenly given us the wrong location when they said 'beach wedding'. I'm not exactly sure what I thought Alabama looked like, but my vision certainly didn't include the beach.

Once convinced that we would in fact get to go to a 'real' beach, we packed up, and then unpacked 4 pounds worth of clothes and an umbrella (may that stylish rain barrier rest in peace in the trash bins of the Eastern Iowa International Airport), and made our 4 state journey to join Ryan's family on their already started vacation. It was dark when we arrived, so we had to wait until Saturday morning to see the glorious white sand. Once awake and thoroughly impressed with my very first visit to a Waffle House, we suited up and headed to the loungechairs.

I loooooooooove the beach, but I'm not a big fan of the actual water. In case you didn't know this about me, I'll catch you up real quick: 1.) Fish are gross, 2.) One tried to eat me once, and perhaps most importantly, 3.) Sharks live in there. I tend to spend all of my time on a beach on the actual beach where I am safe from megaladon except for the occasional toe that sneaks into the water in the interest of saying 'I was in INSERT NAME HERE body of water!' Something about Alabama though must have made me feel invincible as I put my whole foot into the water, then the other, then my calves, and then practically my whole self:

Don't let the beauty fool you - there is an endless list of gross and frightening animals that were lurking, just waiting to make me their mid-morning snack. Satisfied with my bravery and all of my limbs still being intact, we called it a win and headed back to our room to get ready for the wedding. Well, first we made a run for clam chowder and a shrimp po' boy.

Ryan had two very important jobs at this wedding - best man and musician. So he got into his suit, talked me out of wearing my swimsuit to the ceremony (Brandy said I could wear WHATEVER I wanted...), and got in place while I somehow wedged myself into the seat between his parents (still sorry about that one!) and admired how cute and talented my better half is.

After a brief and beautiful ceremony, we headed to stuff ourselves with yummy Italian food at the reception before saying our goodbyes to the rest of the family (who had to head home the next day) and checking into our hotel for the night. The next morning was our actual anniversary, so we exchanged cards, Ryan went out to get me a coffee, and then we treated ourselves to another meal at the Waffle House. Seriously - so good!

When our waffles were gone, we raced back to the hotel to suit up again and spend some more time on the beach. I channeled my inner She-Ra again and waded even further into the Atlantic Ocean (Gulf of Mexico? Are those two separate oceans? Which one touches Alabama? I'm still a little foggy on the geography) than I had the day before. I was frolicking and picking up shells and had nearly forgotten the looming danger of man-eating fish when I went to look at a specific shell and I SAW A SHARK!!!!!!!

It was at least 10 feet long and had three rows of teeth! I battled tirelessly and finally poked one of it's eyes out as my fight-or-flight response kicked in and I made my own turnicutt out of my swimsuit straps before finally swimming to shore. Or was it 6 inches long and swimming along minding it's own business while I ran as fast as I could, splashing and screaming the 5 feet back to the sand? Either way, it was traumatic and awful and I refused to get back in after that. Instead, we took a walk along the beach and I took somewhere between 2 and 3 thousand pictures of the water. Here are the two I whittled down as my favorites:

Seriously...Alabama...who knew?!? It being our anniversary, we felt obligated to mark the occasion with at least one cheesy photo:

And as we were trying to fit ourselves and an ocean (gulf?) in the same photo, a nice passerby offered to take one for us:

Yes, I was sunburnt. And no we didn't spend all day in the sun - more like an hour or two. This Iowa lack-o-sunshine is killing my dreams of being golden brown.

Tired from the still fresh-in-my-mind shark encounter and the aerobic walk through the sand, we loaded up on aloe and snacks and were in our pajamas by 6pm...not all that different from our wedding day, in fact.

On our third and final day in Alabama, we headed to the pier featured in the above photo and decided to stroll along and look at the water from the saftey of the railing. The first thing we saw was a GIGANTIC green cloud in the water that we quickly defined as seaweed:

Fascinated, I leaned over the railing and zoomed my camera hoping to catch a cool photo of the seaweed billowing in the waves. Instead, I saw about a billion fish all congregated together, assuredly plotting how they would capture and then devour me:

Don't even try to tell me that's not the most disgusting thing you've ever seen. It has to be.

Being the kind and loving man that he is, Ryan quickly moved closer to me and started calmly rubbing my back and promising that he wouldn't let them get me. We walked about twenty more feet and then stopped again to look out into the water. Apparently I'm a sadist.

As we were watching, I SWORE I saw a shark. A legit one. Not wanting to cause a wave of panic throughout the pier, I gently tugged at Ryan's hand, pointed slowly, and whispered 'I think I see a shark.' He began looking and then pointed out Shark #1's friend, Shark #2. And then Shark #3.

And then he very helpfully estimated that each was probably 4 - 5 feet long. I'm 5'1. I want no part of a shark that is 6 inches, let alone one that is LITERALLY as big as I am! We, again not wanting to spread panic, began trying to snap a picture. A very nice lady came over and asked us what we were photographing, and we very softly told her we thought we saw a shark, and she said, 'Oh yeah - that's what all these fishermen are trying to catch. It's really cool when you see them pull one over the side.'

Let me get this straight. People attach fish guts to a string that is spun through a tiny pole and then TRY to catch a wild animal the size of a person with THREE ROWS of teeth that wants to eat them?!? It was at that moment that I really focused in on my surroundings and noticed what had to be 50 fishermen lining each side of the pier. That could potentially mean 50+ sharks at any given time ON the pier. Where I am. And I swear to baby Jesus himself, I heard the 'Jaws' song start playing.

Now officially over the water AND the pier, I was more than ready to return home to the safety (and snow!) of Iowa. We instead went in search of mini golf, crab cakes for me, and another shrimp po' boy for the Mr. (apparently they're really good) before topping it off with fried bananas drizzled in chocolate to celebrate our special day.

On the plane ride home, we mutually decided that we've had so much fun this year that we will be extending our contracts for another 12 months. Until next year, Happy Anniversary from the Atlantic Ocean? Gulf of Mexico? beaches of Alabama!

The Beaches of Milwaukee

 Getting married four months after getting engaged sometimes means that you have to make sacrifices. One sacrifice was having our reception at a poorly-lit, dated hall ran by a hateful religious right-wing conservative with a giant 'Choose Life' sign in the yard. Another was having a 24 hour honeymoon before I had to be at a work event I was registered for before we were even engaged.

As I sobbed after realizing that our options were 1.) Holding our reception in an ugly hall managed by the man who stood outside of Planned Parenthood on a daily basis and screamed profanities and threats at me, or 2.) Not having a reception because our church was too small and every other venue in a 30 mile radius was already booked, Ryan gently reminded me that the important detail was not where we were, it was that we were together.

That same lesson came into play a few months later when life, as it tends to do, got in the way and forced us to cancel our honeymoon trip to Mexico. After some more sobbing and endless searching for other places we could go on our limited budget and even more limited vacation schedule, we settled on Milwaukee. That's basically the same as Mexico, right?

I'm not going to lie, I wasn't exactly excited about spending 48 hours in Wisconsin as a trade off for a week in the old country. In fact, I pouted and moped and even refused to talk about the trip for several months. And then the week before we embarked on our adventure to the 'Badger State', I made a conscious decision to end the pity party I had been throwing myself for the past six months. I had this moment of total clarity where I took inventory of the blessings in my life and decided that a weekend away with my favorie person in the whole world was not quite the death sentence I had been making it out to be. Was it going to be the beaches of Mexico? No. And the longer that I compared Milwaukee to Mexico, the more I was going to have a bad attitude about being there.

I've found few things in life to be more humbling than when I stop and actually count my blessings. Was I really complaining about going on vacation with the love of my life? We have jobs that allow us time away, the money to go, and most importantly, someone to go with. What a terribly sad little life I lead, huh?

Attitude in check and bags packed, we stopped for some snacks and some gas and then headed out:

My very favorite part of any vacation is that I make it a point to eat really good food without giving a thought to calories. So our first stop was Cempazuchi Comida Brava. And what I've recently learned is that I'm apparently so excited about that really good food, that I always forget to snap a picture. You can learn more about this fabulous authentic Mexican restaurant by clicking on their name above and going to their website, or you can watch their appearance on 'Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives' here. Ryan had the duck tacos that are featured in this clip and agrees with Guy's review. And if you know us, you know we saved room for dessert! Our next stop was Leon's Frozen Custard, where Ryan claims to have found the best banana milkshake in the history of the world.

Tummies full and the hotel room not quite ready, we headed to the lake front to get a view of Lake Michigan. Turns out Milwaukee actually has a beach! And since it was 65* and very windy, we had the whole thing almost to ourselves. We spent several minutes taking in the scenery and enjoying our time together in the park before the obligatory photo op:

I was even talked into putting my feet into the water. As you can probably tell, I'm not exactly a natural. One never knows when they will need their purse...

Shortly after these photos were taken, I looked to my right and noticed a giant fish carcas about 30 feet from my feet had washed up on the beach. And that was when I was totally over Lake Michigan and jogged back to the car screaming.

Tired of nature and settled into our hotel room, we headed out to explore the River Walk. No photos of this, either, but we highly recommend it if you are ever in town.

Next up was dinner. We had reservations at another place in town, but while on our walk we noticed a place right across the street from our hotel that looked a little more like our style, so on a whim we decided to cancel our reservations and try out the place within walking distance, Carson's. Oh. My. Gosh! Short of asking me to marry him, this very well may have been the best idea Ryan ever had!

We got dressed up, walked across the street, and had what we both agree was the best meal of our entire lives. There was the most succulently sweet cornbread, potatoes au gratin that came ENTIRELY covered with bubbly brown cheese, I had a crabcake that was made with giant lump crab meat, Ryan had an angus steak that he said was hands down the best he's ever had, and we also shared a twice baked potato. When you can say that a delicious twice baked potato was the worst thing you had, you had a pretty good meal in our book! The only downfall of the evening is that while we were dining, a pretty big thunderstorm had moved in and in between the cracks of lightning and rolls of thunder, the streets were covered in rain. My very thoughtful husband offered to run back to the hotel and get the car so I could make it back to the room without getting soaked, but I told him I could make it. Hands clasped together and my 4" red high heels in hand, we sprinted the half block to our hotel in the rain. And while I'm unfortunately NOT one of those lucky women who look super hot when their hair is wet, it was still oddly one of the highlights of the trip for me. Here's a shot of us before we cleaned our plates and ran through the streets of Milwaukee barefoot:

Once back to the hotel, we started talking about what a great day we had and how excited we were for the next day because we had really great seats to the Brewers v. Cardinals game. It was at that moment that we realized the Cardinals jersey that we had bought for Ryan specifically for this game didn't make it to Milwaukee with us. And that was the moment that I went into a tailspin and ended up crying for 10 minutes while my infinitely wise and kind husband chuckled at me and kept saying, 'Honey, it's a shirt! This is not worth having a meltdown over.' He finally calmed me down with the promise that first thing the next morning, we would call every sporting goods store in the greater Milwaukee area in the hopes of finding replacement Cardinals attire.

After a very good breakfast at The Eatery (where their signature breakfast dish comes with a PBR), we made our slew of calls and found two stores who had some piece of Cardinals attire in stock. We spent the morning shopping before finally finding a Cardinals t-shirt that satisfied my need to make things right. Next, we stopped for lunch at Real Chili, a place that had been featured on 'Best Thing I Ever Ate'. Not really the type of place that caters to vegetarians, I left the chili eating to Ryan while I enjoyed a sub sandwhich and chocolate chip cookie. Based on his going back for seconds, I think it's safe to say that he was impressed.

All of that eating and shopping left us with just enough time to change into our baseball gear and head to the park to watch batting practice:

We got an up close and personal look at practice, took a quick lap around the stadium to check everything out, grabbed some food (I wasn't kidding about that whole 'eat well and don't count calories' thing), and took our seats for what ended up being a great game. Our team won in 10 innings, and we even made it on tv! Despite looking mind-numbingly bored, I was actually having a great time when 85 mph foul balls weren't flying at my face.

On Saturday, we had time to enjoy one last scrumptious meal at The Comet Cafe, who proudly boasts being the home of the 'best hangover breakfast', no easy feat in a town where beer is served with breakfast. I devoured a breakfast burrito the size of a small child while Ryan worked on a plate of bacon pancakes with super sweet homemade maple syrup. YUM!

Our weekend in Milwaukee had come to a close, but we continued the adventure with a stop at the Waukesha County Museum on the way home to explore the Les Paul exhibit.

Even as a non-musician (you probably couldn't tell by the way I was expertly 'playing' my guitar), I thought it was a really cool exhibit filled with interesting facts and quotes from Les himself.

Mostly, I enjoyed getting to spend two days with Ryan. He's right - it doesn't matter where we are, what matters is that we're together.

Bridesmaids & Bridesmaids' Assistants

Two weekends ago, I had the priviledge of standing up with one of my favorite people in the whole world to watch her enter wedded bliss. She was one of my bridesmaids last year, and I was more than happy to return the favor.

Being a bridesmaid is a whole lot of fun, but it also comes with a whole lot of work, too. As a bridesmaid, it is your duty to wear, look, do, and be whatever, however, and wherever the pretty lady in the white dress asks of you. I am extraordinarily blessed with super awesome, laid-back, calm friends who are not bridezillas, which makes the whole process about a million times more enjoyable.

During our wedding week, those bridesmaids made my life SO much easier - I didn't have to think about, take care of, or carry anything. Every time I turned around, someone was steaming a dress, or helping someone with their make-up, or coming to the rescue with a strategically placed bobbypin. As a bride, you have so many emotions running through your head and heart that you don't have the capacity to cope with anything that strays from the plan, so hopefully you chose wisely when asking that handful of people to be there for you.

I chose perfectly - I never had to worry about a single detail from the time the first attendant showed up at my apartment 72 hours before the big day. Turns out being a bride comes with a fair amount of work and responsibility, too - you have to have all of the details sorted out, organized, have a mental plan b for each potential situation. Your time is consumed by friends and family members who want a piece of your time, who need to ask you a question, and who want to make last minute suggestions about how they think you could have done something better. After being through it, I kind of understand why some brides snap at what seems to be the tiniest of details - they've been fielding questions and putting out proverbial fires for weeks, months, or sometimes years. The bride is solely responsible for keeping every guest, vendor, and passerby happy. And that's why she has a team of highly trained friends standing by ready to take over when she is about to break or punch a flower lady in the face. Sidenote: if you are, in fact, a wedding vendor of any sort, 1.) Make sure you double check your records BEFORE you call the bride 3 hours before the wedding and accuse her of not paying when she did so a week ago, and 2.) DO NOT call the bride 3 hours before her wedding...about anything!!

Back to the team of highly trained friends - we're ready for anything. I've personally cut a square of fabric out of my dress 3 minutes before show time to safety pin it under another bridesmaid's dress so that she didn't accidentally flash anyone while walking down the aisle. And I've ran into a crowd yelling for 'anyone with silver shoes willing to trade?!' to rescue a fellow bridesmaid who snapped her heel in half moments before the processional. We're manicured, we're wearing ridiculously uncomfortable shoes, we're highly flammable due to the copious amounts of hair spay on our head, and we're ready for battle. Because we will be damned if ANYTHING is going to come between our friend and the day she becomes a Mrs.

This was my 4th time around as a bridesmaid, and I have to say it was my easiest. Due in part to the event planner bride having everything covered, but also due in large part to my assistant. This was the first wedding that I have played a role in where I had Ryan with me, and I'll never do it solo again. For every duty that I had, Ryan had two - 1.)Help Heidi with said duty, and 2.) Take care of Heidi. Starting with dress shopping, where he had to navigate through a sea of half-naked women and zip me into and out of no less than 23 highly secured watermelon-colored contraptions masquerading as chiffon. At the actual wedding, he came with me to pick up and drop off flowers, then ran to Starbucks to keep me caffeinated. He got himself ready and arrived early to bring me medicine that I had left at our hotel so I'd have enough room to pack an extra set of breath mints to share. He packed himself up (and accidentally took my pajamas so I had to sleep in leggings and a shirt with a slit to my ankles...but I think he did more than enough to earn a free pass)so I would have one less thing to worry about. He even came to the rescue of another bridesmaid's assistant who was under the weather and slated to record the ceremony.

As I started to think about how much help Ryan was to me, I remembered our wedding day and how much my bridesmaids' significant others jumped in. Those guys were troopers - everything from delivering 15 pizzas at the exact right moment to keep them hot for the rehearsal dinner to buying and serving lunch from 2 different places to everyone who required more to eat than the granola bar that I packed. They ran all over town helping out the 5 delegates who poured every ounce of their energy into making my day seamless.

So yes, being a bride is hard work, being a bridesmaid is hard work, and being the guy who makes a bridesmaid's life easier is REALLY hard work. A big thank you goes out to the men behind the scenes who keep us sane so that we can look our best, be our best, and give our best to our besties.

Hurry Home, Honey!!

Two days ago, Ryan left for the annual church camp that he helps put together every year.  It is a 5 day camp for teenagers on a college campus a little over an hour away and still within state lines. I, however, sobbed like my husband was headed to Baghdad. Somewhere along the way, we have become the couple who spends all of our free time together (well, unless Ryan is exercising.  I don’t believe in exercise and will go to great lengths to get out of it.), and the thought of being without him for 100+ hours broke my heart.

 

So after getting into my pajamas at 3pm and crying my eyes out, I decided that the pity party had to stop. He would be gone for five days.  At church camp.  In Iowa! I declared that I would not cry for the next week and instead, I would make a list of all of the things I was going to enjoy while he was away. After all, I was a strong, fiercely independent woman before I met Ryan and I found ways to entertain myself for 26 years before I ever knew he existed.  This week is my opportunity to recapture my wild and free former life, and to do all of the fun things I can’t do when the Mr. is home.  Here’s what I came up with:

 

• Eat cereal for dinner
• Hold the tv remote
• Feed the birds/squirrels in our yard
• Take a long, luxurious bath
• Get a kitten
• Mow the yard
• Watch movies
• Read a book
• Girls night out
• Go to bed by 10pm

This seemed like a great list to me – 10 things for 5 nights of singledom.  Being the organizer that I am, I grouped the activities by night and formulated a plan:

 

Night #1: Eat cereal for dinner and hold the tv remote

 

                Who doesn’t love a good bowl of cereal?  And not the boring adult kind with any semblance of nutritional value, I’m talking about the good stuff.  I have a sister who has an extreme couponing problem and therefore bought me 10 giant boxes of Cap’n Crunch, but who am I to question a gift? I’m going to pour myself a big bowl of crunchy yellow corn sugar, drown it in skim milk (I have to keep my hot bod somehow), and head downstairs to take on goal #2 for the evening.  Once situated on the couch with my cereal and blanket, I will settle in for a night of forbidden pleasure.  And then I will do it.  I will hold the remote for the rest of the night – I’ll skim through the best stations (Bravo, TLC, OWN, Lifetime, and Style) and choose whatever my heart desires.  And even if I do decide to set the remote down, I’ll still have total control over what show I watch.  Yes, it will be a television dictatorship and I will be drunk with power!

 

Night #2:  Feed the birds/squirrels in our yard and take a long, luxurious bubble bath

 

                Even though I will still miss him terribly, I’m sure that by night #2, the fun activities I have planned for myself will be a great distraction.  That night, I will get some food for my furry & feathered outdoor friends that Ryan is so adamantly against me feeding and I will spend hours on the deck appreciating nature. Then after the sun sets, I will draw up a steaming hot bath and fill it with delicious smelling bubbles.  I’ll soak and relax and let all my troubles melt away. 

 

Sounds wonderful, right? I thought so, too, until I remembered that all the wildlife in our neighborhood congregates at other houses where there is a steady supply of food, and also, I don’t really enjoy bubble baths.  After about three minutes, I get hot, bubbles float up my nose, my fingers wrinkle, and I become mind numbingly bored.  This is where the rest of my plan began to unravel…

 

Night #3: Get a kitten and mow the yard

               

                I’ve always wanted a cat – they are low maintenance, self-sufficient, and in all honesty, I kind of appreciate their attitudes. Ryan has always said that if I ever bring one home, he is going to let it play in the street, but he wouldn’t really do that, would he?  I don’t think he would, but in fairness, I didn’t think he’d lick my face when he threatened it the first time and as it turns out, I couldn’t have been more wrong (or disgusted) about that one.  So I guess that leaves mowing the yard.  I only see a few problems with this plan: 1.) It’s going to rain and the yard will be wet, 2.) I don’t know how to start the lawn mower, and 3.) I’m not entirely sure where we even keep the lawn mower.

 

Don’t panic - we can rally.  I’m an intelligent, capable, self-sufficient lady.  The good news is that by this point in the week, I will only have to occupy myself for two more nights.

 

Night #4: Watch movies and read a book

               

                Okay, now you can panic. The only thing I hate more as a pastime than watching movies is reading a book.  I love stories, but anything more than 40 minutes on the same topic becomes excruciating for me. I have far too many questions about movies, and am not satisfied until I have the answers to every plot and sub-plot, whether the movie shows us an ending or not.  It’s my own personal ‘choose your own ending’ Hell. And books would be alright if I could pay attention that long, but my mind wanders.  I read a paragraph about the main character’s ‘long and flowing red dress with small gold accents that complement her short auburn hair’ and I’m sent into a tailspin of digressions – how long is this red dress of hers?  And isn’t it winter in Maine?  She shouldn’t be wearing a ‘flowing’ dress if it is cold. Are the ‘small gold accents’ more like beading or are they cloth? Do they sparkle? At what point is hair defined ‘short’?  I mean, I know a buzz cut is short and a braid to her feet is long, but what this author calls short, I might classify as medium length. And I wonder if her auburn hair is more red or more brown?  I think probably red, but you don’t see redheads wearing a lot of red clothing, so maybe it is more brunette-colored. – By the time I catch myself asking all of these questions, I realize that I am 2 – 3 pages further along in the book and have no idea what I’ve just read, forcing me back to the last paragraph that I remember, and so it begins again.

 

So we might have to revisit Night #1’s agenda of cereal & tv – is that really so bad??  And that will bring us to one measly little night before I get Ryan back – I can definitely handle one night.  And I’ll make sure I end things with a bang – it will be a story to tell for years!

 

Night #5: Girls night out and go to bed by 10pm

 

                Sure, it may sound like a dichotomy, but these two goals are completely plausible. I’ll gather up my sisters, we’ll put on our dancing shoes, order a couple rounds of drinks, and swear each other to secrecy.  You can take the girl out of Vegas, but you can’t take Vegas out of the girl!  WOO – HOO! It will be after a long 4 days of work, so I’ll need to make sure the dancing shoes are comfortable ones, but that’s not hard…who of you has ever worn an uncomfortable pair of 5” heels? Well, I am a married woman who is nearly 30 – perhaps a sensible pair of wedges would be more appropriate.  And it’s been a little while since I’ve been to a bar, so I’ll have to utilize google to help me find the hottest night club around.  In Cedar Rapids.  On a Thursday.  At 6pm.  Well, it doesn’t matter where we go – this family of women knows how to have a good time ANYWHERE – so what if it is in my basement around a folding table playing cards?  It’s a girls night OUT for everyone besides me – which is 75% of the group.  And it makes that 10pm bed time well within reach!

 

And with that, you have it – what my week without my husband will look like. Like with anything in life, there will be a few bumps in the road, but even after troubleshooting the list I’m still left with eating cereal for dinner, holding the tv remote, and going to bed right after the sun sets all week – pretty crazy shenanigans. And I’ve whined enough that my parents have agreed to stay with me while he’s gone, so my laundry is magically getting done and there will be freshly baked sweets daily.  I’d rather have him here any day of the week, but I’m just saying - drowning my sorrows in Cap’n Crunch and The Real Housewives isn’t the worst consolation prize ever. 

Exactly As You Are

“A great spouse loves you exactly as you are. An extraordinary spouse helps you grow; inspires you to be, do, and give your very best.” - Fawn Weaver

'Exactly' is a word that carries big meaning. Really big meaning. There is a small list of people in this world who I love more than words can explain and who I would do just about anything for, and an even smaller list of those who I love exactly how they are.

I was blessed with a husband who has profoundly modeled what it means to love someone exactly how they are since the moment we began a relationship. Ryan and I are two very different people, with very different personalities, habits, strengths, weaknesses, and sometimes even very different beliefs.

As many of you reading this already know, I have worked for Planned Parenthood for the past two and a half years.  And for those of you who didn't know, the secret is out. Not only have I simply been employed for Planned Parenthood, but I have been a very proud employee. And as many of you also know, Ryan works for a church, and is also very proud of his work, as he should be.

A constant dichotomy, our relationship has been built around the many differences I referenced earlier. As my very politically conservative father has labeled me, I am his 'little left winger' who very strongly supports most liberal causes and beliefs. And while neither of us like to be pigeon-holed into either political party or set of beliefs, Ryan is generally more conservative than I am.

So how do a church employee and a Planned Parenthood employee make it work? By loving each other exactly how we are. In fact, Ryan deserves a lot more credit than I do for me being the kind of person who proudly proclaims what I do for a living.  For a long time, I let the bullying of those who believe differently than me silence my voice. When asked what I did for a living, I would give a vague 'I work in non-profit' answer, and when pressed about which non-profit, my second answer was 'a health organization', forcing the inquisitive person to ask three, four, sometimes five follow-up questions before I would quietly whisper the name of the organization that I loved being a part of, as if it was something to be embarrassed about. And while the easy conclusion to come to was that I was ashamed to work for Planned Parenthood, the real answer is that I was ashamed that I couldn't find it in myself to loudly and confidently say that I worked for a really great organization that I believe in; one that helps countless people on a daily basis.  Planned Parenthood brought me to Iowa, brought me to Cedar Rapids, and brought me to my soul mate.  They've treated me very well and have opened countless doors for me, and I couldn't bring myself to say their name out loud.

I somehow thought that because of Ryan's position in the church, I needed to keep quiet about my career.  Because the truth of the matter is that my career could very possibly affect his career. I've had people stop being my friend when I took the position, I've had strangers scream horrible things at me on a daily basis as I walked through the front doors of the clinic where my office is located, and I've had family members lie to others about where I work in order to protect themselves from judgment. I was terrified that my husband would suffer the same kind of treatment, so I kept quiet. Thankfully, we belong to a church body who for the most part has welcomed me with open arms, and who have never made Ryan choose between the two of us.

Even more thankfully, I have a spouse who has loved me exactly as I am and has 'helped me grow; inspired me to be, do, and give my very best' in all that I do. He has never agreed 100% with what Planned Parenthood believes in, but he has always 100% stood by me. And he has always encouraged me to stand up for what I believe in and to proudly tell everyone who asks what I do for a living.  He has inspired me to find my voice, and more than once, has been my voice. Literally. I remember leaving an introduction where I had given my boxed answers to the questions about my job until the new acquaintance kindly dropped the subject, and as we left Ryan asked me why I wouldn't tell the person where I worked.  I listed for him all of the reasons that I listed here, and the next time someone asked me what I did for a living and I dodged the question, my husband cut in with, "She's a fundraiser for Planned Parenthood, and she's awesome at it. I couldn't be more proud of her."

I love that man for more reasons than I can count and certainly more than you care to listen to, but few stand out to me more than that kind of unconditional love and support. It's that same love and support that has led me accept a new position with St. Luke's hospital as their lead fundraiser, beginning the middle of next month.

It was incredibly important to me to announce this big change in this way because my decision to pursue this new opportunity was based solely on the opportunity to make a better life for my family, and in no way reflects the way I feel about Planned Parenthood. I am as proud as I've ever been to say that I was a very small piece of the puzzle that serves over 3,000 patients in my community every year. I'm proud to say that I will always be a supporter. I'm proud to say that I am excited to become a part of the St. Luke's team.  And most of all, I'm proud to have an extraordinary spouse.

 

Martha Stewart's Job Is Safe For A While

Before we got married, Ryan and I had duplicates of just about every household item - 2 sets of dishes, 2 sets of silverware, 2 sets of pots and pans, etc. When merging our households, we donated one of almost everything, except in the case of a can opener.  Somehow, we must have donated both of our can openers.

 

For fear of being judged for calling the place we donated everything to and asking for one of them back, I added 'can opener' to the shopping list and set out for the grocery store.  Once in the kitchen gadget aisle, I was in awe at the number of utensils one apparently needs in their cabinets to successfully cook.  After several minutes of searching, I finally found the empty spot where the can openers are supposed to live and immediately felt better, as it appeared we weren't the only newly merged household who had donated all of their can openers!  I also remembered that we needed a lemon zester, so I picked one of those up, finished my grocery shopping, and headed to another store to find a can opener.

 

In the new store's cooking section, I was completely overwhelmed by the massive amount of can openers there were to choose from!  I stared in wide eyed wonder, carefully examining each one.  There was a multitude of colors, features, and celebrity chef endorsements and I had no idea where to start.  First, I went to Paula Deen's section, as I LOVE me some Paula!  Who can resist that sweet southern accent and the ungodly amounts of butter that she uses?  Certain this was the right choice and that my shopping trip would soon be over, I picked one under her picture and glanced at the price tag as I went to throw it into my cart.  Startled by the amount of numbers I thought I saw, I quickly picked it back up and checked again.  Nope, I was right the first time...$24.  TWENTY-FOUR DOLLARS!  For a can opener!  No wonder Paula can afford so much butter.

 

Next, I saw Rachel Ray's section and quickly remembered that she is a down to earth cook who is totally self made and I knew that she would have a more reasonably priced appliance line.  Which wasn't entirely untrue...at $18 for a can opener, she did beat out Paula by 25%, but I still thought it was a ridiculous asking price.

 

Giada was my last hope.  I didn't expect too great of a deal, as her show and set are by far the fanciest of the three, and since my world had just been rocked about the apparent going rate of a gadget that I think should be obsolete since the invention of the pop-top.  My hesitation to grow attached to her line of items was instinctively correct, as I soon learned that Giada was the most fairly priced of the three, and was still at a $16 asking price.  Who pays $16 for a can opener?!

 

Finally, I found the generic section and almost heard angels sing when I picked up a $4 bargain and headed home.  The moment I walked in the door, I shared my harrowing experience with Ryan and told him that I was gone for so long because I was endlessly searching the sea of overpriced kitchen utensils until I found our shiny new, cost effective $4 purchase.  He didn't seem to share my excitement and instead of congratulating me on my find, asked me if it would work.  'Yes, honey', I explained, 'it is the same exact quality as the others, we just aren't paying $20 extra for the name to go with it.'

 

After the groceries were put away, I decided that I would make one of my very favorite comfort food meals - macaroni and cheese with cream of mushroom soup and tuna...mmmm!  Macaroni cooking and soup opened thanks to that brilliant pop-top I referenced earlier, it was time to take my new can opener for a spin on the can of tuna.  It took a few attempts to get the opener to latch onto the can, but I chalked that up to it being new and me needing to figure out that exact spot to start it on the can.  Once latched, I turned the handle and it worked perfectly! For 2 clicks.  Then it fell off the can and I had to start again. Still sighting user error, I repeated this sequence about 8 more times until I had to take a break because the water in the macaroni pot was overflowing.  Heat turned down and my attention refocused on the tuna, I started the process over again.  5 tries later, I resorted to using a more primitive tool and ended up spending another five minutes trying to pry the can open far enough to violently shake the contents into my dinner:

Note to self: Buy the $24 can opener next time.

 

Exhausted by the extensive force I had to use to complete my supposed-to-be-easy dinner, I sat down and enjoyed the fruits of my labor before Ryan was ready to cook himself dinner and needed my help.  During my tale of finding the $4 can opener, I had also shared with him that I had remembered to pick up a lemon zester to use while cooking his new favorite dinner, salmon.  He was unwrapping the fillet from the butcher paper that I had brought it home in and he asked me to get the zester out for him.  Desperate to prove to him that I do know something about cooking, I raced to the kitchen and proudly displayed my fancy new lemon zester and awaited his praise.

 

Instead of praise, though, he questioned my find and said, 'No, I need the lemon zester please.'  I scoffed at his lack of knowledge about what a lemon zester looks like and said, 'This is a lemon zester.'  Again awaiting praise, I was again surprised when my husband looked at me quizzically and asked, 'Is that the only kitchen utensil you bought today besides the can opener?' with a slight grin beginning to form like he was trying to suppress laughter.  'Yeah, why?  And why are you putting the lemon away and getting out the bottle of seasoning instead?!?' 

 

Without a word, he started slowly walking to me with his arms outstretched to hug me like he was trying to comfort me about something.  As he got closer and right before he lovingly squeezed me, I noticed that the slight grin had grown into a large, booming smile and a chuckle as he said, 'That's not a lemon zester....that's a strainer.'

 

 



Note to self: Good for straining things, not so good for zesting.



 

In Sickness And In Health

Another day, another lesson learned, another notch in our collective 'we're figuring marriage out' belt.  Yesterday, Ryan had outpatient surgery to repair a torn ligament in his ankle that has been bothering him for several years. Relatively routine according to his surgeon, and in 12 - 16 weeks, he should be as good as new.

 

After waking at 5am, getting ready (second to getting Ryan's ankle all fixed, being the hottest person in the waiting room was my #2 priority), and loading everything on my 'take with us' list, we headed to the hospital.  We got checked in, and very shortly afterward, they called us back to pre-op.

 

Calling 'us' back was a giant upgrade - when he had a wisdom tooth removed last summer, they called his name and he jumped out of his chair and walked (read: speed walked) through the door without so much as looking at me.  It all happened so quickly that I didn't have time to ask if I was supposed to accompany him like everyone else waiting with a patient had.  We were 2 weeks shy of being engaged so as 'just' a girlfriend, I wasn't entirely sure what my role was. By the time I had gathered my thoughts and realized that he had just left me in the waiting room, I figured I should just wait it out.

 

This time, however, we had a game plan - and he didn't sprint through the doors without me.  Progress!  After some idle chat and pre-op procedures, it was time for me to go play the part of the nervous wife who ate a danish and Cheez-Its to pass the time until I heard that he had pulled through.  Roughly an hour later, I received that wonderful news, texted all of the people who were waiting to hear, and waited again until I could see him.

 

Another 45 minutes passed, and my buzzer lit up, telling me that it was time to be reunited with my love!  Last summer after he woke up from anesthesia, he was SO sweet and thankful and appreciative --- repeatedly telling me how much he loved me, and then immediately after, 'No!  It's not the medicine talking...I REALLY love you!' 

 

After a more serious procedure, I knew that he would be just as excited as I was to be reunited.  I practically ran the little old nurse over as she was leading me to his recovery bay, and like it always does, my heart skipped a beat when I saw him.  He looked very tired and very sore, so I gently made my way to his bed side and softly kissed his forehead and asked him how he was doing.  He mumbled 'Okay' and I briefly turned to pull a chair up next to him.  Before I even sat down, he squeaked out a soft, pathetic 'Will you rub my head?'  Of course I will!  I quickly stood back up, inched myself closer to him, and rubbed his head exactly 2.5 times.

 

It was at that very moment that my sweet, quietly mumbling post-op husband squinted his eyes, and deeply growled, 'Quit TOUCHING me!'  Well, not quite the 'No!  I REALLY love you' that I was hoping for, but I change my mind quickly, too, so I understand.  And I immediately left him alone and sat in my chair next to him.

 

He was starting to get hungry, so our nice nurse brought him in some crackers and opened the first package for him and told us she'd be back in a bit.  Not touching him, but wanting to be helpful however I could, after he finished the first package I asked, 'honey, want me to open up those crackers for you?'  Not only did this annoy him, as evidenced by the eye roll, 'NO!!', and exasperrated 'gah!', but he was apparently so disgusted with my offer that he turned his head away from me and faced the wall instead.

 

It was all I could do to not crack up laughing at his very out of character moodiness, and I had to bite my lip a little when he rolled his head back to me 45 seconds later and brought back the pathetic squeak to say, 'Baby, will you open the crackers for me please?'  The same crackers that I just got sent to time out for asking about?  Sure, sweetie.

 

Had he not been so darn cute and helpless and drugged, I would have sent myself back out to the waiting room like during the wisdom tooth banishment.  But knowing that he was heavily medicated, delirious, and hungry, I gave the guy a break and opened his crackers.  And stopped TOUCHING him, too!

 

Now home and off the happy juice, he is back to his sweet self, and I'm pleased to report that I have earned back my touching him priviledges!

 

I think we've justified our excessive pillow collection, and as sad as I am that he is uncomfortable and laid up, I am thankful for our extra couch time that we've gotten.

 

 

He's been laid up on the couch for the last 36 hours and will be for the next 2 more days, but I think he is on the road to recovery.  On the bright side, I have been using the opportunity to hone my cooking skills, honor my 'in sickness and in health' vows, and most importantly, plot my revenge for when I'm drugged up birthing our children.

 

Just because

Today, I fell in love with Ryan all over again.  And not just because he brought me home beautiful roses (though let's be clear --- flowers never hurt).  But because when I asked him what the flowers were for, he simply answered "you", which led me to ask myself what I ever did to deserve him.  And the answer that I came up with is that I have no idea.

 

I'm impatient, I'm moody, I'm emotional, I'm sensitive, I'm demanding, I'm selfish, I'm passive aggressive, I'm short-tempered, I'm unforgiving, and somehow, I'm loved by a man who deals with all of my negative attributes and still brings me home "just because" flowers. 

 

Day in and day out, my husband makes me feel like I'm a gift.  When I'm down, he stops short of nothing to pick me back up.  In an argument, whether he's right or wrong, he always apologizes first.  When I want to stay in for a date night, we stay in. He supports me when I need someone to lean on, challenges me when I need it, encourages me when I'm ready to give up, and defends me when someone or something knocks me down. 

 

Ryan is the guy that will sit through 3 hours of "The Real Housewives" because I had a bad day and it makes me feel better.  He's the guy who raves about a bad dinner and asks for seconds to keep me from crying about my lack of culinary skills. He's the guy that will go to bed at 8pm to snuggle the tired wife who was a butthead to him all evening. 

 

He's also the guy that has great taste in flowers. 

 

He's the guy that has already stolen my heart more times than I can count. And he's the guy who I will spend the rest of my life falling in love with.