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.
 

Lessons Learned

As Ryan and I celebrate our first two months of marital bliss, I have realized that we have learned a lot in the last 60 days. Some of the lessons I expected, and others I was not prepared for. At all. So I am taking matters into my own hands and doing my due diligence to put out there the things that you need to be prepared for when entering into a lifelong union:

Lesson #1: He Lives Here Now

I have lived completely by myself since I was 21.  No roommate, no extended guests, boyfriends didn't even get to know where I lived.  My house was my sanctuary, and no one else's. Mine.  So it was completely out of character when I told Ryan my address prior to our first date, and even more out of character when I allowed us to spend so much time at my place.  Over the months of dating, there were several times that I would go to bed while Ryan was in the middle of a movie, so I would tell him goodnight and that he could stay as long as he wanted, just be sure to lock the door on his way out.  So I didn't think anything of repeating my night time routine the week after we got married - I got tired, told him I was going to bed, and asked him to lock the door on his way out.  To which he responded with "We're married.  I live here now.  I'm not leaving tonight." Oh yeah.

Lesson #2:  All Is Fair In Love And Sleep

In a similar event, I went to bed much earlier than my night owl husband one night and angrily awoke several hours later at the realization that I was on his side of the bed.  I immediately thought "He took my side of the bed?!  My pillows?!  My spare blankets that I keep under the bed for when he tries to freeze me out?"  I was fuming and thisclose to waking him up to demand that he give me back my rightful place when I realized that not only had I come to bed first, but I was sleeping diagonal and my 6' tall husband was curled up into the tiniest ball he could get himself into while his legs dangled to the floor because that's all the room I had left for him.  Oops!  That may or may not have also been the night that I slapped him in the face in my sleep and then started to rub his facial hair.  He's a trooper.  Don't feel too sorry for him, though...he got his revenge a few weeks later when I didn't feel well and sat up in bed with my head in my hands and he, in a dead sleep, kneed me in the FACE as he rolled over.  Pretty sure we're even.

Lesson #3: Not Everyone Lives According To My Schedule

I was completely unaware that not everyone loves to get up and start cleaning first thing on Saturday morning every week.  Saturday is one of the few days that I awake earlier than Ryan, so by the time he comes out to the living room I'm usually done with the dishes and starting to dust.  It came as a complete surprise to me one day after 3 hours of deep cleaning when I said to him, "Ahhh.  Doesn't cleaning make you SO happy?" and he answered with, "Ummm.  It makes me tired."

Lesson #4:  He Cooks After We Argue

In the first two months of marriage, we've also had our first two arguments.  And the sick and twisted part of me is kind of happy about it.  We hadn't really even had heated conversations before we were married, let alone an argument, and it was a huge relief when we did and worked through it like mature adults.  That's completely new to me.   And while the satisfaction of having worked through something together is a high all on it's own, it's nothing compared to the dinner he makes you afterward.  I devoured the best cheese lasagna and garlic bread of my life one night thanks to a morning spat that was fixed before I even left for work.  Still not sure how I managed that one, but I'm gonna go with it.

 

 

Lesson #5: Marriage Really Is Work. And It's Totally Worth It.

The last 60 days have been a giant learning curve. We have both been thrown into our first time living together, sharing finances, figuring out schedules, division of household duties, expectations of the other spouse, daily habits, and what it means to truly be a partner 24/7. At times it is stressful, but most of the time it is the easiest and most fulfilling adventure I've ever been on. This road has bumps for both of us, but those bumps are SO worth the ride.  Also, the lasagna.  If you haven't already, I highly recommend that you marry someone who can make good lasagna.

Wedding Diet 101

I've never had, nor will I ever have the perfect body. Nobody does. Well, except those people - you know the type...lean, muscular, less than 5% body fat, perky everything. I have a few of those real life perfect body friends, and while in general I love and support them, today we are not friends. For today is an ode to the not-so-perfect ones of us who had to work for 4 months to look fabulous in their wedding dress. Today is a chubby girl party, and you are not invited.

It all started on June 17th, 2012 around 8pm. It was approximately an hour after becoming engaged to the love of my life, and the realization that I was going to get married was starting to sink in. I was getting married. In a tight white dress. In 4 months, 2 days, and 19 hours. Game on.

Having always been somewhere between average and chubby, and fluxuating often between the two, I made a conscious decision that I was going to shed those 10 annoying pounds that had been lingering on and off around my thighs for the past 6 years since I graduated college. At 10 pounds lighter, I would look so svelte that I would probably get offers from bridal magazines to be on their covers. But no more than that. On my 5'1 frame, losing even as much as 11 pounds would probably make me look anorexic. Now concerned that I'd have to answer endless "are you eating??" questions after my 10 pound thinner self debuted, I decided to look up my ideal weight on the BMI chart just to make sure I wasn't about to get too thin.

Oh. My. GOD! That can't be right. That CAN'T be right. According to the BMI figures I had just googled, I was not only overweight, but I was 7 pounds from OBESE. OBESE! That has to be wrong, I thought. Who came up with this equation? Is there a glitch? That's it, there must be a glitch. Or maybe they're just bad at math...who among us hasn't been off by 23 in an algebra problem? After re-examining the situation, and by re-examining I mean using every search engine ever created in hopes of finding a more favorable result, I came to the conclusion that perhaps I had put on a few more than 10 lbs over the last few years.

New plan: lose 15 pounds and don't look like the Michelin Man in a veil. During my various seasons between average and chubby over the last 9 years, the only weight loss plan that ever worked for me was Weight Watchers. Why? 1.) If you tell me I can't have carbs, I will eat pasta in my car at 7am just to spite you, 2.) Given the option, I would literally rather cut off a limb to drop quick weight than exercise for 5 minutes, and 3.) I call the shots - if I want french fries for lunch, I can have them as long as I ration my points for the day.

After deciding that Plan A (fattening Ryan up so I looked thinner by default) wouldn't work, I grumbled my way over to the weight watchers website (just the point counting - I didn't feel the need to sit in a circle and discuss why I give potatoes power over me) and started toward my 10 *ahem* 15 pound goal. For those of you out of the loop, the new Weight Watchers system, Points Plus, not only gives you more daily points to use, but all fruit is free! Yes, I know it is a psychological ploy to make me feel like I'm getting away with something while actually making healthier choices, but I happily submit to the mindgame warfare if it makes me thinner.

The first 10 pounds seemed to melt right off of me, and the 15 pounds seemed more and more attainable. Once I hit 15, I decided I would stretch my goal to 20 lost, but that would be it. At pound #22, completely pleased with my progress, I decided to treat myself to a day of eating junk food and then had ice cream for dinner. The next morning, cringing as I stepped on the scale and nervously awaiting the results, I almost yelled with delight to see that I had lost another half pound the day before! The euphoria of having lost weight while eating junk food was quickly replaced by the sinking realization that if you can eat junk food all day, have ice cream for dinner, and still lose weight, you're too fat.

So I continued my point counting and saw a dramatic slow down at pound #30, but pushed through to a final weight loss of 35 pounds for the wedding, landing me in my ideal weight range (the top of the weight range still counts as IN the weight range) on what I still believe to be the incorrectly calculated BMI chart. And while I am certain that my sweet, loving, charming, wonderful husband would love me no matter what size I was, every uneaten french fry from June through October 20th was worth looking fabulous in my dress on our wedding day. And I did look fabulous. We don't have the original pictures yet, so please don't let the watermarks distract you from admiring how thin I am...

 

Anyone else want to have some ice cream??