Once again, too many blog entries rolling around in my head, and too few of them here 'on paper.'
Not that you've missed much. Just the usual crapola. A newlywed pratfall or two here, a little Lizzy puke there, mixed with a pinch of angst and a dash of humor. Stir well. Half-bake, let cool, and enjoy!
We headed to The Great Beyond one evening last week, looking for a panini maker. (hey. we've gotta do SOMETHING with the excellent gift cards we received! Why not something fun?) We ended up getting a sandwich maker instead that was considerably cheaper. It is AWESOME. Bread plus leftover mystery meat from fridge plus cheese equals a meal! I overstuffed my first attempt, though -- a tuna/spicy brown mustard/sweet relish concoction. The smells of singed tuna and mustard were not terribly appetizing as I waited for the little 'it's done' light to turn green. It'll take some practice. And Matt's idea of putting chunky beef soup into a pocket didn't go so well, either. We were going to try eggs in it this weekend, but ...
Lizzy got sick. (and when Lizzy's sick, no one gets to eat.)
My weekend started an hour early with a call from day care, saying, "Lizzy's got a temperature of 100-point-something, so you don't really HAVE to come get her, technically, but she's just kind of been lying around. So, are you going to come get her?" Uh, yeah. I guess I will.
Matt couldn't leave early, so I wasn't sure how to kill an hour with a sick kid. We ended up driving into D.C. during a rainy Friday rush hour to get Matt. One of those ideas that you know is foolish. And yet ... why not? Why not. WHY NOT sit on New York Ave. between 14th and 12th streets for 25 minutes... WHY NOT. I'll give it this -- it killed any extra time we had, and then some. I did get the very special opportunity to meet, in the flesh, one of Matt's favorite street beggars -- a lady who has been claiming to be pregnant and hungry for handouts for the past three or four years, and who then cusses out anyone who dares question the veracity of her statement so loudly and vigorously that she chases away any potential handouts within earshot. I was pleased to make her acquaintance.
Someone -- me? -- then had the bright idea to stop at C&B in our ongoing quest for "affordable" drapes for the sliding glass door in the dining room. The trouble is, Matt and I have a difference of opinion regarding "affordable." One of us thinks that, say, $270 is an outlandish amount to spend on drapes. Another of us supposes that that one of us should go to a fabric store and check out how much bare material costs, before assuming the finished product can be found cheaper. The suggestion that we not buy anything before traveling to the Salvation Army to see if they have cheaper drapes did not go over well. But the deal was called off in any case when Lizzy decided to upchuck as we were pulling into the parking lot. Brilliant! And then she HAD to go to the bathroom as we were inching down Hwy. 66 on our way home. So, we stopped at the rest area. Which is closed for renovations. Settled for the porta-potty in the back. The sick child was not amused, but was desperate enough to comply.
Nine bouts of puking -- and six or seven children's movies -- later, she's better. We, and the washing machine, are grateful. What is up with kids and the stomach flu? The real weirdness is (as I knock on wood), I usually seem to get her colds, but not her stomach flu viruses. Are we adults more resilient to the stomach flu virus? Or maybe I personally have some special skill at repelling the barfing germs? Regardless, I'm grateful.
One last random note: I find myself inexplicably sad that Reese Witherspoon and Ryan Phillippe are getting a divorce. Am I alone in this? Can NO ONE in Hollywood sustain a marriage, at least on paper? Will Smith and Jada Pinkett-Smith, my hopes now rest squarely on you. Don't let me down, kids!
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
another Maisel
It's official. I'm now a Maisel.
I got my Social Security card in the mail yesterday. "Katharine Rachelle Maisel," it says.
I showed Matt. He looked genuinely a little horrified by the prospect.
"Another Maisel in the world," he said, wide-eyed and a little reflective.
An inauspicious start to the rest of my life as a Maisel.
Regarding a little Maisel-to-be, as soon as I can figure out how to change her name:
I love this photo of her. It might be my favorite of her from the wedding day. (not a lot of competition, as she looks grumpy or is asleep in almost all of the rest.) The colors; her expression; the light. Ross outdid himself from the get-go. She's just been dressed here, by Aunt Molly, and awaits her intricate hair braid. (It's been suggested that we each have a gift. That we're each really skilled at at least one thing. I have no idea what my super skill is, but Molly's -- or one of Molly's -- is most definitely braiding. Maybe I'll have to post a photo of that, too.)
Anyhow. I both love and am terrified by this photo. She looks so OLD in it. It's like flashing forward 12 or 13 years to her first prom. Shakes me to my core.
Heeey, what the heck. While I'm at it! Two other favorites that day (though there are many more. I'm just sparing you, for now:
I got my Social Security card in the mail yesterday. "Katharine Rachelle Maisel," it says.
I showed Matt. He looked genuinely a little horrified by the prospect.
"Another Maisel in the world," he said, wide-eyed and a little reflective.
An inauspicious start to the rest of my life as a Maisel.
Regarding a little Maisel-to-be, as soon as I can figure out how to change her name:
I love this photo of her. It might be my favorite of her from the wedding day. (not a lot of competition, as she looks grumpy or is asleep in almost all of the rest.) The colors; her expression; the light. Ross outdid himself from the get-go. She's just been dressed here, by Aunt Molly, and awaits her intricate hair braid. (It's been suggested that we each have a gift. That we're each really skilled at at least one thing. I have no idea what my super skill is, but Molly's -- or one of Molly's -- is most definitely braiding. Maybe I'll have to post a photo of that, too.)Anyhow. I both love and am terrified by this photo. She looks so OLD in it. It's like flashing forward 12 or 13 years to her first prom. Shakes me to my core.
Heeey, what the heck. While I'm at it! Two other favorites that day (though there are many more. I'm just sparing you, for now:
Monday, October 23, 2006
weekend
We had a nice weekend. It started with a Friday night movie date -- The Departed, which is the first Scorsese movie I have ever wholeheartedly endorsed (Movie of the Year, you heard it here first) -- and, since it was a late one, Matt's mom slept over at our house. And got up with Lizzy the next morning, meaning we slept in until NINE THIRTY... Bliss!
Then we packed ourselves to Lizzy's weekly (I'm not joking) birthday party. This week: Bowling with Nicholas in Annandale! Tonight, I really should post a photo. Those little kids (most of them 4) were cute as snot. Well, um, even cuter than snot. Or something. They would carry the ball to the head of the lane (no small feat), then sort of hurl it down the lane -- if we parents were lucky, it traveled faster than your garden-variety snail, but not always -- and watch it gently kiss the bumper on each side from time to time, until it meandered all the way down and (again, with luck) bumped over a couple of pins. Once, a kid even picked up a spare! I guess the odds dictated that it would happen sometime. Then we -- er, uh, I mean, they -- had Cars cake. And bowling-hall pizza and fries. Yummy! Oh, and their wee shoes were so cute.
Then we stopped to get Lizzy her Halloween costume -- Belle is the princess of choice this year; Halloween stuff now 50 percent off at the Disney store -- and then to Xxxxx and Xxxxxx, where we decided they wanted too much money for drapes. I'm not sure how we came to that conclusion, since we hadn't priced them anywhere else. But I wasn't too inclined to argue, since it's true of every other dang thing at C&B.
And we had a little cleaning. A little grocery shopping. A little helping of some friends to move. A little laying of the hands to rest. A fair amount of thank you card-writing, with promises of much more to come! But it feels good, getting wedding stuff wrapped up.
Now to call the 57 businesses (rough estimate) who will want to know that I'm changing my name... Looking forward to a morning parking it in a chair at the DMV. Ugh.
Oh yeah -- I had something more to say about the party...
Out of the eight little partygoers, Lizzy was the only girl. Which I thought was super cool, and a couple of the parents commented on. She is such an adorable combo of totally girly at times, but also tough like a boy. (at times, I must emphasize. She can overdo the emotional stuff with the best of us females at other times.) Matt was saying how that boded well for the future -- navigating that sometimes challenging space of befriending both guys and gals.
I've been chewing on that ever since. What sort of personality -- or traits -- best lend themselves to this? I'm thinking, it's important not to take certain things to seriously. An easygoing nature has to be helpful here, don't you think? I'm trying to remember what sort of person I was as a teen, and who my friends were. As I recall, I was pretty much scared by the whole social interaction/practicing dating thing (no offense to those who found their true loves in high school -- it mostly seemed like practice, from an outsider's perspective). So I had female friends, almost exclusively. I think I was brave enough to talk to my friends' boyfriends, or to throw around some sports talk with some of the less 'threatening' guys. But mostly -- girls. So, lack of fear, as well, maybe? Lack of concern what people think? But if you don't care what people think, you might tend to disregard their feelings, as well. Seems a tough balancing act at times.
I was also intimidated by the more queen bee popular types. As if they truly WERE better than me, by virtue of clearly thinking it themselves. Of course, on this side of things, I realize how insecure they were, what other crud they were going through, etc.
All in all, I'm glad dating was scary for me, at that age. I'm glad I waited until much later to jump into those waters. But I do hope that Lizzy learns how to be a friend to many, if not all.
Then we packed ourselves to Lizzy's weekly (I'm not joking) birthday party. This week: Bowling with Nicholas in Annandale! Tonight, I really should post a photo. Those little kids (most of them 4) were cute as snot. Well, um, even cuter than snot. Or something. They would carry the ball to the head of the lane (no small feat), then sort of hurl it down the lane -- if we parents were lucky, it traveled faster than your garden-variety snail, but not always -- and watch it gently kiss the bumper on each side from time to time, until it meandered all the way down and (again, with luck) bumped over a couple of pins. Once, a kid even picked up a spare! I guess the odds dictated that it would happen sometime. Then we -- er, uh, I mean, they -- had Cars cake. And bowling-hall pizza and fries. Yummy! Oh, and their wee shoes were so cute.
Then we stopped to get Lizzy her Halloween costume -- Belle is the princess of choice this year; Halloween stuff now 50 percent off at the Disney store -- and then to Xxxxx and Xxxxxx, where we decided they wanted too much money for drapes. I'm not sure how we came to that conclusion, since we hadn't priced them anywhere else. But I wasn't too inclined to argue, since it's true of every other dang thing at C&B.
And we had a little cleaning. A little grocery shopping. A little helping of some friends to move. A little laying of the hands to rest. A fair amount of thank you card-writing, with promises of much more to come! But it feels good, getting wedding stuff wrapped up.
Now to call the 57 businesses (rough estimate) who will want to know that I'm changing my name... Looking forward to a morning parking it in a chair at the DMV. Ugh.
Oh yeah -- I had something more to say about the party...
Out of the eight little partygoers, Lizzy was the only girl. Which I thought was super cool, and a couple of the parents commented on. She is such an adorable combo of totally girly at times, but also tough like a boy. (at times, I must emphasize. She can overdo the emotional stuff with the best of us females at other times.) Matt was saying how that boded well for the future -- navigating that sometimes challenging space of befriending both guys and gals.
I've been chewing on that ever since. What sort of personality -- or traits -- best lend themselves to this? I'm thinking, it's important not to take certain things to seriously. An easygoing nature has to be helpful here, don't you think? I'm trying to remember what sort of person I was as a teen, and who my friends were. As I recall, I was pretty much scared by the whole social interaction/practicing dating thing (no offense to those who found their true loves in high school -- it mostly seemed like practice, from an outsider's perspective). So I had female friends, almost exclusively. I think I was brave enough to talk to my friends' boyfriends, or to throw around some sports talk with some of the less 'threatening' guys. But mostly -- girls. So, lack of fear, as well, maybe? Lack of concern what people think? But if you don't care what people think, you might tend to disregard their feelings, as well. Seems a tough balancing act at times.
I was also intimidated by the more queen bee popular types. As if they truly WERE better than me, by virtue of clearly thinking it themselves. Of course, on this side of things, I realize how insecure they were, what other crud they were going through, etc.
All in all, I'm glad dating was scary for me, at that age. I'm glad I waited until much later to jump into those waters. But I do hope that Lizzy learns how to be a friend to many, if not all.
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
a little prayer
I worry sometimes that Lizzy isn't getting enough, hm, 'spiritual guidance' from me. That she could not recite a single Bible story at almost age 4. Well, maybe she sort of could. She knows that Jonah (whoever he is) was inside a whale for some reason, and that Daniel goes with lions. God is everywhere, and He loves us, and Jesus is someone we pray to (as well as God). So that's something, I guess.
In a bit of a digression from my main point, I've been pondering this a bit more lately because there's been some in-church discussion (unofficially, over e-mail -- we don't do this via round table on Sunday morning, or anything) recently because we've had a new convert -- praise God! -- and we're wondering whether we need to provide anything in the way of instruction for her in addition to the usual fare. Some are in favor of this, yet opinions differ slightly as to how and what the (education? discussion? Bible study? book group?) addition should look like. Some seem offended by the notion that we change the way we do things to, uh, serve the needs of our congregation? Okay, I don't really understand their perspective, which tells you where I'm at. I start applying this to the growing crop of kids we have at Common Table, and I start wondering how instrumental my years growing up in the Methodist Sunday school were. Were they? Weren't they? I don't know. I'd certainly take being raised by God-fearing and loving parents over simply learning Bible stories for an hour a week, if I did have to choose. (fortunately, I had both.)
Anyhow. I figure at this point, the least I can do is try to model Jesus-like behavior (ha! I have some work to do), and pray with Lizzy each night. Imbue her with a sense of who God is, and that He cares about us -- the big things and the little.
Her perspective on it all has been revealing itself in interesting ways. Earlier this week, Lizzy was on the tail end (ha!) of a bladder infection. I took her to school anyway, since we were almost at the end of her meds, and I figured she was mostly, if not all, better. I conveniently chose to forget about the peeing of the pants that occurred the day before, at a local pumpkin patch. Though the image of her skirted, pantyless form shimmying down the slide one fateful time -- skirt sliding above her waist, if you're slow to get the picture here -- is burned on my brain.
So I dropped her off at school, and waited while she 'went potty.' As she sat on the cute little 3-year-old-sized toilet, she said, "Mommy? Let's pretend you and I are going to bed, and pray Jesus." I said, uhhh, okay. Do you want to, or me? She wanted to. So she did. She prayed that God would make her bottom all better. "In Jesus' name, Amen!" My heart swelled with pride like I cannot describe. That she made the connection to spontaneously pray when she needed help with something... It made me glad. (obviously, I want her to see God as a whole lot more than her Santa Claus in the sky, but one thing at a time.)
A 'fun' element of raising a child in the 'learning-to-talk' stage is something I've mentioned before -- the need to teach them, somehow, that not all that they hear is appropriate for them to say. Either because it's 'not nice to someone,' or because it's inappropriate at the moment, or because it's just plain something I don't want hearing come out of my child's mouth. Let me say here and now that I'm not trying to censor anyone's speech, so please, dear friends, don't feel that you can't use certain words or phrases around me. (except you, Ryan. You can keep it toned down. I appreciate it. Thanks.) That said, I don't want Lizzy saying everything she hears. One that's been an off-and-on struggle to explain to her is "Oh my God." Something I hear a lot. Something I don't want to hear coming from my 3 or 4-year-old's mouth.
I've explained that that's God's name. That it makes no sense to say God's name, unless you're talking about, or to, God. (I've heard the rejoinder that, in essence, when people say that, they ARE praying. But I'm not so sure I buy that, at least not much of the time.) So, I say to Lizzy, let's save God's name for those occasions. Okay, she says seriously. Okay.
One day, her day care teacher pulled me aside and told me that Lizzy had lectured her on this point. I was rather mortified, but what are you going to do? Ms. Sharline genuinely seemed to think it was rather sweet. Oooookay.
A couple of nights ago, Lizzy was saying her bedtime prayers. She did the usual, "DearGod, thank you for this family/thank you for this prayer/thank you for all of our friends/(and then she goes on to list, if it's mealtime, thanks for each item on the table or on the menu. If it's bedtime, it can end there, or she throws in whatever occurs to her. Her school, her pony tails, her new book. Whatever.)" This time, she concluded with, "Oh my God. Amen." She kind of peeked at me with one eye open, then opened them both and beamed at me. "Did you hear what I said?" she demanded. "I was talking to God, so I said 'Oh my God'."
Sigh. I can see the logic, but ...
In a bit of a digression from my main point, I've been pondering this a bit more lately because there's been some in-church discussion (unofficially, over e-mail -- we don't do this via round table on Sunday morning, or anything) recently because we've had a new convert -- praise God! -- and we're wondering whether we need to provide anything in the way of instruction for her in addition to the usual fare. Some are in favor of this, yet opinions differ slightly as to how and what the (education? discussion? Bible study? book group?) addition should look like. Some seem offended by the notion that we change the way we do things to, uh, serve the needs of our congregation? Okay, I don't really understand their perspective, which tells you where I'm at. I start applying this to the growing crop of kids we have at Common Table, and I start wondering how instrumental my years growing up in the Methodist Sunday school were. Were they? Weren't they? I don't know. I'd certainly take being raised by God-fearing and loving parents over simply learning Bible stories for an hour a week, if I did have to choose. (fortunately, I had both.)
Anyhow. I figure at this point, the least I can do is try to model Jesus-like behavior (ha! I have some work to do), and pray with Lizzy each night. Imbue her with a sense of who God is, and that He cares about us -- the big things and the little.
Her perspective on it all has been revealing itself in interesting ways. Earlier this week, Lizzy was on the tail end (ha!) of a bladder infection. I took her to school anyway, since we were almost at the end of her meds, and I figured she was mostly, if not all, better. I conveniently chose to forget about the peeing of the pants that occurred the day before, at a local pumpkin patch. Though the image of her skirted, pantyless form shimmying down the slide one fateful time -- skirt sliding above her waist, if you're slow to get the picture here -- is burned on my brain.
So I dropped her off at school, and waited while she 'went potty.' As she sat on the cute little 3-year-old-sized toilet, she said, "Mommy? Let's pretend you and I are going to bed, and pray Jesus." I said, uhhh, okay. Do you want to, or me? She wanted to. So she did. She prayed that God would make her bottom all better. "In Jesus' name, Amen!" My heart swelled with pride like I cannot describe. That she made the connection to spontaneously pray when she needed help with something... It made me glad. (obviously, I want her to see God as a whole lot more than her Santa Claus in the sky, but one thing at a time.)
A 'fun' element of raising a child in the 'learning-to-talk' stage is something I've mentioned before -- the need to teach them, somehow, that not all that they hear is appropriate for them to say. Either because it's 'not nice to someone,' or because it's inappropriate at the moment, or because it's just plain something I don't want hearing come out of my child's mouth. Let me say here and now that I'm not trying to censor anyone's speech, so please, dear friends, don't feel that you can't use certain words or phrases around me. (except you, Ryan. You can keep it toned down. I appreciate it. Thanks.) That said, I don't want Lizzy saying everything she hears. One that's been an off-and-on struggle to explain to her is "Oh my God." Something I hear a lot. Something I don't want to hear coming from my 3 or 4-year-old's mouth.
I've explained that that's God's name. That it makes no sense to say God's name, unless you're talking about, or to, God. (I've heard the rejoinder that, in essence, when people say that, they ARE praying. But I'm not so sure I buy that, at least not much of the time.) So, I say to Lizzy, let's save God's name for those occasions. Okay, she says seriously. Okay.
One day, her day care teacher pulled me aside and told me that Lizzy had lectured her on this point. I was rather mortified, but what are you going to do? Ms. Sharline genuinely seemed to think it was rather sweet. Oooookay.
A couple of nights ago, Lizzy was saying her bedtime prayers. She did the usual, "DearGod, thank you for this family/thank you for this prayer/thank you for all of our friends/(and then she goes on to list, if it's mealtime, thanks for each item on the table or on the menu. If it's bedtime, it can end there, or she throws in whatever occurs to her. Her school, her pony tails, her new book. Whatever.)" This time, she concluded with, "Oh my God. Amen." She kind of peeked at me with one eye open, then opened them both and beamed at me. "Did you hear what I said?" she demanded. "I was talking to God, so I said 'Oh my God'."
Sigh. I can see the logic, but ...
Monday, October 16, 2006
the little-known Firth of Virginia
As seen on a sign hanging on a cubicle wall behind the marriage license counter in the Arlington County Courthouse:
THE 231th YEAR OF THE COMMONWEALTH
But don't call it a state. No, no! Because THAT would be inaccurate.
THE 231th YEAR OF THE COMMONWEALTH
But don't call it a state. No, no! Because THAT would be inaccurate.
Thursday, October 12, 2006
aftermath
Well, we're back.
Sort of.
Mentally: Mostly. I had my usual couple of days of melancholy and depression on Monday and Tuesday. The usual follow-up to a trip to the West Coast, especially to see family. It's just depressing to realize, "Hey, I'm on the East Coast. How did that happen again? And, when will I get to see my family again, after this?" I never have satisfactory answers to those questions. But, here we are, so let's make the most of it. And, truly, I do feel that Matt and Lizzy are primarily my family. But I miss everyone else, too.
In many ways, the past couple of weeks have been such a rich time of family and friends, some of whom I almost never see. Some family and friends, I didn't get to see much at all of, which was a bummer, but I knew it would be that way, so -- okay. One has only so much time. Unfortunately, that's true in the long term, as well. I just want MORE TIME -- more time with my family. More time traveling. More time soaking up my daughter's hugs and proclamations of surprise/insight/playfulness/anger. Whatever she feels like throwing at me. It was just so much fun to spend time with her most of last week. She had a field trip on Wednesday -- the day care did their annual trip to a pumpkin patch in Maryland. I'd gone the two previous years, but there was no way I could swing it on our deadline day, the week after I'd missed so much work. I was totally bummed. She, though, had a great time, apparently. "Milking the cow" was her favorite part. I am so sorry I missed that. Just as I miss so much else of her day. Almost every day.
I'm starting to get depressed all over again.
We haven't fully returned physically, either. This has been Lizzy's refrain the past few nights: "I don't WANT to go to bed! I can't fall asleep! I don't know how to do it!"
At 11 p.m.
By this time, I am begging her to go to sleep, as I want to, myself.
The little girl's still on West Coast time.
I must say, though, it feels good to be married. It feels different, in some hard-to-discern way. Seeing the ring on MY HUSBAND'S hand makes me feel proud. It looks good on him. And, he's such a great guy. Which I knew, but ... I keep seeing glimpses of it through other people's eyes, and I totally eat it up. I talked to my mom the other night. "What's Matt up to?" she asked. "Oh, he's at the grocery store," I replied. "You have the perfect husband," she said. Heh! I kind of do.
For his part, he asked, with much trepidation, if he could go to a party on Saturday night that a bunch of his friends are going to. "Sure!" I said. "I just want to spend some time with Lizzy this weekend. Besides, you haven't seen much of your friends for the past few months." He looked at me as if I were a winning lottery ticket. Pleased, but dubious of his good fortune. Fair enough. I don't often respond to that request in quite that unselfish a fashion.
As for the wedding and reception themselves: They came together amazingly well. Amazingly well! My two minor complaints about that day are that 1) my daughter was such a wet blanket, and 2) the staff of the inn was actually a bit overzealous about cleaning up. Every time I put down a drink, it was whisked away. Grrr. But those are teeny tiny things. We felt so blessed, by God and by our families and friends, and felt such an (often uncharacteristic) sense of joy all around us, and the event, that day. I found myself wishing that I had been a guest at the wedding, instead of IN the wedding. I had been told repeatedly what a blur the day will be, how little chance we'll get to have deep conversations, or eat anything, etc., but I didn't expect ... so little chance to stop and take things in. I can relate to my friend, the Mrs., when she says she hopes to relive her lovely event of last year when she goes to other weddings. Weddings have always been an occasion of deep stock-taking and introspection for me. (unless I'm the bride) :) And there's nothing like settling the entire bill the very next day to rub off a bit of the glow. But I know myself -- I absorb things very slowly. I have to process things for a long time. As I might have said before (and I hope Lizzy never reads this), I didn't even feel like I wanted to be a mom for, oh, the first year or so of my child's life. In a sense, I mean. So it will take me awhile -- let's hope, not the rest of my life -- to make some sense of myself as a married woman, and to put that day into perspective and to truly savor it. The awesome photography will help a great deal.
Two things I have learned, that I hadn't exactly heard before, that would've made the day even better:
1) What you haven't accomplished (programs, favors, etc.) by the end of the day two days before the wedding, just forget about. It's not worth the stress it will cause you.
2) Arrange to have food brought to your room that night -- or bring it yourself. Or be somewhere where it can be obtained. You do not want to be throwing up on your wedding night because you had alcohol and not enough food that day. (sorry to out you, dear!)
3) (which totally DID happen, in my case) Surround yourself with good, capable people -- some of whom have 'gone there before' -- and accept their offers of help. They will save the day.
So many people helped in so many ways, expected and unexpected. Too many to mention. The friend who tried, so hard, to get my daughter calm enough to walk up the aisle, and who ended up carrying her because it was the only way. The friend who saw that the video camera (his) that had been borrowed for the occasion wasn't being put to use, because of a small planning snafu, so he found it and held it up for the entire ceremony because he couldn't find the tripod. The friend who took care of another friend's fussy child so that the child's parents could stand up with the bride and groom. The friends who stayed with my daughter while she slept, in a room up away from the action, so we could enjoy the reception, even though it meant that they couldn't. And on. And on. And on.
We had a pretty nice reception at my aunt's house the following Saturday, as well. And two lovely days in Seattle! I was tired before of the lack of indy-type coffee houses in the greater D.C. area, but now ... man. I am almost ready to give up coffee entirely, in protest.
Almost.
We spent two nights in the MarQueen on Queen Anne, for those of you intimately familiar with Seattle. We swung by Uptown Coffee two or three times -- home of the velvet foam. We saw starfish in the water, from the pier! So wild. We saw Experience Music Project (for Matt), the Sci-Fi Museum (for me), and the Children's Museum (for Guess Who) -- all at Seattle Center. (How did I not know before that Mel Blanc voiced that irritating robot on the original 'Battlestar Galactica'? I hang my head in shame!) We swung through Pike Place, of course. We went to the original Starbucks store (but I didn't buy coffee there. Just a "bearista." I successfully boycotted Starbucks coffee products for our short visit.) Best of all, we found the most awesome little diner I have seen since this kicky little place I used to go in Germany. That was called Cafe Chaos -- this one was called Minnie's Diner, or some such thing (Schuyler or Maggie can correct me). We were just aimlessly wandering one weekday morning, wishing for a greasy spoon-type diner, and this place appeared out of nowhere. The perfect place. We saw the 24-hour sign, and knew we were in for a treat. Throughout our meal -- prepared by the lady who took our order, which for some reason really impresses me -- we heard Seattle grunge music from the '90s. Matt and I were beside ourselves. Fresh-squeezed orange juice. Fresh peaches IN my pancakes. Lizzy had chocolate chip pancakes, with whipped cream and chocolate sauce on top. (hey -- we were on vacation!) So what if the bill came to about $45. Some things are worth it.
And it was the most gorgeous day -- THE most gorgeous day. As if the entire city wanted to seduce Matt and convince him never to return East.
Sigh.
Even our flights were all on time, and we sat together on all of them. There's a first time for everything.
Also -- God bless the inventors of the portable DVD player. GOD BLESS THEM.
Sort of.
Mentally: Mostly. I had my usual couple of days of melancholy and depression on Monday and Tuesday. The usual follow-up to a trip to the West Coast, especially to see family. It's just depressing to realize, "Hey, I'm on the East Coast. How did that happen again? And, when will I get to see my family again, after this?" I never have satisfactory answers to those questions. But, here we are, so let's make the most of it. And, truly, I do feel that Matt and Lizzy are primarily my family. But I miss everyone else, too.
In many ways, the past couple of weeks have been such a rich time of family and friends, some of whom I almost never see. Some family and friends, I didn't get to see much at all of, which was a bummer, but I knew it would be that way, so -- okay. One has only so much time. Unfortunately, that's true in the long term, as well. I just want MORE TIME -- more time with my family. More time traveling. More time soaking up my daughter's hugs and proclamations of surprise/insight/playfulness/anger. Whatever she feels like throwing at me. It was just so much fun to spend time with her most of last week. She had a field trip on Wednesday -- the day care did their annual trip to a pumpkin patch in Maryland. I'd gone the two previous years, but there was no way I could swing it on our deadline day, the week after I'd missed so much work. I was totally bummed. She, though, had a great time, apparently. "Milking the cow" was her favorite part. I am so sorry I missed that. Just as I miss so much else of her day. Almost every day.
I'm starting to get depressed all over again.
We haven't fully returned physically, either. This has been Lizzy's refrain the past few nights: "I don't WANT to go to bed! I can't fall asleep! I don't know how to do it!"
At 11 p.m.
By this time, I am begging her to go to sleep, as I want to, myself.
The little girl's still on West Coast time.
I must say, though, it feels good to be married. It feels different, in some hard-to-discern way. Seeing the ring on MY HUSBAND'S hand makes me feel proud. It looks good on him. And, he's such a great guy. Which I knew, but ... I keep seeing glimpses of it through other people's eyes, and I totally eat it up. I talked to my mom the other night. "What's Matt up to?" she asked. "Oh, he's at the grocery store," I replied. "You have the perfect husband," she said. Heh! I kind of do.
For his part, he asked, with much trepidation, if he could go to a party on Saturday night that a bunch of his friends are going to. "Sure!" I said. "I just want to spend some time with Lizzy this weekend. Besides, you haven't seen much of your friends for the past few months." He looked at me as if I were a winning lottery ticket. Pleased, but dubious of his good fortune. Fair enough. I don't often respond to that request in quite that unselfish a fashion.
As for the wedding and reception themselves: They came together amazingly well. Amazingly well! My two minor complaints about that day are that 1) my daughter was such a wet blanket, and 2) the staff of the inn was actually a bit overzealous about cleaning up. Every time I put down a drink, it was whisked away. Grrr. But those are teeny tiny things. We felt so blessed, by God and by our families and friends, and felt such an (often uncharacteristic) sense of joy all around us, and the event, that day. I found myself wishing that I had been a guest at the wedding, instead of IN the wedding. I had been told repeatedly what a blur the day will be, how little chance we'll get to have deep conversations, or eat anything, etc., but I didn't expect ... so little chance to stop and take things in. I can relate to my friend, the Mrs., when she says she hopes to relive her lovely event of last year when she goes to other weddings. Weddings have always been an occasion of deep stock-taking and introspection for me. (unless I'm the bride) :) And there's nothing like settling the entire bill the very next day to rub off a bit of the glow. But I know myself -- I absorb things very slowly. I have to process things for a long time. As I might have said before (and I hope Lizzy never reads this), I didn't even feel like I wanted to be a mom for, oh, the first year or so of my child's life. In a sense, I mean. So it will take me awhile -- let's hope, not the rest of my life -- to make some sense of myself as a married woman, and to put that day into perspective and to truly savor it. The awesome photography will help a great deal.
Two things I have learned, that I hadn't exactly heard before, that would've made the day even better:
1) What you haven't accomplished (programs, favors, etc.) by the end of the day two days before the wedding, just forget about. It's not worth the stress it will cause you.
2) Arrange to have food brought to your room that night -- or bring it yourself. Or be somewhere where it can be obtained. You do not want to be throwing up on your wedding night because you had alcohol and not enough food that day. (sorry to out you, dear!)
3) (which totally DID happen, in my case) Surround yourself with good, capable people -- some of whom have 'gone there before' -- and accept their offers of help. They will save the day.
So many people helped in so many ways, expected and unexpected. Too many to mention. The friend who tried, so hard, to get my daughter calm enough to walk up the aisle, and who ended up carrying her because it was the only way. The friend who saw that the video camera (his) that had been borrowed for the occasion wasn't being put to use, because of a small planning snafu, so he found it and held it up for the entire ceremony because he couldn't find the tripod. The friend who took care of another friend's fussy child so that the child's parents could stand up with the bride and groom. The friends who stayed with my daughter while she slept, in a room up away from the action, so we could enjoy the reception, even though it meant that they couldn't. And on. And on. And on.
We had a pretty nice reception at my aunt's house the following Saturday, as well. And two lovely days in Seattle! I was tired before of the lack of indy-type coffee houses in the greater D.C. area, but now ... man. I am almost ready to give up coffee entirely, in protest.
Almost.
We spent two nights in the MarQueen on Queen Anne, for those of you intimately familiar with Seattle. We swung by Uptown Coffee two or three times -- home of the velvet foam. We saw starfish in the water, from the pier! So wild. We saw Experience Music Project (for Matt), the Sci-Fi Museum (for me), and the Children's Museum (for Guess Who) -- all at Seattle Center. (How did I not know before that Mel Blanc voiced that irritating robot on the original 'Battlestar Galactica'? I hang my head in shame!) We swung through Pike Place, of course. We went to the original Starbucks store (but I didn't buy coffee there. Just a "bearista." I successfully boycotted Starbucks coffee products for our short visit.) Best of all, we found the most awesome little diner I have seen since this kicky little place I used to go in Germany. That was called Cafe Chaos -- this one was called Minnie's Diner, or some such thing (Schuyler or Maggie can correct me). We were just aimlessly wandering one weekday morning, wishing for a greasy spoon-type diner, and this place appeared out of nowhere. The perfect place. We saw the 24-hour sign, and knew we were in for a treat. Throughout our meal -- prepared by the lady who took our order, which for some reason really impresses me -- we heard Seattle grunge music from the '90s. Matt and I were beside ourselves. Fresh-squeezed orange juice. Fresh peaches IN my pancakes. Lizzy had chocolate chip pancakes, with whipped cream and chocolate sauce on top. (hey -- we were on vacation!) So what if the bill came to about $45. Some things are worth it.
And it was the most gorgeous day -- THE most gorgeous day. As if the entire city wanted to seduce Matt and convince him never to return East.
Sigh.
Even our flights were all on time, and we sat together on all of them. There's a first time for everything.
Also -- God bless the inventors of the portable DVD player. GOD BLESS THEM.
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