kdiddy.org

I think it’s safe to say that summer 2014 is finally coming to a close. My kid has been in 7th grade for a few weeks and today the weather had that familiar cool crispness to it. I was initially a little sad to see summer go. We had a hectic-at-times summer but a good one. (Highlights are behind the “Read more” via photo essay.)

I’ve been busy with work/tired from being busy with work. I’ve never been comfortable posting too much about my job (any job) but I’m involved in some Big Things. This is simultaneously enthralling (“I’ve always wanted to be involved in Big Things!”) and terrifying. After particularly stressful days, I find myself thinking/saying things like, “I just want to go be a sister wife somewhere and take care of babies and make jam.” I feel terrible about this. For one, it’s not like that line of work is easier. (Plus, I would manage to turn it into The Most High Stakes Sister-Wifeing Ever We’re All Gonna Die Fail Which Is Worse I Don’t Know.) Also, I’ve never even made jam so I have no idea if this would even be a viable option.

The husband has been busy with music. His group, Pittsburgh Track Authority, has been doing really well, along with other related projects that he’s involved with/heading up. They’ve been getting a lot of press coverage, locally and nationally, and they’ve been DJing all over the place. It’s all very exciting.

The kid has been busy hanging out with friends, hanging out with grandparents, etc. I was upset the last week or so of summer vacation because I felt like I had barely seen him and it’s not like he’s going to be looking to spend less time with friends and more time with me as he gets older. I’ve been pushing our Great Race training because it’s 40 or so minutes that are just for us. It’s just unfortunate that we spend them huffing and puffing and figuring out how to avoid running up this one horrible hill by our house.

This was all kind of exacerbated when we went to see Boyhood a few weeks ago, which I loved. Richard Linklater gets a pass from me on certain aspects of movies that would otherwise bother me. I don’t know. He does the meandering-thoughts-and-experiences-of-not-extraordinary-people thing so well. It was very striking to watch a story unfold over time with the same people, especially, of course, the boy at the center of it.

My kid is still very much a kid, but he’s really looking forward to growing up and experiencing all of the failures and successes of becoming an adult. I get that and I don’t immediately tell him to just enjoy being a kid, “because being an adult is so much harder.” I don’t really believe that. Being a kid is easier only in mechanical ways that mostly have to do with money and being a candidate for blame. He seems to really be looking forward to the experiences that he’ll have, though I’ve cautioned him not to set his expectations too high. Parties and whatnot are never as epic as they are in the movies. “You’ll have fun, I promise,” I tell him. “But nobody has the time or energy for a drunken odyssey.”

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I’m going to go ahead and open myself up to some eye-rolls, but I love Justin Timberlake. Outside of my immediate circle of friends, the opinions that I’ve seen expressed about him in my social networks online have ranged from amused derision to downright venomous hatred (which, honestly, get a life). But musically, he’s definitely one of my favorites and I also really admire how his “brand” is marketed. Branding isn’t something that I’m necessarily an expert in, but I know a bit about it. In my opinion, few artists have navigated the necessary evils of the music industry as deftly as he has. And this makes me like him even more, as silly as that may be. I just really admire people who are able to do their jobs really well.

Anyway, my favorite track off of his new album is “Mirrors.” I don’t think it’s necessarily the best song on the album, but I love listening to it because I love how it conveys a particular level of grown up. Timberlake is not old. Far from it. He knows he has a lot of life and experience and wisdom to come, but he’s old enough to be able to reflect on his past mistakes and take at least a partial survey of where he is.

Something that had kind of frustrated me about popular music the last few years was how there didn’t seem to be any delineation between what was for kids and what was for grown ups. When I was a kid, I liked stuff that was definitely geared toward my age group, but I was also aware of (and liked) music that seemed very mature, like Sade and Anita Baker, two artists who I LOVE now as an adult. Recently, I felt like everything was a weird mixture of immaturity and couldn’t really get into it. But Timberlake has emerged from his 20s and entered into his marriage with both peace and preparation for what comes next.

The song “Mirrors” is long and at the end transitions into practically a different song altogether, with the hypnotic chant of, “You are, you are, the love of my life,” that serves as the background for his gentle plea to his wife to get home.

It’s that mention of “home” that I think gets me. Part of why I hadn’t been writing here very much is because things have been really good at home. Like, really, really good. In fact, I don’t think the husband and I have ever been this happy. Today, we’ve been married seven years. June 17, 2006 was definitely one of the happiest days of my life, but I don’t know that it can compare to June 17, 2013. It’s the same date but with so many good and bad days behind it, so many rough patches that have led us to where we are now. I would be naive if I thought that things would always be great from now on. But knowing that we’ve made it through so far is encouraging.

The video for “Mirrors” depicts the tale of a couple spanning many years, supposedly based on the relationship of Timberlake’s grandparents. I love this element, that shows the couple looking to the past for wisdom even in their old age, knowing what they’ve accomplished and when they’ve failed and being able to enjoy being with each other.

I love having a love story. I love that we’ll be writing it until the end.

I am on some like anti-NaBloPoMo business. I am, however, doing a photo-a-day “challenge” (sarcastic air-quotes because it’s not like it’s a triathlon or something) over on yon InstaGram, which I’ve recently become addicted to because oh, hello, 2010. Nice of you to show up.

Backing up just a bit, I would like to inform all of you that I am now 34 years old as of October 31st and am now very mature.

Also on October 31st was Halloween, which was kind of anti-climactic since trick-or-treating was postponed. But having it on Saturday was kind of nice since I didn’t have to rush home from work. My kid went as D.M.C. from Run D.M.C., which a few people actually got, despite the fact that he needs to work on his ability to look hard.

Anyway, moving on… (more…)

Hurricane Sandy is having the side effect of extending Halloween. The city has postponed trick-or-treating to Saturday evening. I can’t say that I’m upset, since I really like Halloween and am happy to be able to fit a few more specific activities in while it’s still technically the season. We haven’t watched many scary movies and our pumpkins are still waiting to be hacked and anthropomorphized. This past Saturday, our neighborhood had the annual parade and the baby debuted his D.M.C. from RUN D.M.C. costume.

He obviously needs to work on his intimidation skills.

Unfortunately, he didn’t win any prizes for his costume. I think it was just too obscure (*coughhipstercough*).

Friday evening, while the baby was at his piano lesson, the husband and I plopped on the couch to unwind. I turned on the TV and was pumped to see that Teen Witch was on. You would think that after nearly 12 years together, there wouldn’t be much that would surprise me about the husband. But I was shocked to learn that he had never seen this masterpiece. But I guess it kind of made sense since, thinking back, all of the girls in my class were always obsessed with that movie and how absurd it was, while all of the boys were fairly ignorant of its existence. I guess something called Teen Witch doesn’t really appeal to boys in their early adolescence? Weird.

At first, the husband was pretty dismissive, but I advised him that he needed to treat this event like the paradigm shift that is. Life can be broken up into to two periods: before Teen Witch and after Teen Witch. There’s just so much wonderful in that movie. Like, where does Louise even find those frumpy clothes to begin with? Why is her little brother…like that? Oh, holy wow, the inappropriate harassment from her English teacher? How Brad is just not quite Tom Cruise but tries so hard to squeeze it out of himself? Remembering how most of the girls gave the side-eye to Louise and Brad’s trip to the abandoned house? NO red flags, Louise? None? And why the hell would you ever take your shoes off in a place like that? The quintessential synchronized dance sequence at the prom? And the kind of completely amazing original soundtrack? And how watching it now I think the whole thing is actually just a metaphor (of course) for teenage drinking and/or drug use?

As we were watching it, I said, “There’s this scene…I can’t remember if it already happened or not. No…wait…here it is. Just so you know? This is the greatest thing ever.” And if you’re familiar with Teen Witch, I think you know that I’m referring to this:

After that final, “Top THAT,” from Polly, the husband and I sat in silence for a moment before he finally whispered, “That was awesome.” Halloween truly is the most magical time of the year.

My kid is a source of many wonderful quotes that range from adorable naivety to developing wisdom to just plain adorable and entertaining. In the past 24 hours, he’s had two that I need to document so that I don’t ever forget them.

The husband’s band was featured in the Tribune-Review on Sunday, so we had a couple copies on the dining room table. Last night, while the baby was doing his homework, he called out to us, “Hey, some guy is planning a comeback in Afghanistan?” The husband and I were both silent for a minute, trying to figure out what he could possibly mean. “What are you talking about, dude?” we asked. “It says here in this newspaper that some guy named Al…Kuh-eee-duh? Is doing something in Afghanistan.”

You know, that guy Al. Al Qaeda. (Note to self: brush up on current events.)

This morning, on the way to the bus stop, the baby and I were talking about the basketball team that he just joined at school. He was excitedly chattering away about the PE teacher who coaches them. “He’ll do this thing where he announces the starting lineup just like at a real basketball game. When I came out, he said, ‘AT 4 FOOT 9, FROM THE BRONX…!'” I chuckled, and the baby continued, “Pfft…I’m barely 4 foot 8!”

The husband and I are at an age where we’re attending weddings fairly regularly. We had three this year and have at least one on deck next year. I can’t say that I’m too irritated about it. I really like weddings. In general, everyone is high off of the love fumes of the event and has a great time.

Of course, such blessed events are always so much more special when the marrying couple is dear to your heart. On Saturday, one of the husband’s bandmates, Preslav, married his long-time girlfriend Erin, and we were on hand to witness the union.

An interesting fact about the husband’s band is that all three members have been with their significant others for 12 years and all three initially got together with said significant others within six months of each other in 2000. The husband and I got married in 2006. Adam and Emily got married in 2009. We were thrilled when Preslav and Erin announced last year that they were finally going to make it official in 2012.

Pittsburgh Track Authority: the luckiest guys alive since 2000.

While the husband and I have known Preslav and Adam since Jesus was a boy, the better halves hadn’t had much opportunity to get to know each other until Pittsburgh Track Authority really started to take shape. Then Emily, Erin, and I had a chance to interact more often. We had the common bond of being in long (LONG) term relationships from a fairly young age and supporting in every possible way our respective dudes through their musical odysseys. Getting to know all of them better made me realize that this little group of people was pretty special. Musically, I think they’re on the edge of something big. Personally, it’s always so cool to realize that you’ve stumbled upon some folks who get you in ways that you didn’t even know you needed to be understood.

The husband and I arrived at the Mattress Factory about a half hour before everything was supposed to begin bearing a speaker for the DJ and cookies for the reception. We mingled for a bit before finding our seats. The place looked amazing and as the ceremony began I was blown away by how beautiful everything was. Preslav and Erin were gorgeous and their actual ceremony was short enough that I didn’t get a chance to start sobbing inappropriately like I usually do. I watched these two soulmates promise themselves to each other and grinned at how nervously excited they were. Preslav fidgeted with Erin’s hands and Erin let a few tears escape.

The reception was just one of the best I’ve been to. Everything was so relaxed and just felt like a really special party. Preslav and I noted that everyone looked so nice and I commented that it was probably one of the best looking weddings I’ve seen. Our friend Jim was DJing and he’s especially skilled at knowing just what to play. It was so refreshing to be amongst a group of people who weren’t nervous or shy about dancing, but who were just happy to be there celebrating this wonderful event. Dance music nerds have the most fun always.

The cops came by several times to warn us about the noise but I was glad that the music was loud enough to drown out the fact that I was singing along to everything, especially when Jim played one of my favorite songs ever:

I would never claim to be wise about love and relationships. Each one is so different and has its own unique set of challenges that it’s impossible to even glimpse the contents of anyone else’s heart. But I know what it is to be in the presence of the real thing. I can often step away and see it in the husband and I, and I could definitely feel it all around us on Saturday. If I had to take a guess, I’d say that the secret to making love work is to grab that moment and never let go of it, allow it to always be present in plenty and in want, in sickness and health, in good times and bad. If you follow that, you can never go wrong.

Right after Erin and Preslav were presented for the first time as husband and wife, Preslav fumbled for a second and asked Erin which way they were going. Erin replied, “Straight ahead.” We all laughed at the cute blunder. But to me it was the perfect way to take their first married steps.

Straight ahead. And if you get lost, just ask the amazing person walking right beside you.

Congratulations Erin and Preslav, October 13, 2012

So it seems like the tea tree oil treatment is helping my face situation, though I think it might have something to do with the fact that it requires me to wash my face more. I don’t know.

I was really hoping to embed that Proactiv commercial featuring Puff Daddy where he says that it “moisturizes my situation…it preserves my sexy,” but apparently he took some kind of legal action and deprived the internet of that joy. Asshole.

The oil itself has a really strong scent that makes my eyes water, which gives me that satisfying, “It hurts therefore it must be working” experience.

It’s also a super effective contraceptive method. When I put it on, the husband goes, “AUUUUGGGHHHH WHY DO YOU SMELL LIKE THAT?”

Speaking of the husband, his birthday was yesterday. The baby and I gave him a book of Kurt Vonnegut interviews and some bougie popcorn. I helped him to devour one of the boxes of Fleur de Sel Caramel and guuuuuhhhhhhh it was so good. We’re going to the mother-in-law’s tonight for his official birthday dinner. I made these Vanilla Chai Cupcakes with Cinnamon Buttercream Frosting. I hope they’re good.

I’m running the Great Race this weekend and I’m really nervous about it in a frustratingly non-specific way. It’s the 10k, which is a longer race than I’ve ever run before, and I’ve only run a 10k distance exactly once. I think I’m scared that I won’t be able to finish and am dreading the shame that I will inflict upon myself if that happens. Sounds healthy, doesn’t it? But it’s clarifying for me why exactly I don’t do too many races. They kind of ruin my weekend. Aside from having to get up at an ungodly hour on Sunday, I have to physically coddle myself on Friday and Saturday. Usually by Friday evening I’m ready to stay up really late and whatnot. But this weekend I have to spend prime goofing off hours sleeping and hydrating. I really wish the husband was into running so that we could do it together. Woe!

When I got my very own rosacea diagnosis, the dermatologist did not say, “Yes, the persistent acne and blotchy skin is from rosacea…which, by the way, is a really nice way of saying, ‘You have tiny bugs shitting in your pores.'” He stopped at “rosacea.” If it hadn’t been for the internet, I would have spent the rest of my life slathering expensive prescription cream on my face, blissfully unaware of the horrors taking place on my microscopic levels. So, thanks Buzzfeed. I guess.

This is one of my nose mites, Fred. Say hello to the nice people, Fred.

And, you know, I long ago accepted that we’re all just piles of bacteria and nastiness moving through a soup of bugs and muck, but at least I previously hadn’t been thinking about our face bugs shaking hands when I kissed someone on the cheek.

Over the weekend, I launched a campaign to get the situation under control, which included ordering tea tree oil, which is supposed to help, and new mite-resistant pillow coverings. Then I announced that I was going to be washing our pillows.

“I saw it on Pinterest. What could go wrong?” I bellowed. I used these instructions, which are informative but I must warn you contains the concepts of pillows basically being sponges that double in weight over a year or so due to us seeping all of our face bug shit and life oil into them and oh wait I’m vomiting, brb.

And actually, the whole process was going just fine. I washed my pillow, the baby’s pillow, and a few spares that we keep for guests, and they all came out fluffier and much, much fresher than they went in. The husband’s pillow, for some reason, came out of the washing process smelling like a dog who had spent the afternoon swimming in the Allegheny. (For reference, my dad and I swam in the Allegheny once when I was a kid and my mom wouldn’t let us near the house for like a day and a half.)

I attempted to rectify the situation by washing it again with some baking soda and vinegar to no avail. So the husband is out trying to find a pillow today, probably with a stiff neck. He called me a little while ago to report that Target only had two down pillows that were both really expensive. He called me to update me on this in quite colorful language and I think he heard my sheepish grin over the phone. My defense of his pillow’s demise have ranged from honest regret (“I’m soooo sorry. Really. My intentions were good. I just wanted your pillow to stop eating your face,”) to butthurt (“MY INTENTIONS WERE GOOD, DUDE, WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT FROM ME? I JUST WANTED YOUR PILLOW TO STOP EATING YOUR FACE. EVERYONE ELSE’S PILLOWS WERE FINE. WHY DOES YOURS HAVE TO BE DIFFICULT? YOU AND YOUR PILLOW ARE EXACTLY ALIKE YOU DESERVE EACH OTHER,”).

So, hey. How’s your summer going? I feel like we haven’t really talked about it much.

Ours is pretty good, but a little too busy for my tastes. I mean, we’re busy in a good way. We go a lot of places and do a lot of fun things, but I need a lot of time to just be at home and be an introvert, which is annoying because that is no fun for anyone and I have, like, a family that wants to hang out with me and I’m like, “No, I need to sit here and watch My Big Fat American Gypsy Wedding or I’m going to cry in public.”

I was beginning to feel like I hadn’t actually been home in months and the resultant disorder was beginning to really upset me. Understand, I’m a messy person and generally exist in a moderate amount of chaos, but I do have a breaking point that is somewhere well below Hoarders.

Generally not how I operate.

But last Friday I had an unexpected day off from work with nothing planned. I was excited because that meant that I would be able to get some stuff done around my house. The only problem with that plan was that it was 100 degrees on Friday. And we don’t have air-conditioning.

I was determined, however, and strapped an ice pack to my neck so that I could vacuum and tidy up and fold laundry with at least some degree of comfort. I ended up sweating profusely anyway but at least my entryway was clean and free of winter coats finally.

The sister-in-law was in town and on Saturday she agreed to help me make a second attempt at that goddamned cake. This time things went slightly better, but omens began raining down upon us when a thunderstorm showed up and the lights began to flicker just as I was getting ready to put the cake layers in the (electric) oven.

“I just need the power to hold out for like 15 minutes,” I pleaded.

Sure enough, 15 minutes and 2 seconds later, the power went out. The cake layers were fine but we needed to wait for a bit to make the icing. The main issue there was that it was still 100 degrees and we no longer had the ceiling fans to move the swampiness around. It was gross.

When the power returned and we had made the icing, we packed up various cake elements and headed to my mother-in-law’s for dinner, swimming, and air-conditioned cake assembly. Infuriatingly enough, even with the air-conditioning, the cake was a total mess again. Though the individual components were all pretty delicious. I know that I can’t really get too angry, considering that I stupidly attempted the cake on two of the hottest days of the year. Feh. Baking failures really gnaw at me.

Onward.

We watched the 1990 Total Recall on Sunday night and I remarked during the part where Ahnuld and Melina are sucked out into Mars and their eyes are bulging out that that was what the sister-in-law and I looked like during the power outage.

Sucked.

We were amused at how prophetic that movie’s vision of the future was: hand blenders, tablet computers, TVs integrated into the wall, controller-less video game exercising, 3D ultrasound. Well, that last bit is what I kept thinking about when Kuato came onscreen. I’ve always found those 3D images of in utero babies more than a little odd. I mean, they’re cool and all and perhaps I’m just jealous that those weren’t around when I was pregnant 800 years ago, but the resemblance is uncanny to me.

(I really wanted to post a picture of 3D ultrasound here but knowing my luck someone would be like, “That’s my baby!” and I’d have to leave the internet for suggesting that someone’s fetus resembled an underground mutant rebel leader of the future. Like that’s not a huge compliment. God.)

Anyway, the heat finally broke the other day and it’s been pretty nice. I think tonight the husband and I will go to the drive-in to see the Magic Mike/Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunterdouble-feature because obviously. And I will maybe make some moves on him.

This encapsulates our interactions so perfectly I can’t even stand it.

As of yesterday, the husband and I have been married six years. Yesterday was also Father’s Day, and I thought about how lucky I was as a mother to already know going into our marriage what kind of a father he would be.

Added bonus of your unplanned pregnancy? Built-in ringbearer for your nuptials.

A few seconds after that picture was snapped, the baby grabbed my hand and kissed it and the hearts of everyone at or near our wedding exploded. The grounds keepers were a little annoyed. But it perfectly illustrated a point that I made during my vows (where “made” = “blubbered in a most undignified manner”): everything that is good in me and everything that is good in the husband is manifested in that perfect little boy. I didn’t think I could feel more loved at that moment, and then the baby, this weird little person that the husband and I created, took it over the top.

Of course, not one of the three of us is perfect. But I think we would all agree that there is some serious love that gets us through our less graceful moments.

I think about the husband a lot, sometimes when I’m pissed at him about something, or when some chore or task is weighing on my mind: “I need to remember to tell the husband to get x, y, and z and then we need to deal with [insert intimidating grown-up task here]…” But a lot of times I just kind of…daydream? About him and the baby and about how much I love them and how so thoroughly in love I am with my husband. And I feel really fortunate. Someone who was asking me about my wedding a few weeks ago positively marveled at the fact that we were still very much in love after six years. I was puzzled, since six years isn’t very long. But considering the various yucky turns our life together has taken, we could have very well taken it out on each other, instead of relying on each other for strength.

One of the scenes that I love most from any movie is the scene from Big Fish in which Ed sees Sandra for the first time and he describes how time stopped.

No relationship can really be boiled down to any cliche, but love at first sight is a cliche that I think deserves some unpacking. I don’t remember when I saw the husband for the first time ever, but there have definitely been moments since then where I saw him for the first time in a new way and fell in love with him again in such a way that required time to slow down for a second or two. “First sight” doesn’t have to be the first time you ever see someone and it doesn’t have to be just one occasion. For me, it means looking at him with eyes that I didn’t have yesterday and with a heart made stronger by certain experiences and wisdom that we wouldn’t have gained without each other.