I'm an Old Lady Now?

So, I can excuse the few instances of "excuse me, ma'am" that I've gotten since I hit my mid-twenties a few (several) years ago. I can excuse not being carded anymore at the ABC store or when buying beer. And I can even forgive my cousin's 8 year old daughter who answered "um, 40?" when she was asked how old I looked. She doesn't know any better, bless her heart.

I work in an industry where I can see people and their birthdates all the time to compare, and while sometimes I think "wow, she does not look a day over 26" when I see a particularly well-kept middle ager, a lot of times I am surprised to look down and see someone younger than myself who looks pretty ragged. For reference, I am 31 (and a half). And I think I look pretty spot-on early thirties.

But recently two occurances have happened that make me think that the stress of life as a mom must really be dragging me down. First, there was that phone call a few weeks ago from a friend at church who needed advice. Now, I'm very flattered that anyone looks up to me when it comes to spiritual/marital advice, truly I am. And I'm very happy to lend an ear and the best advice I can muster when someone trusts me enough to share a tough life situation with me. Especially for this particular person, who I have grown close to.

But the dagger really felt deep when she said, "I mean, I'm so young, I'm only 29, and I really am glad I have an older woman who has experienced so much to confide these things in." My husband can attest that for one of the few times in my life, I was rendered speechless for a moment, almost like someone had thrown a bucket of ice water on me and it jumbled my poor, senile brain. How old does she think I am? was the question on my mind, then and now. I'm scared to ask her.

I had just recovered from this incident when my dear loving husband told me as we were lying in bed last night, "I was looking through so many old photographs from when we first started dating and our honeymoon, and man we look so much older now," he paused briefly before continuing, "I mean, you've aged a lot more than me in that time, but..." ICE WATER IN THE FACE AGAIN. As soon as I could speak without spitting fire at him I said, "yeah, you can file that statement right under 'things you should never, ever say to your wife under any circumstance." He needed more explanation. So I said, "babe, it's right there with 'yes, sweetheart, those pants make your ass look 10X bigger'."

After he tried arguing with me for a while, I finally just had to say "Well, fine then...the only reason you haven't aged as much as me is because all of our friends have told you for 10 years that you look like a 40 year old."

That "don't go to bed angry" rule? Yeah, not so much last night.

A Post That I May Get Into Trouble For.

My husband is a smart, smart man.

When it comes to math.

We always joke that when our children need homework help, he will be responsible for making sure our kids can do algebra and chemistry (okay, anything past the multiplication tables, essentially) and I can do the English thing with them. I'm pretty sure he hasn't read a whole book since maybe the tenth grade. I've seen him start a few non-fiction books, and by start I mean he gets about a half a page in before he looks up at me and says "explain again how this is supposed to be enjoyable?" He likes to pull me out of my book at the beach...I'm the type that could spent an entire vacation reading despite the 45 minutes or so it takes to eat each day. Drives him nuts.

Now, despite this hate-affair with the English language, hubby is quite impressive with his grammar and sentence structure. We have a game where he sends me emails of "people he knows" that have written something along the lines of:

"Dear employees,

Do not forget Apprceiation day on friday. We will be having hamburgers and there is a sign up sheet. Posted on the wall of the breakroom.

Thanks you, _______"

And this is actually better written than most of the emails that we deem laugh-worthy.

However, hubs has a slight failing when it comes to large words. Specifically, what they mean and how to use them. In the middle of a disagreement about my level of reality-TV obsession, we have had this conversation:

"You're eclectic," he sneers.
"Um, what do you mean?"
"Well, you're just very firm in what you want to watch and you don't really waver."
"I don't think you know what that word means."
"What word?"
"Eclectic."
"Sure I do."
"Well, you aren't really using it correctly, there," I sigh.
"Sure. It means you're weird for wanting to watch this crap."
"Not really. You might mean eccentric instead"
"Well, whatever. You're...pedantic."

That one, he may have gotten right without meaning to.

This post brought to you by Word Up, Yo!

Thank You For Breaking My Heart

This is a very, very personal post. One my husband might or might not want to read. I mean, I'd like for him to stick with it for the eventual outcome, but the beginning might be difficult. In any case, here goes...

I was in love with a boy once about 8 years ago. No, 9...I can't remember exactly. It was long enough ago that sometimes things that happened pre-him seem closer in my memory. Anyway, we'll call him Michael because today's The Office desk calendar quote comes from another Michael. Michael lived six hours away, and I met him through one of my very best friends, who is still a good friend. They went to high school together and kept in touch, and one night I was hanging at her place and she happened to be on the phone with him. She had to pee, put me on the phone with him, and the next 11 months were history.

Our relationship was normally intense for people in their early 20's. I would go visit, we would play house, and everything just felt symbiotically right. We enjoyed each other's company. We read literature and the newspaper on the porch in the morning and went out to drink beer and play pool at night. The weekend would end, I would come home, I would miss him, I would always wonder whether he missed me as much. This went on for about 9 months, during which time I gradually began to feel like maybe he wasn't as emotionally invested as I was. Michael was a very outgoing yet private person. Everything needed to be face-value with him...there were no hidden agendas, there was no secret meaning to his words. Although my husband cringes when I say this, he was probably one of the most intelligent people I have ever met. In retrospect, I felt very threatened by that and probably never really let myself be myself with Michael. I always wanted to impress him, and that's not necessarily what he wanted.

Looking back, I was probably just smart enough for Michael. He didn't mind laughing with me if I made a dumb statement, as long as I was willing to laugh at myself. That's part of what I have with my husband that some of my previous relationships were missing: that feeling that no matter what I do in front of him, I can laugh it off or cry on his shoulder. That's the experience that a 30-something has that 20-somethings are often missing. No more embarrassment when I forget how to convert cups to ounces or can't remember if Ed McMahon is dead or not. But ten years ago, that side of me was missing. If I made a mistake, one of two things happened: I got embarrassed, sensitive, and withdrawn, or I got haughty and defensive. (OK, honesty check: I still sometimes do those things, but not nearly as often and I'd like to think I get over them more quickly.)

Rgeardless, as much as I desperately wanted the relationship to work out, I guess God had other plans. I was second in Michael's life to one thing, and that was his career. He was very, very proud of where he had gotten, and made it very clear that while he cared for me, I was not his priority. Looking back with the perspective of an older woman, I realize that that's OK. He was 24. What 24 year old is thinking about his long-distance girlfriend more than his perfect-fit, lucrative job? But as a 22 year old in near-idolitrous love, it hurt to know that I would never be more than second in this man's life. So when Michael moved to California for work and did not entertain the idea of me moving with him (because believe me, I did entertain it whether I was honest about that or not), I stayed home. I stayed home and cried every night to my best friend and his roommate, searching for an outlet for that pain and hurt.

And in the end, it all turned out just as it should have. Because that roommate that was there every night I visited my friend to talk/drown/cry away my pain? That is the man that became my husband. The father of my wonderful, beautiful, intelligent child. My partner in life, my lawn boy, my other half. Equally intelligent as I am in the most complimentary ways and able to make me laugh more than anyone I've ever known.

So thank you Michael, for not asking me to move in with you. For not putting me first. For breaking my heart. For making me recognize the parts of myself that needed a different kind of fulfillment than you could ever provide. That's exactly what you were supposed to do all along.

How I Picked a Fight With My Husband Because the Baby Spit Up.

So, I met a friend for lunch today. A new friend, as in, a blogger friend from online that I was meeting for the first time in "real life". I was very excited for said meeting, as we have "known" each other online for some time and well, to be honest, from the moment I "met" her I just knew we'd have a lot in common.

And we did: we both had to pull our hair into ponytails to eat, we both like cheese on our burgers, and she let the first "f"-bomb fly about 4 1/2 minutes into our conversation, which put me totally at ease. In any case, the point of my story is first impressions are important and I actually cared how I presented myself, so I decided against the still-in-use maternity top even though I am now 7 pounds lighter than when I got pregnant and put on what I consider a nicer top and shrug.

And then my husband woke up late. So, at 7:12, with exactly 3 minutes left before we had to pack into the car, I was holding Jacob and preparing his bottles (after I had already nursed him, changed him, dressed him, and kept him from sticking anything sharp or poisonous in his mouth all morning) while my husband was STILL GETTING HIMSELF READY OVER 40 MINUTES LATER, and the kid puked. All down the front of my shirt, all over his own outfit. What the what? Seriously, he hasn't spit up in months, and this is the moment he picks to let it all out? So unfair, right? So what did I do?

I yelled at my husband. Poor guy happened to make it to the kitchen within seconds of the incident and said, "do you need any help?" I looked him with sharp, sharp daggers instead of eyes and said, "yeah, like RIGHT NOW, and five minutes ago too, by the way." He had to take Jacob upstairs to change him while I frantically "washed" my shirt in the sink. And I'll admit it now, it was totally mean and uncalled for, and not at all the kind of wife I want to be, but we all have those moments. In the car he said (this is him apologizing for not helping) "I don't know how I wasn't ready on time today. I got up at the same time yesterday and had 15 extra minutes to fix the bottles."

What can I say? I've always been a beast in the morning anyway. I am not a gal that wakes up smiling and waiting for the birds to come and visit. I need a pee, a shower, and a good iced coffee before I'm really up and at it, and he is well aware of that. I have a friend that always says to her husband, "you knew what you were getting when you married me, so you shouldn't be surprised by it." I guess that's how I feel. Hopefully tomorrow will be a better commute.

A Love Story...

This is my nightly 20 minute vigil to make sure that Jacob is going to sleep and not crying or fussing, and this survey was posted on our message boards, so I thought it would be fun to fill it out. It's about my husband.

how long have you know each other: I think we met nearly ten years ago, but we really started spending more time together eight years ago.

where did you meet: At his apartment. He was my best guy friends' roommate for long enough that my friend's wife and I refer to them as "life partners".

love at first sight: Oh hell no! I thought he was a computer geek, and he thought I was loud and obnoxious. We were both right.

where did you go on your first date: Well, it depends on which date we're referring to. There were many nights spent visiting the roommate at his part time Pizza Hut job, but we were really just friends then. For Christmas the first year we were friends, he got me ballet tickets, roses, and I bought a new dress. I'd say that's a date, especially since I'm pretty sure we slept in the same bed afterwards.

how long did you date before he popped the question: Four years! Although there was a very sweet "secret" engagement done about 6 months in with a gumball machine ring.

how did he pop the question: The long story is a secret, and involves an unsuccessful first try. The real story involves a December carriage ride around our historic area downtown, with a stop at Krispy Kreme to warm up. I knew he was going to propose and was just waiting for the right moment. I remember sitting in KK looking at him, thinking "this feels right, I hope he does it now" just before he asked. He flashed the ring under the table because there were some pretty shady characters at the next table and well, our getaway car only goes about 5 miles an hour, so he didn't want everyone to know we were packing diamonds. We asked a lady to take our picture, she asked if we were from out of town. She laughed nervously when we told her it was a special occasion and said, "At Krispy Kreme?!" in a strange way. It was perfect. Afterwards he was going to take me to a lovely restaurant downtown but I wasn't hungry, so we ate hot dogs at Target.

when did you get married (if not married yet, date set?): November 5, 2006. Our third anniversary is just around the corner.

And our beautiful son is sleeping peacefully.