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Nine Memories

Written on July 14, 2010 by Jennifer in Lucky Me, marriage

Today Tate and I celebrate our nine year anniversary.

On the morning of July 14, 2001, I woke up very early, unable to go back to sleep due to the anticipation of this long awaited day. I went down to the hotel lobby to have breakfast. My dad happened to be in the lobby, so he and I ate breakfast together. Sitting there with just my dad before my big day is one of my favorite memories.

Later that morning, I saw my grandpa. He asked me if I knew that July 14th was also my grandmother’s birthday, she’d passed away when I was just a young child. I hadn’t known that our wedding date was also her birthday, making the day that much more special.

My dress made me feel like a princess. I wish I had a reason to wear it again.

When the doors of the church opened, Tate looked like he was going to cry. I’ve asked him many times since if it was because of my breathtaking beauty or his nerves…of course, he always answers correctly. It was all I could do not to ugly cry as I walked down the aisle.

At our reception, I told the DJ that I did not want to hear any music by AC/DC or Rush, because I detest those bands. It didn’t matter if one of the reception guests requested to hear one of their songs, he was supposed to tell them that he’d add it to his list but then never get to it. He respected my wishes. Smart DJ.

We served a buffet dinner, which sadly I barely remember. I know I ate, I know that we had prime rib, but I don’t even recall if it was good. So sad to not even remember the food. I love reminiscing about food. What’s even more sad though, is that I only got one bite of wedding cake. I told Tate prior to the wedding that if he smeared cake in my face, he’d pay dearly. Tate respected my wishes. Smart Tate.

We decided that getting a limo to drive us to our hotel where we’d spend our wedding night would be silly. To save money, my mom drove us to our hotel. I remember laughing as she dropped us off, knowing what we were getting ready to go do for the VERY FIRST TIME. *ahem*

Tate carried me over the threshold. Thinking about that still makes my heart flutter.

I ate a Wendy’s double hamburger with everything except onions for lunch with my hair all made up in my veil.

A wedding is just one day out of a marriage, but ours was a wonderful day to begin our marriage. I had no doubt in my mind that I was making the right choice. I still have no doubt that Tate is my one and only.

***********

Originally published two years ago with seven memories, for our seventh anniversary and last year with eight memories.

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The Blue Spatula

Written on May 31, 2010 by Jennifer in hole-y matrimony, marriage, Men?

Tate and I seem to have the same fights over and over, sort of like some jerk recorded us arguing almost twelve years ago and presses play every few days. Most of these fights are ridiculous and minor, but when you have the same fight enough times, it eventually feels like a MAJOR EVENT.

Three day weekends seem to magnify these MAJOR EVENTS minor fights. Stupid three day weekends and their empty promises of relaxation and family harmony. Hmph. As if.

We own a blue, heat resistant spatula that we always use to cook eggs. My wonderful husband almost always cleans the kitchen after these special weekend breakfasts, which is, yes, wonderful. Except that it’s not wonderful when I’m emptying the dishwasher later and find that the blue spatula is still covered in egg. This has happened every time he’s been in charge of “cleaning” since we got the spatula as a wedding gift in 2001. I’ve tried explaining (Tate would say nagging. Potato, pot-ah-to) that the blue spatula must be free of all egg debris prior to it’s insertion in the dishwasher otherwise my head explodes and I become unable to fulfill my wifely duties.

There has been no change in his behavior. I’m starting to think my tactic isn’t working.

Tate is addicted to soft beverages. Every morning I find at least two empty cans of Pepsi One sitting suspiciously around the house. It’s suspicious because I’ve told (nagged?) Tate that when he leaves his empties around the house for me to throw away, I feel like an unappreciated, yet well-trained monkey. I’ve tried just leaving the soda cans out for him to throw away, but I just end up having twice as many to throw away the next morning. Threats and passive aggressive text messages go ignored.

Whenever I get on my phone or on the computer, or if I’m immersed in a good book, I’ve been told that I completely block out everything around me. According to Tate, I’m very good at appearing to listen, nodding, even responding appropriately. I don’t even realize that we’ve had a conversation until later when Tate brings up something that we allegedly talked about. (I swear this is entrapment!) The disagreement almost always turns into a full-on argument about the time I spend clicking away on my phone/computer and I get defensive and Tate gets all, “why are you so defensive,” and then I get all screamy about the importance of Words with Friends.

Every night after the kids are finally bathed, read to, tucked in, watered, supplied with specific, hard to find bedtime toys, kissed, kissed again, hugged, hugged again, Tate and I settle on the couch to battle over the remote control and television volume. Whomever is in charge of the remote control seems to feel that the television show chosen is the only thing worth watching at that moment. Honestly, neither of us is usually very willing to consider the other’s viewing interests. I like to watch House Hunters at a nice, low volume. Tate likes to watch Shoot Em’ Up gun shows at blaring levels. I’m sure he’d say that I watch Crap and Drivel at ear deafening volumes, and that he watches Important Educational Shows about Home Defense at a comfortable volume. (He’s completely wrong, but whatever.)

I’m looking forward to the day when I’ll laugh about how ridiculous these tiffs are, which will probably be when I’m old and rich enough after winning the lottery to afford someone to come in and clean up after Tate, and deaf enough not to care that Tate loves to watch the TV with the volume as high as it will go.

What ongoing fights do you have with your spouse/significant other/partner/[insert politically correct terminology here]?

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Happy dances

Written on April 28, 2010 by Jennifer in Little Monkeys, marriage, Men?, Mommydom, Pictures, Quirky Me

Twice a year, my husband leaves his family to venture into the great outdoors to hunt for wild game. As he loads the truck with all his gear, I tell him how much I’ll miss him and implore him to drive safely. With Ella in my arms and Carson wrapped around my legs, we stand by the door, waving as he drives away. I wipe away the children’s tears and reassure them that Daddy will come home soon. Then we shut the door and I do a happy dance.

I love my husband, but I really love when he goes on his hunting and gathering missions. There was a time that I resented his trips, leaving me ALL ALONE with two small babies! I’d stew the whole week he was gone in anger and bitterness, and when he finally returned I’d practically knock him over as I grabbed my purse and keys as I rushed out the door to my getaway vehicle.

Now that the kids are older and decidedly EASIER, it’s really not so bad for Tate to be gone for a week.

While he was gone, we ate Bagel Bites and Mac n’ Cheese for dinner. (The Mac n’ Cheese was at least ORGANIC processed food.) The dryer became my closet because I never bothered to put any laundry away. Toys were strewn about the house. We watched movies and ate popcorn almost every night. After the kids went to bed I indulged in complete unadulterated laptop devotion.

Tate doesn’t expect that dinner should be served piping hot as soon as he walks in the door from work. He doesn’t care if beds are made, if the house is tidy, or if the laundry is neatly folded and put away. That’s just how we typically live. It’s what I DO on a day to day basis. Tate’s vacations are also my vacations.

By the final day, though, the wrinkled clothes, mess, and diet of processed foods have worn me thin. Tate typically calls throughout the day as he drives the ten hours home, and I find myself actually excited about his return. Also? Slightly panicked.

“Carson! Help! We have to get this house cleaned up before your daddy returns! It looks like a fraternity party gone bad in here!” I yelp as I look around at all of the granola bar packages and empty soda cans.

“Mommy, what’s a fraternity party?”

“Never mind! Just help me clean!”

All the toys somehow find their way back into the toyroom and their respective bins. I turn on the dryer and pray for the wrinkles to be released, then quickly fold the laundry and put it in drawers. The evidence of poor food choices are hidden at the bottom of the trash bin. My legs are de-furred (*wink, wink*).

We stand at the door and wave as Daddy pulls into the driveway. The children practically knock him over as they rush out the door to greet him. Then we come inside and we all do a happy dance for his safe return.

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Three positive pregnancy tests means triplets right? KIDDING. I’m not pregnant. Seriously. I’m not pregnant.

Written on April 12, 2010 by Jennifer in Little Monkeys, Lucky Me, marriage, Mommydom, Pictures

In my recent organizing madness, I tackled my medicine cabinet. Alongside expired Benadryl and An*lpram (what? don’t pretend like you don’t have An*lpram in your medicine cabinet, especially if you’ve ever given birth), I found the pregnancy tests from both Carson and Ella.

I suspect some of you just barfed in your mouth a little because, “OMG THOSE STICKS HAD PEE ON THEM AND I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU’D SAVE THEM!” Well, yes. Yes they did have pee on them, but they also were the first bearers of the best news I ever received. Finding these sticks was such a surprise, even though I knew they were in the medicine cabinet. These three peed-on sticks reminded me of what it was like, finding out that Tate and I would be welcoming a tiny, real, live HUMAN BEING into our family.

The first test I took when I “suspected” I was pregnant with Carson was only barely positive. Actually, I didn’t really suspect I was pregnant, it was more like hopeful, and I took the test earlier than they recommended. The line was so faint that I thought it was possible that there could have been a malfunction with the test. I waited a few (BRUTALLY LONG) days and took a second test that was positive immediately. Tate and I sat on our bed looking at each other and laughing and crying. We could AND we couldn’t believe it.

Then just 10 months later, another gift, another positive pregnancy test. Tate was in the shower while I paced back and forth, the stick in hand. I was almost skipping with delight, but every few seconds I would have a nagging feeling of WHAT HAVE YOU DONE, but mostly there was elation. It makes me sad that I don’t remember exactly how I told Tate, maybe I blurted it out as soon as he got out of the shower…or maybe I showed him the positive stick.

These already fading memories is exactly why I still have these peed-on, semi icky sticks. They are a tangible reminder of those two moments that announced the most amazing, frightening, best things that have or will ever happen to us.

I’m going to put them back in the medicine cabinet so that I can find them and remember all over again.

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We might need a do-over

Written on February 8, 2010 by Jennifer in hole-y matrimony, marriage, Men?, Quirky Me

Oh hi there! I know, I know, it’s been days since I last wrote anything. I attended Blissdom in Nashville and didn’t have a chance to write before leaving. Normally this wouldn’t matter even one, tiny bit, but this time I left up such an angsty post! I had every intention of writing something funny or a posting a cute picture of a kid or ANYTHING ELSE BUT THAT before the conference, but I just didn’t get a chance.

As always, from the very bottom of my heart, THANK YOU for your kind words and for your own personal stories regarding my State of our Marriage and rotten parenting worries. Each of your comments meant such a great deal to me. One in particular, from Rima, ended with a quote that I ADORE and want framed or tattooed somewhere on my body. I’m leaning towards framed rather than tattooed.

“Let everything happen to you – the beauty, the terror. Just keep going, no feeling is final.” ~Rilke

Is that not perfect?! Thank you, Rima, truly.

I took your words and heart felt advice and talked to Tate before leaving for Nashville. I knew that leaving with such a heavy burden on my heart and on my mind would have furthered the rift in our marriage. In my mind, I planned to sit Tate down and have our much needed talk, but only after I had completely gotten ready for the next day’s departure. Tate, however, decided to confront ME while I was in the middle of preparations.

Unfortunately I was completing a VERY IMPORTANT pre-conference beauty ritual when he decided it was time to talk. I had just put whitening strips on my teeth. How sherioush a convershation can you reary have when you’re wearing whitening shtripsh? Yeah, I don’t know. We might need to have a do-over very serious conversation since it was hard for both of us not to laugh with spit and speech impediments flying out of my mouth.

At least it was a start.

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Practicing restraint and kindness. I’ve possibly overexerted myself.

Written on December 29, 2009 by Jennifer in Lucky Me, marriage, Men?

I know that I poke fun at Tate right here on the ol’ blog a lot. Maybe too often.

In my defense, I’ve tried and tried to get him to start his very own blog to record his OWN stories in his OWN words. He could also use his own platform to make fun of me. Surely I’d be as good a source of blog material as he is!

Sometimes I feel sort of bad that he gets his panties in a wad about things I’ve said about him or pictures of him that I’ve posted. I’m not trying to make fun of him outright , (YES, REALLY), I just think that the way we interact is often funny and it’s a source for inspiration.

So in honor of my wonderful husband, I’m going to try and devote an entire post to NOT spinning the facts into hilarious yarns where he ends up the Sonny to my Cher. (TRY.) (It’s the operative word.)

For the first time in I-can’t-remember-how-long-because-my-brain-shot-out-of-me-with-Carson, Tate completely surprised me for Christmas. Since I’m *trying* to be nice, I won’t link to any of the posts I’ve written about not surprisingly being, well, NOT surprised.

This whole being surprised thing is significant because really all I ever want for Christmas is TO BE SURPRISED. (And it certainly doesn’t hurt if the surprise is something I like. A LOT.)

Tate was even so thoughtful to give me one of my gifts early. Before our trip to the North Pole, he presented me with my first gift of the Christmas season.

“I thought you’d like to open this one early,” he said, carefully placing it into my open hands.

The small-ish, square-shaped box held inside the camera lens I’ve been desperately wanting.

With tears in my eyes he explained, “I knew you’d want to take pictures of the kids tonight, so I hope it’s alright that I’m giving it to you now.”

(So far, so good in the being nice to Tate on my blog, yes? It’s super simple when HE does nice things!)

For weeks Tate had been acting panicked about having NOTHING to give me. He really did have to work a ridiculous amount of time between Thanksgiving and Christmas and hadn’t spent any time actually shopping, so it wasn’t unreasonable to believe him. After he gave me the lens, he asked me if my feelings would be hurt if that was my only gift. Since I’m not poking fun at Tate today, I won’t divulge why he said the lens was my only gift.

So come Christmas morning I was pleasantly surprised to receive dangly handmade earrings (by a jewelry maker, not handmade by Tate), brand new running shoes, and the Les Halles Cookbook by Anthony Bourdain (my pretend celebrity boyfriend.)

One gift remained, purposely held back by Tate.

“Don’t open that one yet,” he placed it gingerly alongside the other three gifts. “This one is the big-hitter!” He beamed proudly from ear to ear as I tried to imagine what could be better than a new lens, shoes, earrings, and my food porn bible. I ran through the things that I’d been really wanting. “Could it be the external flash I’ve had my eye on? Or maybe a Mac laptop?!” Oh how my mind soared with the possibilities!

Eagerly, yet carefully I unwrapped the gift. I wanted to savor each moment leading up to the big hitter gift, knowing that it would be something I’d remember for years. And truly, it IS something I’ll always remember.

(Tate wanted to know WHY I asked him to take a picture of me in my Snuggie. “You’re going to mock me on your blog again, aren’t you?” My response, an indignant, “…!”

(Carson ADORES the pink Snuggie.)

In the interest of saying only nice things today, I’ll end with, Happy 35th Birthday, Tate! I’m proud to be your wife and love having the distinct honor of loving you and poking fun at you on the Internet.

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Perhaps I should leave for extended periods more often

Written on November 30, 2009 by Jennifer in Lucky Me, marriage, Men?, NaBloPoMo

After a brutally long eleven hour drive home, we pulled up to our much missed home to find it adorned with Christmas lights. Two mini Christmas trees and a wreath adorned the front porch and door, welcoming us.

Inside, the house was clean and free of the usual toys and clutter. On the kitchen counter sat a crystal vase that held wonderfully fragrant calla lilies. The oven light revealed a rotisserie chicken and sweet potatoes, warmed and ready to be eaten. After dinner, Tate dished us up chocolate chunk brownies that he had baked himself.

The dirty laundry had been washed and placed in drawers and closets. The towels and sheets were fresh. Groceries for the upcoming week had already been purchased and were even put away in the pantry and refrigerator.

It’s just a wild guess, but I think Tate might have missed us while we were gone.

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