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My polygamist beginnings, please don’t tell the Pope

Written on October 16, 2008 by Jennifer in marriage, my stream of consciousness, Quirky Me, Randomness

Post inspired by a comment I left at Amanda’s site, Shamelessy Sassy.

When I was around three-years-old, I was married to a man named Robert. OBVIOUSLY Robert was imaginary, but he was as excellent a husband as an imaginary husband could be.

Robert had dark hair and was short, like me as a wee tot. We did all sorts of things together that married toddlers do. We played Barbies and with Weeble Wobbles. I drug him around everywhere I went (not to be confused with actually being DRUGGED with legal and/or non-legal pharmeceuticals…because it would be near impossible to drug someone who is imaginary). Robert and I were a very happy couple, as he always did whatever I wanted him to, as any husband worth his salt would do.

It’s possible that Robert and I had children together, I’m not really sure since it’s hard for me to remember DETAILS from 30 25 20 (Yeah!) years ago. I may be skipping ahead a bit in the story, but I know that I had LOTS of kids with LOTS of husbands during my childhood years. Most of my children never grew up past the age of “baby,” which is good, because, MAN, think of the college education costs.

Like many marriages that start off with passion (fruit juice, that is), my fairytale relationship with Robert eventually ended. For some reason, and again my memory from all those years ago fails me, Robert and I broke up. In fact, it was a pretty nasty break-up. Maybe it’s because we were SO YOUNG. Maybe he made eyes at an older four-year-old woman. Maybe he wouldn’t share his Cheetos. Who knows? Robert ended up stuffed in a trash can, which I *think* is how most toddler marriages are annulled. And I ended up married to Mark.

Details from my marriage to Mark are also fuzzy. Kids? I don’t remember? Marital activities? (NO, not marital RELATIONS, I was THREE.) I simply don’t know. I do know, though, that I have no recollection of ever having divorced Mark (Mom?? Do you remember?). Like I mentioned above, I know that I went on to marry lots of other fellas and make lots of babies during my childhood, but I cannot remember if my marriage to Mark was ever formally annulled.

Fast forward to today and I’m (again) married, keeping my fingers crossed that I’m not unintentionally practicing polygamy. I’m certain the Pope would NOT like that, although come to think of it, he probably wouldn’t be too thrilled at the sheer number of husbands I’ve had through my life.

When you were a child, did you have imaginary friends? Imaginary husbands?

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Less whiny single parent

Written on September 25, 2008 by Jennifer in Little Monkeys, marriage, Quirky Me, tennessee

Have you ever had a post at the top of your page that you really wish wasn’t the FIRST thing people see when they happen upon your blog? Well my last ultra whiny, self-absorbed post about my descent into moving hell is just that post that I’d like to be moved down the page a bit.

So here I am, not exactly taking a blogging hiatus, or possibly I am. I seriously just want that last post to just move on down the page. I’m not saying, “hey I’m totally fine with this move!” I’m not fine. But I’m trying to make the best out of a lousy situation and reminding myself that 1) we’re lucky my husband has a job in this economy and 2) I NEED to be positive for my sanity’s sake and my kids’ sake (and 3) It’s not okay to be as upset as I’ve been over the loss of my dream kitchen because DUDE: GET OVER IT. It’s merely a gas cooktop, sink in the center island, double ovens kind of kitchen. SERIOUSLY, BIG DEAL. WAAAAAH.)

Moving on…(ha! Get it?? Moving? God, I’m hilarious!)

Tate left Monday to start his new job and prior to his departure I was very worried about how I was going to be able to handle my two zoo-like wild children on top of all the stress. “Ohs noes! How ever will I do it alone?! It cannot be done! It cannot be done! Woe is me.”

Writing this next sentence is probably going to condemn me to a life of vomit/tantrum/diarrhea/no sleep hell tomorrow surely, but!!! This week has been surprisingly easy.

Possibly because I know that I don’t have reinforcements showing up, I’m freakishly calm and patient with the kids. So far this week, I’ve had to take two children two and under to the BMV (B???) to get my license plate. It was the easiest trip ever and my children…behaved. Then I lost a filling in one of my teeth and had to arrange childcare and find a dentist and schedule an appointment. Everything fell into place thanks to two of my neighbors and it turned out that I hadn’t actually lost a filling.

My son has become a pogo stick, jumping up and down at every attempt to dress or undress him. Normally I’d be sweating and cursing under my breath and saying (yelling) things like, “CARSON. ENOUGH. Stop jumping right now or I’ll take away all of your trains and feed you to wolves.” There would be lots of wrinkle inducing nose scrunching and eyebrow furrowing. And eye rolling. And huffing. (There wouldn’t really be mention of being eaten by wolves. Uh. Yeah.)

But instead I find myself gentler and smiling and not allowing this annoying stage to get the worst of me. I haven’t freaked out when Ella throws her entire tray of food on my just mopped floors. My house is cleaner, the TV hasn’t babysat, and I’ve made lots of “progress” on our impending move. And oddly, despite Tate getting to socialize and eat out every night, I don’t feel resentful or overworked for being the stay-at-home parent.

I’m not sure what being a better single parent says about my parenting abilities or mental state, but I’ll take the “good mommy” me over the “BAD mommy” me anyday.

**********

I’d like to thank each of you who has offered sympathy and encouragement to me as a result of our move to Tennessee. To answer a few questions we are moving to East Tennessee, we’ve lived there before, and my husband is in management for a company and apparently he’s pretty good at his job so they keep asking him to help at other plants.

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A trip to Wrigley

Written on August 22, 2008 by Jennifer in Lucky Me, marriage, photo story friday, Pictures, playing along, Quirky Me

Tate and I are huge Cardinals fans. For those of you who don’t know, one of the Cardinals’ biggest rivals is the Chicago Cubs.

Although it would be a cold day in hell before I’d ever root for the Cubs, I do have the utmost respect for their stadium…Wrigley Field. Two weeks ago, we got to go to a game between the Cards and Cubs at Wrigley. It sounds totally cheesy, but it was a dream come true to get to go to Wrigley Field. SO THRILLING!!!!

Without Cathy, this trip never would have happened…so THANK YOU, Cathy!

Cathy did all the very nerve wracking legwork to get the tickets, complete with desperate emails between us. Where should we sit??? OMG, they are SO EXPENSIVE!!! Right field side or left field side????? For some reason it never occurred to either of us to just exchange phone numbers. Don’t let the $22 price on the ticket fool you, we paid DEARLY for the tickets on StubHub. (It was worth EVERY penny, though.)

Not only did I get to meet Cathy, I also got to meet Mandie. She met us for lunch on the Magnificent Mile.

Before the game, we sat and had a beer (or five) with Harry Caray himself.

Sadly my beloved Cardinals lost to the stinky ol’ Cubs. But on a positive note, we drank LOTS more beer, Old Style OF COURSE. (Also sadly, I regretted the last 5 beers that I drank the next morning.)

The second best part of the trip was that I got to fall in love with this goofy guy all over again. It was wonderful to have him all to myself.

This was my first time participating in Photo Story Friday!

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

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Means to an end

Written on July 29, 2008 by Jennifer in hole-y matrimony, Lucky Me, marriage

My 30 days of free camera glory and all it’s unadulterated goodness are just about up and after much ADO, I’m keeping the camera.

About two weeks ago, Tate informed me that he really “couldn’t tell any difference between pictures taken with THAT camera *insert irritated huffing here* and our perfectly good, just bought less than a year ago camera.” He went on to say other things about money and computer space and Snapfish, but all I heard was:

“WE’RE NOT BUYING THAT CAMERA.”

Oh the blog posts I composed in my head! They were filled full of hateful words and threats. I would just get my OWN job and make my OWN money, damnit! How DARE he make me feel like a child asking her daddy for money!

Days upon days I stewed over this injustice. I could barely speak to Tate, let alone be in the same room with him (naked). Several days later was our anniversary. To say that I was less than enthused for the day was an understatement. I even wrote a post about memories from our wedding day on our anniversary just so that I’d remember that I did actually love him (at least at one time).

So on our anniversary, Tate surprised me by coming home in the middle of the day to bring me roses and a card. Inside the card was a little homemade gift certificate for a camera lens.

I stared at the card in disbelief. “Well…don’t I have to have a camera, first???”

Apparently silent treatments and no nookie is the key to getting what I want. I’m not sure if I’m actually comfortable using my womanly prowess for such endeavors and getting goods in exchange, but I really, really, really wanted that camera.

I guess the end justified the means THIS TIME.

Tate got what he wanted out of the deal, too. *AHEM* So it’s not all bad?? Right?

***

halp! Can anyone give me any ideas on what lens to get?? I borrowed and 18-200mm lens from Anne Glamore and then I rented a 50mm lens…but I’m still not sure what to get. I really want something versatile and I love bokeh. Suggestions PUH-LEASE!

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Seven Memories

Written on July 14, 2008 by Jennifer in Lucky Me, marriage, Men?, Uncategorized

Today Tate and I celebrate our seven 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 from the day.

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.

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, two of my most detested 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 makes my heart flutter.

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.

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Love, honor, and obey?

Written on June 25, 2008 by Jennifer in Huh?, marriage, Men?

Yesterday’s post straight out of 1950 where I play the perky, but sometimes discontent housewife got me thinking about our roles as women these days.

Somehow my train of thought led me to start thinking about the wedding of a friend, actually the wedding where I met Tate, where my girlfriend’s part of the vows included saying that she promised to love, honor, and obey her husband. I remember being utterly shocked. Obey?? Really? It was 1998, not 1898.

After the wedding, (not right after, more like a year or two after) I asked her why they included the word “obey” in her vows. She said she hadn’t even realized that and joked that really it should have been her husband who promised to obey because we all knew who REALLY wore the pants in that family.

I’m just going to go ahead and throw this out there that this was a Baptist wedding. Me not being Baptist, I have no idea if this is common practice, or if it’s common amongst different types of Baptists and not others. I also have no idea if other religions include this in their vows, though I’m certain it’s not just a Baptist thing. My Methodist wedding vows did not include the word “obey,” which is a good thing because I wouldn’t have been cool with saying that.

In my opinion, I cannot fathom vowing to obey anyone. Conversely, I wouldn’t want someone to vow to obey me. (Well, okay, I sorta would.) It seems very outdated and has been outdated since the last century. I am aware, though I don’t fully understand that the “obey” part of the vows is not only said, but also adhered to for some. Saying that is in no way meant to be judgmental, but since it is not a part of my reality, it’s hard for me to comprehend.

I’m curious if your vows include the word “obey?” If so, what did you think about it?

I know this topic has the possibility of starting a firestorm in the comments because we may be discussing faith based, personal issues, so I just ask that whatever your opinion, please respect other’s viewpoints.

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Reading My Mind

Written on May 12, 2008 by Jennifer in Lucky Me, marriage, Quirky Me

Despite watching years and years of daytime/self-help-style talk shows like Donahue, Oprah, and Dr. Phil, and learning that you cannot expect people to read your mind, this is exactly the trap I set for my ever-suffering husband yesterday. Despite my husband’s kind offers to take the kids out for the day to give me a break or to do anything I could reasonably imagine, all I could muster in response was a mournful and sigh-laden, “I don’t know.” **shrugs and pouts**

I swear I don’t know how he stays married to me. I am insufferable!

In some sort of defense of myself, I do have several reasons why I didn’t jump at Tate’s offer to make himself and the kids scarce. First, I’ll admit to being completely ashamed that I’d rather not be around my children on Mother’s Day. I feel like I must have some sort of mothering flaw to want to send my children away on the the ONE day that celebrates mothering them. Aside from my inherent flaws, I also know, well I at least hope, that solitude will not be my solo goal for future Mother’s Days. One day I won’t spend every waking second with them and I’ll WANT to spend a special day like Mother’s Day with my kids.

I was also afraid to take Tate’s offer of solitude because I was afraid that I’d answer too gleefully. “YES! Go AWAY. Go FAR, FAR away and don’t come back for hours. Leave me the hell alone! Amen! I don’t have to spend the day with you SUCKAS! I’m FREE! FREEEEEEEE!”

So instead I moped and sulked and heavy sighed. My logical self kept telling my asshole self to just come out and tell Tate that yes, I would really enjoy spending the day alone. My asshole self kept telling my logical self that Tate should JUST KNOW that I want to be alone, since I was obviously sending him all sorts of signs.

Thank goodness my logical side gave my asshole side a swift kick in, well, the ass.

I finally told Tate that it would be really nice if he and the kids left for awhile. Without complaining, Tate got the kids ready and they left for the afternoon. He even took them during their afternoon nap, which in and of itself makes Tate a SAINT.

Amen.

While they were gone I caught up on this season of the best of trash TV, The Hills, and watched a few episodes of WE’s High School Confidential (thanks for tip on this show Shelly!). I also peed blissfully alone which was truly thrilling.

When they returned, St. Tate informed me that he’d made the executive decision to make me a fabulous dinner. Without any help from me, he grilled ribeyes, roasted asparagus, and made a spinach salad with warm bacon dressing. For dessert he made ice cream floats. Then he cleaned up the kitchen and folded laundry all by himself while I enjoyed a glass of wine.

Apparently St. Tate actually can read my mind.

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