Bea

Happy endings make the best photos

Break out the champagne, it's been 365 days since you were first subjected Bea. To celebrate, I'm working in my p.j.'s ALL DAY. 

***

In other news, Barbara over at JoBart has tagged me in what is likely one of the more enjoyable meme's I have encountered. Her favourite photo is such a beautiful one that you should really go over to see it.

Like most who have been tagged in this task, I've found it hard to find a favourite photo that I really like but came up with this one:

I love this photo because of how long it took us to get here. This is my wonderful brother, if you couldn't tell by the alarmingly similar genetic material, and it was taken the night before his wedding. 

Now, I'm not one to force others to show me theirs, so I'm going to buck the trend and NOT tag any of you to show your favourite photo. Those sirens you are hearing are the BLOGGING POLICE who are now coming to get me.

BUT, if you have a favourite photo and are planning to show it on your blog (or already have done so), all I ask you to do is to leave a comment with a link to your blog and your favourite photo.

I need some new reading material, so I'd love to read what you've been up to lately!

mystery package from dad

The only problem with international Christmas presents is that the sender has to identify the contents of the package. My Dad identified this one as 'baking aid'.

Made with extra love on his own lathe, no doubt. 

Marriage- when we argue.

I never assumed that we would always agree. In fact, our first year was spent arguing and cursing and DEBATING* everything from who should wash the kitchen floors (him) the bathroom floors (him) the dishes (me) the clothes (me) to where we should live and how we should use our money. The make-up sessions were incredible.

Sometimes I marvel at how we made it to the wedding day. But then I reason that it was our ability to argue, to stomp our feet and get our point across, that made our relationship so strong. It was that ability to love and argue all at the same time that made me sure that he was the one for me.

The arguments have petered out, we don’t DEBATE like we used to. But we don’t agree all the time either. Is it complacency? Do we just communicate better? Have I learned to back off instead of insisting, over and over and over again, that he tells me what he’s thinking? Or did it just get too hard to argue, and easier to just accept it for what it is?

Maybe it’s that the arguments aren’t as easy to solve. Who washes the kitchen floor is a lot easier than some of the items we’re DEBATING these days. Finances, work, kids, and goals and dreams that haven’t been realised are difficult subjects.

Our trick these days is to have a ‘go’ at discussing it. When it gets too heavy, we walk away. On the days when we don’t have the energy to DEBATE, we go for walks, take care of each other, be kind to each other.  Isn’t that what we promised to do? Ignoring each other is not an option. 

The Year of the Kite - 2004

I dropped you off at the airport the day we moved into our first flat together.

You called me days later, told me you had been looking at ‘kites’.

I called you the day before your return, you said you had put a down payment on a ‘kite’.

Your flight was late. You were mad. Your bags had been lost. I knew what was in your pocket.

I showed you where I put the pots, pans, towels, clothes.

You showed me the ‘kite’.

I made you ask.

I haven’t known you long, you said, but I’ve known you long enough to know that I want to spend the rest of my life with you

I couldn’t have asked for a better proposal.

We spilled red wine on the beige carpets and walls.

snowballing: how a small thing like christmas shopping can become an examination of your whole life

Just two weeks before we moved to New Zealand, David and I attended the wedding of one of his cousins. Another guest who was visiting from New Zealand and learned we were moving to New Zealand made a bee-line for me and gave me this warning:

'Shop while you can!'

'Ha ha!' I said 'You're so funny! We've visited, I've seen that there are shops.'

'No', she said 'you can not understand the luxury of choice that you currently have. Heed my advice and shop while you can.'

I shrugged it off as nothing, although I did try and use it as an excuse to shop David saw right through me. We were already dangerously close to our weight limit on our packing and putting just one more t-shirt in a box would have likely tipped it over. 

Almost five years later, I get it. 

It's not like there aren't shops in New Zealand, there are. There's Maxx, and Country Road and Glassons, and Cue for clothes. There's Dick Smiths for electronics, and Noel Leeming or Harvey Norman for appliances. And, of course, there's the Warehouse, for anything and everything else.

What I'm missing, though, is variety. Having recently begun my Christmas shopping online for our overseas family and friends, what has struck me is the amount of choices available at just one store. Did you know that you have 239 choices of dryers at Sears? I don't love dryers that much, really, but the choice of 239 different types? MIND BOGGLING. Noel Leeming has 5 on offer. FIVE. I don't even have a dryer. 

I would also like to believe that I'm not really into buying that much, that consumerism hasn't taken over my mind. But I DO like nice things. I like my home to feel homey, welcoming, comforting. But the price of furniture and appliances in NZ are higher than I thought they would be, and that's before we begin talking about mortgages. Did you know that the average house price in NZ is $355,000, but that the average household income is just $45,000. I'm no financial guru, but the numbers just don't make sense to me.

This is starting to sound a little whine-y, and it's not intended to be that way. New Zealand has a lot to offer in terms of lifestyle,freedom, decent education and healthcare systems. But given that eventually we would like to live in house bigger than a shoe box,work less than 50 hours a week, live on just one salary and perhaps live a little closer to our family we're taking a good long look at what our options are. 

It's not an easy conversation to have. It's loaded with dreams that we had before we moved here, some of which have been met and some that just haven't been, promises we made each other, and goals that don't always match. I know we're not the only married couple having these sorts of conversations. Given the economy, I'm sure there's even a higher number of people having this sort of debate - should we stay, or should we go? No where is perfect, but would somewhere else be better?

And after reading everything above, what strikes me most is that IT'S HARD BEING AN ADULT. 

What are the hard issues you're debating with at the moment? Whether it be yourself, your partner or a whole family, what decisions are you trying to make? C'mon, don't leave me drifting alone out here. Am I the only adult overwhelmed by the responsibility?

when i found out about you

One year ago today my period was four days late. I had turned 35 four days before, and the thought that I might be pregnant just as I turned 35, the magic number for doctors and fertility, was just to poetic to consider.

I had been late before, what woman hasn't? I had wasted pregnancy tests for months. 

That morning I took a pregnancy test and wasn't surprised that it was negative. Disappointed, again, but not surprised. I put the test down on my desk and went to work. 

When I came home I put my laptop bag by my desk and glanced at the pregnancy test. There was a second line.

Now I know that you're not meant to read pregnancy tests after their defined limit, usually just 10 minutes. I knew that then but can not tell you the internal debate that was going on in my head. Did I really wait the full 10 minutes this morning? I must have looked at it again AFTER 10 minutes, before I went to work, didn't I? Don't be ridiculous, that's an evaporation line - isn't it? I've heard about them, but never seen them, but maybe that's it.

My heart was literally racing and ready to jump out of my chest. My gut was telling me one thing (YES!!) and my brain was working so hard to tell me another (NO!!).

David came home. And I couldn't tell him. 

Strangely, I had no more pregnancy tests in the house. This is likely because I had used them all up during the days before. I went for a walk - an hour long walk to calm my nerves, and buy more pregnancy tests. I crossed my legs for the next 5 hours as we had dinner, went to a book store, watched some t.v.

As I was going to bed, I took another test. Faint, but definite positive line in about a  minute. 

Holy. Crap.

I still didn't tell David. I took another test the next morning. Faint, but stronger, second line. I called the doctor, made an appointment for a blood test that afternoon and an appointment to see the doctor  about the results the next morning. 

When I got home from work, I took another pregnancy test. And then told David. He was quiet and listened while I took him through the myriad of pregnancy tests I had been storing in my office. He assured me that, yes, he too saw the second line. 

That day, we were parents together. It was all exciting and scary and new. 

We are not parents today. That pregnancy didn't last long, at least not physically. But that baby is still in my thoughts and still in my heart. I have a feeling that it always will be. 

36-20=16 - a birthday story

During my teenage years my Dad had to deal with some super-bad corporate crap that had him laying off colleagues and friends of 15 years. These were people that emigrated to Canada at the same time as my parents, and whose children I baby sat and still count as my 'cousins'. 

He worked so hard for that company. Long hours and traveling that often meant that my brother and I would see little of him. Dad would drive us to our early-morning band practice for 6 am and it wouldn't have been unusual not to see him again until 8 or 9pm at night. 

All this work led to some pretty grumpy days and a man who, I can see now, found it hard to connect with his family outside of his job. Sure, mom worked outside of the home too, but Dad was the main breadwinner and without that there wouldn't have been much. He was a mans' man, and as such felt that he should be providing for us. 

As a surly 15 year old teenager I HATED the fact that my Dad wouldn't or couldn't talk to me. How DARE HE? DIDN'T HE KNOW WHO I WAS? All that teenager angst must have been so waring on him. I have memories of Dad banning me to wear that short skirt and can still feel the air of disapproval at staying out late. It was only him trying to protect me, but what teenage what's protecting? NONE. 

Just before my 16th birthday, things at Dad's job were getting demonstrably worse. There was talk of his job being relocated to the states, and if there's one thing a teenager does not want it's to leave her friends behind her. The potential tragedy was milked for all the attention I could get.

I guess what I'm saying is, I was a little shit.

As my birthday got closer and closer, things at my Dad's job got worse and worse. The day before my birthday, my Dad came to me and asked if it would be ok if Mom dropped me off at the mall for a few hours on the night of my birthday. His bosses were coming to the house to talk to him and they needed the house to be quiet and professional.

Despite my teenage attitude, I loved my Dad like nothing else. Of course I would make myself scarce, and the mall is no bad place for a teenage girl to hang out, right?

On the night of my birthday, my Dad got all dressed up in his suit and my Mom wore her Sunday best. They looked so nervous, so anxious. Somehow, all of that filtered through my crusty exterior and I managed to give Dad a hug as I left the house with Mom.

Mom dropped me off and promised to pick me up in precisely 2 hours.

When she picked me up, she looked almost happy. I couldn't ask how it went, I think I was too scared. But man, did she look relieved. I so hoped we were staying where we were - moving was too horrible to think about. 

When we got home, Mom said that Dad was downstairs in the basement and wanted to talk to me. Cue dread - I KNEW that the news was bad. Why else would my Dad want to speak to me alone?

What I found at the bottom of the stairs is still stuck in my minds eye today.

15 of my very BESTEST friends yelling 'SURPRISE!"

My very own 16th surprise birthday party. Stunned doesn't even describe how I felt. I'm sure that it's from that day forward that I began to see my Dad as a person, as a parent, and as a Dad who was crazy about me. 

What memory of your parents is still bringing tears to your eyes today?

Just the two of us (no, it's not just about me, REALLY!)

You know, with this blog being all about ME and MY life it's easy to forget that there are two of us here. I know that I write about David (did you know he did a MARATHON last weekend?) during some of my posts, and that you must know that he's clearly part of the pregnancy plan. I'm feeling guilty, though, that not one of my posts considers how he might be feeling.

I'm going to take a stab in the dark and say that I'm not the only one who's done this. After all, he's a mans man, not all emotional and soft like some men can be (GOOD LORD I could NOT stand those men and that's why I didn't marry them) but of course, he still has emotions. He just shows them in different ways. 

I also know that he's an emotionally strong person. He must be, he married me. I'm the first to admit that I can be a difficult person to live with. I have issues, most of which have been dealt with during some very good (=expensive) therapy sessions, that I deal with every day. And yes, I can be a *cough* little emotional at times. Ok, fine, a LOT emotional at times. 

But he has issues too. David has things that he needs to deal with. Things that, regrettably, I can't help with. And man, that hurts. Because I WANT to fix things. I want to talk it through, give him hugs, tell it's all ok, commiserate when people are shits, offer to break knees with baseball bats...that kind of thing I'd do a million times over for him.

But it won't work. Because he's a man. And needs to sort through his issues in his own way. Goddammit.

Understanding how I can help, how I can support, is a difficult thing for me. I don't know, sometimes, how he's feeling about work, or his parents, or living in New Zealand. I don't know if he still thinks about our first miscarriage. I do know that I need to choose the right time to ask. 

So, I wait. I wait until he's ready to talk, until we're out in the open air where we are relaxed enough to share what's swimming around our heads. I give time, as much as I can, and wait. I make cups of tea and coffee, and wait. I wash clothes, clean floors, and wait. 

I'll wait until the end of time, if that's what it takes. Because I love him, and always will.

A quick thanks to DIY Father for making me realise how self-centered I can be. And the blog is feeding that. Pregnancy, babies, it's all about US, and them. 

i need a hero!

Not really, but the song was playing just before he turned the corner and had the finish line in sight. Do I have to tell you how proud I am? 26.2 miles! 

That's MY man in front!

oh brother.

1978 - I was 5 and he was 4, we played together because that's what you do at 5 and 4. In the backyard, breeze blowing, watched by my grandparents.

1992 - I was 17, he was 16. My parents worried, me confused, he was in the hospital for having self-destructing thoughts. He wouldn't talk to me, look at me.

1996 - I was 23, he was 22. Both of us students, neither of us talking. If asked, I'm not sure that we even knew each other's telephone numbers.

2004 - I was 30, he was 29. He came to my wedding, with his girlfriend, but I don't remember talking to him. 

2008 - I was 34, he was 33. I ironed his suit, he gave me a hug. I stood at his wedding, his girlfriend now his wife, and witnessed both their wedding and his happiness. He thanked me for my help. I glowed with pride. We hugged goodbye.