Christmas Story #1

Twenty five fantastic friends (and mom) helped us break in the new house for the holidays. Anyone who knows us knows we can be late for even our own parties. At 7 pm, when the doorbell rang (30 minutes early) I yelled “still naked! Be right out!” After our wonderful Christmas eve party, we were utterly exhausted Christmas day. We slept in, and made salmon toast appetizers for our Christmas Day dinner at a H and R’s house, where we happily gorged on crab. Yum.

By that evening, 8 pm felt like 3 in the morning. My husband, mom and I barely made it in the door before we stripped and put on our jammies RIGHT when the phone rang. Our new next door neighbors called to say they’d been watching for our car so they could come by and wish us a happy holiday. SOOO nice, really. I missed them the day before so was glad to see them in spite of feeling like a tired blubbermouth.

They brought a gift, some wine (white). “We don’t drink, so I hope this is OK,” she said. “It’s perfect!”. After being in a gift exchange the night before with some fine gifts as well as an old used book, I was leary of the wine, understandably. We enjoyed some time together, and the next day, while making chicken cacciatore (which called for white wine) I thought why not use the wine from last night? A 1997 chardonnay (who keeps chardonnay for a decade?? Or more???). Clearly that wine was something somebody gave them that’s been stashed in a closet for years. We tasted it – almost a bit thick, deep honey color, bit sweet, little acidic, with a bad cork. “Is it going to ruin the cacciatore?” I asked.

Today, we looked it up on line.

Apparently, I don’t know what really expensive wine tastes like.  The magnum is worth $300, and this – only $115. Ouch! 

Today, I am thankful for:

• being surprised
• my husband at my side christmas morning
• croissants from williams sonoma, also on christmas morning
• artificial christmas trees (that's another story)
• little girls singing in front of the tree
• friends, and all their loud chatting and laughing filling up my house
• my new neighbors
• you -- who read this blog! thanks for your support, and I'll be writing more in the New Year! Wishing you love.

Brown or Green?

Like two tween best friends, my husband and I stand in front of the mirror and the light. “Do these pants go better with my shirt?” he asks. I immediately notice two things: first, we’re actually dressed kind of the same, as same as men’s and women’s clothes get. He: brown and black nice knit sweater, brown pants, black shoes. Me: brown knit top, black skirt, brown/black leggings. The next thing I see: his pair of brown pants? “These are green pants,” he says. He argues with me. He tries to convince. I say sometimes people see things differently, and actually, that’s ok. Please don’t try to make me believe they are green. Because they are brown.

This is a microcosm of our marriage. Seemingly the same/similar, in sync and spooning, then we open our eyes and realize just how differently we see things. And honestly, there’s NO convincing him that the world may not be the way he sees it.

Like one of the core arguments couples have over and over during the course of their lives, this is one we keep dealing with. We're getting better at seeing each other's point of view. But it's our desire to control that gets our goat, even when it’s something as simple as deciding about green onions or shallots in the clams linguini tonight.

Really, I’m just trying to help, aren’t I? If your husband announced he wanted to make clams tomorrow, wouldn’t you happily jump on the shellfish bandwagon, resurrect that great Giada recipe, and offer to get the pasta, parsley and accoutrements while he goes to Aliotos for (too many pounds of) clams? Then it happens, the argument over shallots vs. green onions. Really I don’t care, and the grocery list says so, in plain English: GREEN ONIONS. He slams the door, leaving a stormy kitchen behind.  I ask myself the big question: will we ever grow up (and stay that way?)

So here’s what’s going on, and sorry I haven’t written in so long. 

I’m still trying to let go of the last embryos. The doc basically, quietly, gently, hinted that we should look at other options: adoption or child-free living. But I haven’t said the words yet, and checked the box on the paper that says “we ask that these embryos be destroyed”. It’s that word: destroyed. As if there hasn’t been enough destruction around all this!  I’ll let you know.