The Delaney and Waylon Diaries

Love Thursday: Loving this man of mine...

...and wanting to deserve him.

In the wee morning hours I opened my lapop to find a red envelope. Inside was a sweet, sappy card Roger bought me for Valentine's Day purchased not for it's romantic notions but rather as a container for a gift certificate to a spa. The gift was not only thoughtful (beyond belief as I am in desperate need of de-stressing these days) but well-thought-out as my husband told me he'd contacted my best friend's husband and suggested that he purchase the same gift for her so we girls could enjoy the pampering time together. Roger and I don't usually make a big deal (or any deal) of Valentine's Day. This year his surprise gift means so much to me. I haven't had many minutes alone, or with friends, since Waylon was born seven weeks ago and knowing that I have a massage and facial waiting for me leaves me giddy with delight.

What did I get Roger? Nothing. I've been so wrapped up, learning to care for two kids at once, that it didn't occur to me to get him anything or, more importantly, to do something special to celebrate him and us. My saving grace is that the day isn't over. Maybe between nursing the baby, bathing the preschooler, enjoying a frozen pizza for dinner and watching a new episode of Lost I can stop and take time to remind him just how much he means to me (and I'm not talking about a box of chocolates here. Heh, heh! Ahem.).

More Love Thursday here.

To tie or not to tie, that was the question, Part 2

Read Part 1 here.

Maybe it's the hormones. Maybe it's the going-on-over-three-weeks-now sinus infection. Maybe it's just my prerogative. But I think I'm changing my mind about the tubal ligation. Suddenly, it's starting to make sense. Hear me out.

The first trimesters of both pregnancies I've experienced have been hell. The morning sickness, the weight loss, the acne, the exhaustion. I know I don't want to go through that again. Also, while pregnant, I'm prone to rabid, debilitating sinus infections (see above) and because I'm pregnant I can't take the good drugs that would give me relief. To the average person who's lucky enough not to suffer from these nasal demons it may not seem like a big deal. Trust me, it is. The inability to breathe oxygen for weeks at a time tends to make you a little pissy, to say the least. I've been sick for 6 weeks out of the last 10 and I've already been on four different antibiotics and I'm still suffering. Knowing that pregnancy exacerbates my sinus problems doesn't make me want to jump on the conception bandwagon again.

And, because Roger and I have agreed that we are done expanding our family and my getting the tubal during my already scheduled surgery would save us the cost of booking a separate surgery for him, it's starting to make financial sense too.

I also imagine that it will be sort of freeing not to worry every month if pregnancy could possibly have occurred. I kind of like the idea of being in control (as much as one can be) of my own reproductive abilities.

Add to that the fact that even if something happened and Roger wasn't here, I know in my heart that no matter what happens or who came along I wouldn't be ready or willing to have another baby with anyone for several years (if ever). By that time I'll be into my 40s and I definitely don't want to have a baby at that stage of my life.

I'm still thinking it over but after really dissecting my reasons for not wanting the tubal vs. the reasons for getting one, there is a better than good chance I'll be surprising my OB on Tuesday with a different answer than the one I gave her the first time we discussed the topic.

To tie or not to tie, that was the question

"OK. We're ready to schedule your C-section this visit. Have you decided whether or not you want your tubes tied yet?" my OB asked.

"I've decided we can skip that portion of the program, thanks," I replied.

"You do know that it's a simple procedure I can take care of since I'll have you open anyway?"

"Yes, but I have my reasons. If you must know, and this may sound morbid, my husband is 18 years older than me. And, although I'm no a spring chicken myself, I have to wonder what I'd want if something ever happened to him. I mean, what if he was gone and eventually I fell in love with someone else, someone who didn't have kids and he loved me too but he couldn't see get married to someone who can't have kids with him? Tying my tubes seems so...final. See? Morbid. But, I think about these things. Is that crazy?"

"No," she replied. "Makes sense to me. But let me know if you change your mind. You said you were done having children after this one and it's a simple procedure."

"I am done having kids after this little guy shows up. I can't imagine going through another first trimester again. Ugh. But I feel it's only fair to keep my options open. God. There I go again with the morbid stuff. I don't ever want to imagine my husband gone but with the age thing I have to factor it in as a possibility someday. Him? He's 100% sure he's done having kids. I'm wife #3 and even if something happened to me, he'd saw IT off before he'd hook up and have another kid with somebody again. Ball's in his court, so to speak. The snipping is all but scheduled."

What do you think? Is it crazy not to get your tubes tied when you feel done with having kids? And after two C-sections isn't it rational for me to ask Roger to do his part and get the boys unhooked for good?

The One

Happy Father's Day to my loving husband and amazing partner. You're the man who got up at 6:30 a.m. on your day to play with Little Miss Early Riser for three hours while you let me sleep in. You're the man who sent me and your other daughter off to get pedicures while you stayed home with a napping toddler. You're the man who took that hilarious, tiny drama queen with you to do the weekly grocery shopping. And you're the man who came home from that (most likely harried) trip to cook from scratch the only thing that would satisfy your crazy pregnant wife: shrimp etouffee. What have I ever done to deserve the selfless husband and father you are? You're the chocolate to my peanut butter, the calm to my storm, the chill to my chardonnay. My life wouldn't be nearly as sweet or meaningful, nor spoiled, without you. Thank you, My Love, for being you.

Shorts

I just signed a check to enroll Delaney in her first school. She won't start until the fall, and she'll only be attending two days a week, but already my knees are shaking.

I noticed a woman at my gym many months ago who was very large. I still see her there all the time and she's so dedicated. She's lost tons of weight and every time I see her I want to say something to her--something congratulatory, something encouraging. But I'm afraid she'll take it the wrong way or think I'm some kind of weirdo. Still, I'm proud of her. I wish I could do what she's doing.

I didn't wear a black shirt today (gasp). In fact, I wore two shirts and neither was black. One shirt was white (I never wear white shirts) and over it I wore a green, short-sleeved hoodie zipped up halfway. It was quite the soccer mom getup and I loved it.

And speaking of green, leprechauns everywhere are talking about how March is National Colorectal Cancer Awareness month. I was diagnosed with this disease when I was 26. Nine years later I'm extremely lucky to be alive and talking about it. Colorectal cancer is preventable and very treatable when caught early. I urge people of all ages to learn the facts about colorectal cancer and I hope everyone encourages their family and friends over 50 to get scoped. I even made my husband do it. He must really love me. This ends my public service announcement.

Don't you wish The Super Colon was coming to a city near you?

Whoever said, "Getting there is half the fun!" is a big, fat liar

Getting there is not half the fun. It's not even a quarter of the fun. It's a gigantic pain in the ass lugging a toddler, three suitcases, a carseat, several carry-ons and two laptops across the country. But overall I can't complain. Although we hit a few bumps along the way, we were blessed with good traveling karma. The planes were on time and we survived the flights (I will admit to having a glass of chardonnay on the second, bumpier flight to calm my nerves but a playdate wasn't involved so it was totally OK.).

The hassles we encountered were minor: my car's window wouldn't roll back up in the long-term parking lot after we retrieved the parking ticket; Delaney's diaper had a monster leak on the first flight; and it took us 45 minutes to drive two miles on an Indianapolis freeway due to a wreck that was up ahead, turning what should have been an hour and a half drive to Grandma's into a nearly three-hour ordeal. Those problems certainly paled in comparison, though, to what a wonderful traveler Delaney was. She was cheerful the entire time, playing with the toys I'd packed and charming everyone around her. Her favorite "toy" was the saftey information card in the seat pocket in front of her. She is, after all, her mother's daughter although I'm pretty sure she wasn't using it to commit to memory all of the ways you can exit the aircraft during an emergency. I did my best to be brave in front of her and act as if flying was the most wonderful, exciting thing ever, even when I would have preferred to hoark into the barf bag out of sheer terror during takeoff. All of my high school drama classes finally paid off.

There's a ton of snow on the ground here and the temperature is, well, it's frigid. I never fully got the meaning of that word until I stood in a parking lot last night trying to find a sippie cup in a carry-on bag while my nipples froze. Holy mother was it cold. I'm not cut out for weather like this (and you are welcome to remind me I said that when I'm bitching about the Texas heat in July).

The long-awaited sibling reunion takes place later today when Big Sis and Big Brother get out of school. I can't wait to see Delaney with them again. Watching her with her brother and sister and with her Grandma makes this crazy winter wonderland trip worthwhile.

Not your normal Americans

Delaney's finally on the mend. Her hives disappeared three days ago (guess the doctor was right about them being related to this virus, although I'd never heard of such a thing before) and her high fever ended on Friday night, nearly six days after it started. Now all that's left is her hacking cough and runny nose. Oh, and her newly found desire to have us cuddle her endlessly every time she wakes up at night. It's a lingering side effect of which her dad and I are not very fond. Overall impressions of the virus from hell? I didn't care for it's beat and you can't dance to it. NOT recommended.

We're feeling better too. Roger and I are catching up on all of our missed sleep. I got out of the house on Friday night to attend my sister's book club at a Tex-Mex restaurant. And when some cowboy in the bar spilled salsa on my jeans while we waited for our table my spirits didn't dampen even a bit because, OH MY GOSH I WAS OUT OF THE HOUSE. He could have barfed on me and I wouldn't have cared (much). Plus, the poor guy made up for it by buying my sister and me margaritas. Southern men can be messy but they do have manners.

Today I'm going with my mom and aunt to see, Because I said So, with Diane Keaton (one of my all-time favorite actresses). And later today Roger and I are taking Delaney to the rodeo. Because we live in Texas and that's, well, that's what you do. And because it's dollar day. They must be trying to lure people there since it's Super Bowl Sunday and most normal Americans are too busy to rodeo, preferring instead to ice down beer and sauce up wings in preparation for the big parties they've planned. We? Are not your normal Americans. Roger, who's from Indiana, asked me if we had to watch that game. I told him I wouldn't mind checking it out for a bit and he looked like he might cry. Because as bad as Delaney's virus was, as itchy as her hives were, as little sleep as she got all week, Roger would gladly catch her virus if having it meant never having to watch football again. He's kinda nerdy that way. And he's all mine!

Love Thursday: He's baaaaaaaack

And thank God for that. I can get back to being the pampered princess I usually am instead of the harried head-of-household single parent I've been for the last 12 days. Whew!

I'm not so sure Roger's glad to be back, though. Other than the spectacular anniversary sex we had last night (totally blushing now), I really haven't contributed to the household since he stepped off the plane yesterday. I've been a total slacker, resuming my role of spoiled spouse, while he's jumped right in and assumed his husbandly and fatherly duties without missing a beat.

He cooked Delaney's dinner, gave her a bath and put her to bed. I sipped wine, ate crackers and cheese and read the new issue of Real Simple. After Delaney was down for the night, Roger proceeded to cook our dinner (pork chops, stuffing, peas) and clean it all up afterward (I don't cook so there's not even a possibility of me offering to do that, but I do offer--no, beg him--to let me clean up or at least help, but he always says no.). This morning he got up with Delaney, changed her diaper, trimmed her fingernails (I just can't bring myself to do it!), put the trash and the recyclables out and let the Mathilde out all before heading off to his other full-time job.

But honestly? It's not my fault. Roger's spent the last six years treating me like his queen and, well, if it quacks like a duck... The downside is that during the few trips he takes each year I have to learn how to handle everything by myself all over again, just like I used to in my long-ago days of singledom. Suddenly, I'm the only one there to get up with Delaney if she wakes up in the middle of the night and when she awakes first thing in the morning. The trash, dishes, dogs, laundry, "cooking," shopping and all other duties fall to me.*

And as much as I miss him and him helping me out when he's gone, our time apart, the "distance makes the heart grow fonder" stuff does pay off because I learn to appreciate him and all that he does for us even more.

Last night we talked about the recent passing of our anniversary and the fact that neither or us made a big deal of it. I told him I thought our anniversary should be a big deal but that I didn't make a big deal out of it because I didn't think he would. That's when he said, "I try to make every day a big deal, a special deal." You know what? He does. And that makes me love him even more because he strives to prove his love for us, and he lives his love for us, daily. He does an amazing job.

* I know I've made it out like I'm a total bitch slacker wife most of the time, but I do actually work hard around here and make regular contributions to our family. I take care of Delaney each and every day, I do all of our laundry, most of our grocery shopping, prepare and feed Delaney most of her meals, load and unload the dishwasher, pay the bills and the most daunting task of all: let the maid in and out of the house once every two weeks. Yeah, I'm no slouch.  :)

Love Thursday

October 27, 2003

Trunk Bay, St. John, U.S.V.I.

Roger, the past three years as your wife have been better than I could have imagined. We've laughed more than you promised we would, you support and encourage and love me more than anyone should and we have an amazing daughter together. You are my dream, my love, my soulmate and every day I cherish the fact that I'm the luckiest woman around because you are my husband.

From my wedding journal, dated October 31, 2003:

Our wedding was perfect! The weather, at first, was a bit overcast. But after our vows, during photos, the sun came out and we had a gorgeous sunset over Trunk Bay. Roger and I were actually so happy to have the pressure off of us after the ceremony. It was lovely and emotional and memorable but I think we both sighed with relief when the formalities were done. We drank champagne on the beach in our wedding clothes and laughed and had sweet, romantic moments too. We were truly glowing. It was the best day of my life.

My bouquet was stunning with bright orange lillies, purple and white orchids and dark pink roses. My hair had purple and white orchids interlaced through it - the same flowers as Roger's boutinere.

After we left our wedding beach we drove up the hill to our wedding dinner at Asolare (The word means, "the leisurely passing of time." Roger thought it meant, "Asshole Larry's.") True to the example his father set for him, Roger visited the restaurant earlier in the evening on his way to our wedding and tipped the maitre'd $50 to be sure we'd get the best table in the place. So, when we arrived at Asolare everyone already knew Roger and they treated us like royalty. We had more champagne, a shrimp tempura appetizer and Roger had roasted duck and I had the scallops. The staff served us a complementary dessert -- some sort of flan, I can't remember. By then we'd had a bit of champagne!

When we left Asolare (view from the restaurant at left) we drove through the tiny town of Cruz Bay honking the horn and yelling to people from our windows, "Hey! WE GOT MARRIED!" Most of the locals were happy for us. Others just shouted back, "Whateva, mon."

Happy anniversary, My Love. I relive our beautiful, simple beach wedding every day.

Last year's anniversary message to Roger here.

Love Thursday: a boy and his bike

A few years ago, before we got married, Roger broke up with Adelaide. She'd loyally served to seductively scratch an itch I never could, but he finally realized that it was me he loved and so he let her go. It was a long, drawn-out, tearful goodbye. He knew he'd miss her desperately but priorities were priorities and I was at the top of his list. I sheepishly admit now that I was thrilled at her departure--my competition neatly squashed by him without any prodding from me. But my motives weren't exactly what you'd think. I wasn't threatened by the thrill-seeking danger she doled out to him time and time again or even jealous of the time they spent together. In fact, they rarely saw each other once I entered the picture. Nope. Getting rid of Adelaide meant one thing: we'd be able to start a pre-nuptial nest egg, something we never could have done if that bitch had stuck around.

You see, Adelaide was a Honda Goldwing.

Fast forward to summer 2006 when Roger and I watched a show called, "Feasting on Asphalt," in which our favorite foodie, Alton Brown, cruises the country on a bike and samples America's road food (In case you missed it, it's terrific. Be sure to catch it when it's back in rerun rotation.). That show? Gave Roger the bug--The Bike Bug. The only cure? He's gotta ride.

This weekend Roger's renting a Harley and hitting the open road. Just a boy and his bike (well, it's his for the weekend anyway) and his love for roaming the unexplored Texas countryside.

Have fun, My Love. Be safe. And remember, whatever her name is, she's only a fling.

Love Thursday