Fat Tuesday: Married Edition

While many were out celebrating Mardi Gras the good old fashioned way with alcoholic beverages, beads, debauchery, etc., Mike and I decided to get pretty crazy.

That’s right. We hopped in the SUV and headed over to LongHorn Steakhouse to eat ourselves silly.

As all good Catholics know, a person is not supposed to treat the Lenten season as if it were a forty day diet, but it’s difficult not to look at the long period of self-denial as an opportunity to abstain from the bad habit of, oh say, eating chocolate. And if I happen to lose a few pounds in the process? Well, so be it.

When I heard that my parents were going to make a pilgrimage to Outback Steakhouse on Fat Tuesday to gorge themselves on meat and dessert, I proposed the idea to Mike. Since he is planning to try a fast for Lent, he was very supportive of the suggestion. It is true that he’d be all for a steak dinner regardless of a looming fast or not, but by deeming it a celebration of overindulgence, I made the excursion all the more enticing.

Instead of opting for a sweet treat at the restaurant, we followed our “last meal” with cheesecake bites we had in the freezer at home. I also luxuriated in some mini peanut butter cups because, hey, forty days is a long time to go without chocolate.

It’s true that we have changed so many ways since getting married and having a baby, but when I look over my night and think about all the possible ways to celebrate Mardi Gras, I would choose a calorie laden dinner and dessert followed by pajamas, TV and cuddling with Mike and Jude every single time.

Just Married Needs Your Help

Dear Readers,

I have joined thoughts with fellow writer and blogger Holly Phillips of The Bitter Lemon to write a book about dating and relationships. As a reader of this blog, I have to assume you have some experience, or at least interest, in romantic relationships, and that is why I’m asking for your help!

Although we have several stories between us, we need your input. Please share with us your dating/relationship stories, from meeting the guy/girl and first dates to tying the knot and beyond. We’re just as interested in “happily ever after” as we are endings and “starting over”; we want the great and fabulous, all the way to the weird, the bad, and the sad. Tell us your story, what you’ve learned, or even any advice you might have to offer.

If we use your story, your level of anonymity is up to you. We can use a first name, initials or a pen name, but we will need your name and contact information just in case we have follow up questions.

Though we don’t have a page or word limit at this point, we do have a deadline. Please submit your stories to: justmarriedgirl (at) gmail (dot) com by April 1st, 2012.

I can’t wait to read your words! Thanks for your help, and happy writing!

G

The Girl Scouts are Trying to Destroy Me

Spoiler alert: Read no further if you do not want to know how many calories are in the Panera Chocolate Chipper. You’ve been warned.

***

It’s no secret that I love Panera. Not only is their creamy tomato soup delicious, but I can consume it guilt-free because the menu is kind enough to list the calories for all its sandwich, soup, salad and smoothie options. This allows me to know what I’m getting myself into when I step up to the register. So confident am I in my healthy lunch/dinner selection, that I started giving an emphatic “Yes!” every time the cashier asked me:

“Do you want to add a bakery treat for 99 cents?”

While my favorite eatery boasts a wide assortment of delicious desserts, I will say that the Chocolate Chipper chocolate chip cookie is amazing. The chip to cookie ratio is spot on, resulting in a combination of salty and sweet perfection. And since the calories aren’t listed anywhere on the package, I assumed there were about, what, 200 of them? Yes. That had to be it.

For a few months, I lived in blissful ignorance. I could check the Panera website if I really wanted to know, but I kept my distance, happy to indulge in chocolate-chip goodness whenever the mood struck. I don’t know why it started nagging at me one afternoon, but all of a sudden, I just had to know how many calories were in that darn cookie. So I investigated, and to my horror, I learned that there are a whopping 440.

Ugh.

In an instant, I was crushed. Prior to that moment, the cookie I loved so much could have five calories for all I knew or cared. But once I knew there were 440, the game was over. I couldn’t order one without thinking of the consequences.

Why, why, why did I have to know the truth?

Before getting pregnant, I liked sweets, but I didn’t crave them. Now, my day is centered around trying to resist them. So when the Chipper left my life, a big, gaping hole was left. I was determined to fill the void with fruit, my old love. But alas, there are sugary obstacles everywhere.

Recently, Mike encouraged me to support the Girl Scouts by purchasing our favorite cookies. It was just what we needed, really, the tempting allure of peanut butter and chocolate just steps away from the living room couch. I have committed the calories per serving to memory in order to avoid moments of weakness, and my plan for the weekend is to stay strong until I can get to the supermarket to load up on strawberries and apples.

Wish me luck.

My Baby and Your Baby Sitting in a Tree

I signed Jude and I up for a local Kindermusik class about a month ago. He seems to love music, and he’s at an age where he’s more and more curious about the world. I like taking him out to explore, and Mike and I agreed that this would be a good way for him to experience other babies as well as something new.

This past Tuesday was our first day, and I was pretty excited. We entered the room, put our stuff down, and sat on a carpet in between a young mom and her adorable daughter and an older woman and her active grandson.

“This must be Jude,” the teacher said.

I wondered how she knew, and then she explained that there were only three children in the class. It was disappointing, but why not make the best of it?

“How old is your daughter,” I said to the mom on my left.

“Nine months today,” she said.

“Wow! He’s eight months today,” I said.

In conversation, I learned that she also worked at a school–she’s a guidance counselor–and that she also extended her maternity leave from six months to a year because she was having a hard time with the idea of going back to work and leaving her darling.

The course was a little stranger than I’d hoped. We had to run around the room in circles and lift our babies in the air and sing, and though it would have felt a bit awkward doing those things regardless, it was made more uncomfortable by the teacher’s seeming lack of passion. Baby B, the older child accompanied by his grandmother, was restless and unhappy. It was clear that the grandma didn’t know what to do, and it was exasperating the instructor. So, the class was kind of a bust, but I already paid for it and hoped things might improve over the semester.

Several times during the hour long period, the teacher pulled out some instruments for the babies. The little ones favored these activities, but each time, we were being asked to clean up just as the fun was getting started. I know we had to keep moving, but again, there was something odd about the energy in the class. I couldn’t place it, but it was there.

During one of these free play moments, the little girl, Baby R, crawled over to Jude. He reached up to touch her face, and she flinched.

“Oh, Jude. Let’s be gentle with Baby R,” I said, embarrassed that the other mom would think he was swiping at her.

“Oh he’s fine,” the mom said.

Once again, Baby R got close to Jude, and he began touching her face. This time, she let him, and there they were, staring at each other in wonder, Jude’s hand patting her face and arm. It was just adorable.

At the end of class, the teacher told us that we’d have to move to another class because this one was too small to run every week. Ah! This is why things seemed off; she had no intention of continuing with just the three of us, and because we’d have to come back on Thursday and repeat the whole thing over again, she was just going through the motions. Why she didn’t just tell us this from the start, I can’t say, but I hoped Thursday would be an improvement.

On the way out, Baby R’s mom walked with me to the parking lot. I was hoping she would; it seems silly, but I liked her instantly and hoped that she would also continue in the Thursday class. She seemed to hesitate when the teacher mentioned it, and I wondered if it was because she thought the whole experience was just as odd as I did.

“If we don’t end up taking the class, we should still get together,” she said as we chatted by the cars.

I agreed and we exchanged numbers.

Even though the class wasn’t the amazing musical experience I thought it might be, I was happy to have the opportunity to meet another mom who is going through similar experiences. Funny how I thought Kindermusik would be a good way for Jude to make new friends, and here I was doing the same.

I hope Baby R and her mom do attend today’s session, but if they don’t, perhaps we will meet up for lunch or a play date or a walk someday soon. Regardless, Jude and I will have to work a little on his flirting skills.

Who’s Your Little Friend?

A couple of weeks ago, I spent a few posts examining an article by Bronnie Ware entitled “5 Regrets of the Dying,” and though last week proved busier than expected, I thought I’d get back to my little project this week.

I am going to combine numbers three and four because they seem related. Well, they do to me, anyway:

3. I wish I had the courage to express my feelings.

4. I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends.

With the people I love and trust, I have no problems expressing my feelings, maybe a little too well. But it’s that pesky trust thing that trips me up in my other relationships. I was never cool when I was younger, and if we’re being honest, I’m still not very cool these days, either. But when I was a kid, I felt it so strongly. I was self-conscious, and on a couple of occasions, people that I thought were my friends hurt me or let me down in some way, and this bruised my confidence. As a result, I have become introverted as an adult. At least, I think there is a direct connection, or perhaps I was always this way and don’t know it.

I have lost friendships because I have been lousy at keeping in touch, too. It’s not deliberate; it just kind of happened along the way. But the older I become, the more I realize how much I need other people. Becoming Jude’s mom has intensified this feeling. But because my instincts always have me protecting myself and retreating, I have to work at it.

And so I do.

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With luck, I have met the most wonderful friends in my adult life. My colleagues are proof of this. The friends I made at work are kind, generous, funny, dependable, and dear. Soon after I had Jude, a group of them came to visit me at my home. It was my first big dose of company since his birth, and I had no idea how much I needed it until they arrived. We sat on the deck and ate lunch and then retreated to the kitchen for some dessert and chatting, and their stories, their laughter, and their support that meant so much to me, I thought I could cry when they finally left for the day.

Maybe it was just the hormones.

I often worry that my house is not neat enough or not polished enough. We’ve lived here less than two year and have a lot of work to do, and that doesn’t sit well with the perfectionist with me. So, it’s hard to remember that friends don’t care what my house looks like or what I look like. I have to learn to trust in that, and I have to start learning to trust in myself.

I do not want Jude to learn from me that every social encounter should be followed with the thought:

“Did I just make a fool of myself?“

This blog has helped me with expressing myself more and with building a kind of trust in others. I don’t always tell people what they mean to me, but I am learning. What I have found is that, like me, most people appreciate sincerity. My imperfections and my silliness, they aren’t things to fear or hide. They make me humble, human.

I am trying.

***

Recently, the Today Show ran a segment about the importance of friendships for boys. I paid careful attention to it because I want Jude to be a healthy, well-adjusted child who enjoys close, life-long friends. In order to encourage him, I know I have to model this behavior, and that means taking better care of my relationships.

But, I also have to show him that friendships are symbiotic. In order to reap kindness, he has to give it out. He has to be generous and kind and good-hearted if he expects others to treat him that way. And sometimes, it won’t work. He’ll open himself up to someone who will be careless with his heart. That person will strip away part of Jude’s trust and leave a scar. But I hope I can help him see that not everyone is so reckless and that he does not have to retreat or become afraid. He just has to keep going until he can set down his things and make a home around the right group of people.

I admire my mom because she has a wide circle of friends, and I know this is because she is loving and giving but also because she has solid self-esteem. She believes in herself, and she believes in other people, and who doesn’t want to be around someone who is so positive and so fun? Maybe my crazy introversion will skip a generation and Jude will inherit his Nonni’s social instincts, but if not, I hope that we can both learn from her example so that we, too, are not listing “I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends” amongst our parting regrets.

And if that doesn’t work, maybe she’ll give us free lessons?

You Have One Message

Mike was one of the first serious boyfriends of mine who didn’t call me during his work day. Perhaps the others weren’t as busy, or maybe Mike just liked the reprieve, but early in the relationship, this was a cause for concern.

I mean, why didn’t he want to talk to me?

I know now that he is busy, that he doesn’t sit behind the desk from nine am until six pm, that he gets so many work-related phone calls and texts and emails that it’s hard to keep it all straight.

Well, at least I think that is what is going on with him.

So, when he does send me an unexpected email or a text message during the day, it feels special and exciting even when he’s just being silly.

***

On Sunday night, after running to the store to return a movie and to pick up a few groceries, Mike suggested that we catch up on last week’s Top Chef. The episode featured a new line of Healthy Choice meals designed in part by past contestants and other foodies. We’d seen commercials here and there for the product, so I wasn’t surprised when Mike said:

“I bought a couple of those for my lunches this week.”

“Did you get any for me?”

“No, I didn’t think you–”

“Ate lunch?” I said.

We laughed. I wasn’t angry, just curious about how they tasted.

Cut to yesterday afternoon.

Jude was having a moody day, laughing one moment and crying the next. He refused to open his mouth when I tried feeding him his morning oatmeal, and then he proceeded to rub the cereal all over his face. I mean, it was stuck in his eyelashes and behind his ears. This was followed by tears as I tried cleaning the crust from his face.

After breakfast, the day kind of continued with this up-and-down drama. So, it was a treat when my phone buzzed twice, indicating receipt of a text message.

It was from Mike. He said:

“The Healthy Choice meal from Top Chef was TERRIBLE. Healthy Choice, please pack your knives and go.”

It made me laugh, and it also made me feel better about not having a freezer full of unappetizing meals. But most of all, it made me happy to know that he was thinking of me–even if just to tell me that his lunch was crappy.

Working it Out

This week, I’ve been reflecting on an article by Bronnie Ware’s article “The 5 Regrets of the Dying.” After many years of working with palliative care patients, she developed a list of regrets men and women tended to express in the last weeks of their lives.

One of these included:

“I wish I didn’t work so hard”

Of this particular sentiment, Ms. Ware writes:

“This came from every male patient that I nursed. They missed their children’s youth and their partner’s companionship. Women also spoke of this regret. But as most were from an older generation, many of the female patients had not been breadwinners. All of the men I nursed deeply regretted spending so much of their lives on the treadmill of a work existence.”

Mine is not necessarily a nine-to-five job, but as Mike would tell you, I spend most nights during the school year on the couch surrounded by a stack of papers or a mountain of books. I will sometimes spend an entire Sunday grading essays, and at the end of the semester, when the work piles faster and higher than it does during any other point of the year, Mike will find me in a crumpled mess at the kitchen table under a pile of chaos.

However, I am a ten month employee, so at least I get a respite over the summer months.

I have been fortunate enough to be on an extended maternity leave this year, affording me the chance to spend most all my moments with Jude. But when I return in the fall, I will be jumping back into the fray, and though I’ve stepped in front of the classroom thousands of times, I will be entering brand new territory.

And it’s scary.

I will have to find time to spend with Jude while maintaining my courses and keeping up with papers. Oh yea, and then I have to prepare dinner and keep the house clean and find time for Mike and find time for myself and…

I am not the first person who has to negotiate a husband, a child, a home, and a job, but that doesn’t make it any less daunting. I want so much to raise a happy, healthy, well-adjusted son, without sacrificing my other commitments. I know I will figure it out as I go, and for now, the best that I can do is put it out of my mind and live in a cushy world of denial.

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Yes, that seems like the best plan of action.

At the end of my life, I know that one of my greatest contributions to the world will be my son, and I owe it to him to do the best I can so that he can become a productive citizen and a fulfilled and well-rounded person. And though I wish I could raise him full-time, this is not possible, and so, I have to get used to sharing him.

It has to happen some time, I suppose.

I enjoy my job, and I have made very close friendships with some of my co-workers. Plus, my salary will be a great help to our little family, not to mention Jude’s education fund. And let’s not forget how lucky I am to have a job in a time when so many are jobless. These are all respectable reasons for continuing my career outside the home. But I also find my work satisfying. Even though my students may never realize how deeply I care about their success or understand how hard I take their failures, I keep trying harder because it’s important to me, and I need something like that in my life. One day, Jude will be school-aged and won’t want a thing to do with me. Won’t a stack of papers at my feet be a good distraction?

I never want to feel that I missed out on being present in my family’s life because of work. But I also don’t want to lose myself in my family and forget that I am a separate person with a life of my own.

It’s all so perfectly complicated.

I hope I get it right.