To David

On the occasion of your first Father's Day...

I didn't think to write you something until this morning when I woke up late and realized it was late and heard you downstairs feeding pears to our son. I laid there and listened to your

fatherly sounds

the ones of love, the ones

I love

the way you love us.

It is Sunday, the day of rest, the day that summer

floats like a breeze through the screen;

I feel the comfort in the light comforter as I lay listening

to the sounds of our house.

I rise then to meet you at the table, full of eggs and peppers and coffee, and we laugh

in that morning light like a family.

you tell me you've been up for hours and my heart wells with gratitude and guilt

'it's father's day,' i say, mouth full,

'shouldn't I be taking care of you?' 

It feels grown-up and heavy to make my husband feel special

for being The Greatest Dad to Our Son.

But isn't it large? The enomormity

of our newly acquired holiday and what it represents?

It bears the weight of our responsibility

to This One Little Soul.

----

As the text and calls reach you today, I struggle

with how to express to you how

You SOAR

David

babe

boo

How can I express to you how impressed I am?

I've known you for so long.

I've loved you for so long.

I've trusted you for so long.

Those arms are my shelter, your chest is my calm center.

But I didn't know you at all

Until Now

Now I see the father you are,

THE MAN YOU ARE,

and I see the man I want Dax to be.

How could I have known what how big my heart could get?

How could I possibly have known?

In this life

We are Light 

so airy and full of space, spacious hearts--

holding each other lightly, tightly, brightly.

My love

My love

It is your day--A Father's Day--A Daddy's Day--

I want to thank you for everything you are. 

Dax and Daddy, Buddies from Day One

Just Because

My husband bought me flowers yesterday. Just because. Just because I watched the little guy while he was away for work. Just because it made me tired. Just because it made me weak. Just because he thinks I'm cute and just because he thinks I'm worth it.

I received them the day after I wrote that post. The one a couple posts down where I am peeling apart at the seams. The one where I am cycling through the low part of the bipolar extremes of momhood.

I am so grateful that the man that gave me flowers is the man that will be the role model for my little man. I am hoping my little man will look at my big man and learn How to Be a Man. Which includes such topics as: How To Treat a Woman. Or How to Express Your Love. Or How to Love, In General.

I hope from his father he will learn that A Man Should be Madly in Love with His Chosen One. And that he should tell her often. And telling her often in no way diminishes His Manhood. It only makes him stronger. More of a man. I hope he learns never to be afraid to say how he feels. There's power and courage in that.

I hope he learns how to be Tender. Kind. Gentle. Strong. I hope he learns how to cuddle. How to hug. How to giggle. Play. Joke. Jest.

I hope he learns How To Be Open. Vulnerable. How to Let Go. How to, most importantly, Be Himself. So He Can Be Free.

I hope he learns that compromise is key. That listening is paramount. That wanting the other person to be happy is sometimes bigger than the self. And that is The Secret. That IS Love in Action.

I hope he also learns when to Speak Your Mind. Say Your Peace. To Not Be Afraid to do so. I hope he can do so with the Belief that he will Be Heard. And that belief will give him The Power to Be Calm.

For all these things, I am grateful that Dave is his father. Because that alone gives him a leg up on These Important Things.

As a woman I am grateful that I see these things in my husband. That I chose these things. That I respect them in him. And I pray that I can foster the same Values, Principles, Integrity in my son that I adore in my husband.

I hope my son becomes the kind of man that buys flowers for his wife....

Just Because.

The State of Our Union

It is dark in the house early now.  We are so tired, exhausted. I barely have enough energy to tell you things anymore, parts of my day, share pieces of memory. I don't want to talk. I want to sleep.

I take a bath, and I can hear you in the other room cooing at our son. I know he must be looking up at you, eyes squinted in delight. I smile to myself, count my blessings.

I want to detach though. I want to roll into myself, think my own thoughts. I don't know why, but I can't.  My thoughts are wrapped up in that wobbly bundle of ours. I'm always analyzing, how to make things better. I pick up a book. It's about babies. I chide myself for my lack of interest in fiction anymore. I used to find such solace there. But I can't bring myself to read my unread paperback.

I know you're tired too. Those long days when you leave the house before dawn to work, when you wake up in the night to trudge into your car and drive through the dark and the hills. When you return home through the dark and the hills, the headlights like an unbroken necklace of twinkle lights on the highway. And when you arrive to the yellow warmth of our home, you must see that look in my eye, the one that says, "I've had a long day, would you take him?"

But you're so kind and good, because you don't complain or sigh; you just peel off your coat deliberately and then you pick him up and oogle him. And so I breathe.

I love you for that.

We've gotten into more of a rhythm. Those itsy-bitsy newborn hours are over. The blur of days and nights in wake-sleep-wake-sleep-wake. The spurts of adrenaline that pushed us through those first weeks. The nights where I didn't sleep and just listened, begging the still white moon hanging in the window for the sound of my baby's breath. The nightmare thoughts of losing baby, pulling him into bed between us just to be closer to him. I felt like a bear protecting her cub.

I don't feel like that anymore. Dax feels strong and hearty. In the wee hours of the night when everything is hushed and tired, we hear him wake and squirm and fuss. You get out of bed and go to him, arms like oak pulling him from his bed to comfort him. I hear you pat his back as you bring him to me, lay his little body next to me. You turn his head towards me, showing him where the food is. It is your gift to him. Your guidance.

And then you might say you love me as you shuffle back to your side of the bed. You might lay your hand on my hip in the dark as our baby nurses. When he's sleeping and snoring and breathing soft and languid you take him back slowly. I love your gentleness. I love you.

It is this rhythm that moves us through the weeks. A true team. As we've never been before. And when I'm too tired you let me lean on you and I do the same for you. And so it goes...

I miss you though. I do. I miss the just you and me. I don't want it back. No. I get it: things have changed. Irrevocably. Un-change-back-able. We are new. Different. Beloved. Better even. Revolving around a new planet. Bigger than us. The sum of us.

But I'm just saying, sometimes in the night I want us to be just alone again. So I can curl my body into yours at will--without worry or ears perked, without body and mind pitched towards our baby. I want to breath you completely again. Focus with my whole heart.

These are juvenile thoughts. Useless, I know. But just know that I think of you always. The state of our union is stronger now, even though we seem to be circling in separate orbits, we revolve around our son. But baby, I love you with everything. You're my universe.        

making little mes&yous

I met my little boy last night, tucked inside my dreams. He was whisked away after delivery to be cleaned. I waited for an hour to see him. In dream time, probably like one minute. When I saw him, he was everything I thought he'd be: handsome and mine. I was relieved to find I loved him instantly.

In the blurry edges of last night, he was born atleast 6 months old as he could already charm people with his baby kisses. I saw old friends and they oohed and awwed. In my dream everything was All Right. All Right, I beamed.

In real life, I'm about six weeks away from B day. Six weeks. Did you hear that? Six f**king weeks. A blink. Of an eye. My obsession is reaching fever pitch. I wonder/worry/think aloud only pregnancy. Last night at the movies, I worried the volume was too loud for my little one's inner ear. I put a protective extra hand over my belly, hoping the extra layer of skin would dull the bass of the surround sound.

I look at Dave now and can't wait to see him as a Father. A Dad. My Husband. My Life's Love. I am overwhelmed with how much I love him. Last night, as I was a bit sick to my stomach, feeling down and achy, he led me downstairs where it was cooler. He brought me chilled water and a pillow for my belly. The other pillow we shared, head to head, on the green fabric sectional couch. You and me, we formed an L. A Picture of Love. We woke up hours later with the twinkle lights in the trees, yellow on our limbs. You held my arm as we sleep-walked up the stairs.

These moments guarantee that I'll love you forever. When you painted the nursery, I loved you. When you said told me you were sorry that I felt down, I loved you. When you say 'good morning' to my belly, I loved you. The blessings we share do not escape me. Not one day could go by without me counting from one to a zillion why I'm the luckiest girl on earth.  

I am looking forward to enjoying these last few weeks of our aloneness. It's been You and Me for eight great years. And I think I'm going to miss that. In the forever we face as we grow our descendants, I will miss just You and Me. I know the journey is going to be different and amazing and change us in ways we can't imagine and believe you me I'm looking forward to that. It's time. I know that.

But I aim, through all this love and change and making little mes&yous, to keep my eyes on you too. And you keep your eyes on me too, k? Cause in the end, isn't it still just You and Me?

Little Paper Hearts

I am so avoiding what I have to do right now. I need to be knee-deep in my closet, curled up on the floor, going through boxes I haven't gone through in a year. I need to look at every little picture and note in them and say, "oh how cute, i remember that." And then I need to re-pack it again. Box it up. Move it to the next place. And then, not look at it at all until the next time we move. These little sentiments are so important right?

Sometimes I imagine my children going through my memory boxes of poems and old love letters, little torn and faded envelopes of a past life lived. A life that they will never know of me. A me that they will never see. I imagine them being surprised, maybe even a little guilty for not knowing these little parts of a person they will come to know as mom, Mom, MOMMM!!!!

Then I think of my own mother and her lives she lived before us. Who was she really? I imagine her laughing, beautiful as ever, gliding across stages in her dance leotards. I imagine men loved her and I imagine she enjoyed their attention without effort, being adored came natural to her. But this is the mother I've imagined. In truth, I will never know her as the her before me. What dreams will my children conjure up?

Then, I imagine I've died abruptly and Dave has to sift through my old memories. I'm embarrassed with this. I start to throw away things that cheapen my love for him, like when I claimed to love others before him. What did I know of love then, before I married you my love? I burn these adolescent poems. I imagine as we gather up homes against the backdrop of our new family, with each move, I'll throw away more and more of these cheap little paper hearts. Leaving room only for my one true beating, breathing heart....You.

Moving Blahs and Hurrahs

So we are moving in about two weeks. We rented a house nearby the we love love love. It took us atleast three months to find this house rental. Who knew that the house rental market in San Diego was so fierce? We lost a few houses due to not applying within days of its posting. So we learned to be vigilante. I would be seeing houses within hours of them posting. Other applicants be damned.

Once we found houses to view based on budget range and location, I choose a house based almost solely on intuition. I wait for my insides to go, "Yes, yes, YES...THIS IS IT!  It could be perfect in every way, but if my bells don't go off, I don't move.

Also, Dave and I agreed as a couple that we won't ever try to "convince" the other person to like a house. There were a few I really liked, but Dave wasn't that smitten. The same thing happened vice verse: Dave liked a house or two and I just wasn't feeling it. Conversation over. Next. Until both of us were in agreement (without any nudging on the others part at all), that's when we sign papers. We looked at over 20 houses before deciding on this one. We find that we get the best results when we do that.

In the end though, even with our "system," it's still all a gamble isn't it? Will we like it? Love it? We will be here for at least three years before we start thinking of buying...did we make the right choice? I think so...

Needless to say though, right now I am so excited about it. We've been in San Diego for one full year now, and I can't say that the apartment we live in I'm head-over-heels for. We found this place quickly; we weren't able to use our "system" because of time constraints. And I must say, I've missed our adorable apartment in Phoenix more than once. I am thinking/hoping that this will make us feel more at home here. Better get packing!

San Francisco Snippets

What to say? You are beloved, frenzied, urban, and hip. You make me marvel at humans (look what we've done)...

Your downtown teems with the homeless, the toothless, the piles of stacked concrete and glass, the saturated color, the clipped wind, and the loud sharp ring of those quinnessential cable cars. I was sometimes scared; I was alive in my bones.

We trekked all over that city, holding hands. I loved being with you, having your full attention, your whole being. It was the most fun I've had since our honeymoon--exactly one year ago. We are the best travelers together. (together. we're better. always).

Until the next time, here's some pics from my Pentax Kx DSLR...she loved San Fran as much as we did....

 

  

                  

On this paper heart i pledge...

Dave and I are headed out tomorrow to San Francisco for an extended weekend. It's been one year since we tied the knot. One year since we committed, in advance, to a lifetime together. Of all the eight years we've been together, this year, in my heart, has been the easiest. Not that it was ever hard to love Dave. No, it's always felt like coming home. And yes, the first couple years, we had bumps, growing pains, as we merged. But then the months smoothed into years and I was yours--turned inside-out by our love--and truly, hasn't it always been easy? But this year, yes, has been the best...

I've always been practical I guess, guarding my heart from disaster. Even as our lives braided around each other, a tight knot of friends and family and love. I still kept myself safe. I didn't even realize it--the epiphany coming like a slow dawn this whole year. But I know now: I let go up there on that beautiful day on that beautiful lake. That day. April 18th, 2009. Something shifted in the heart when I said, "I promise to love you forever and ever." The formality of it--the food, the dance, the dress--that was just a bonus. Mostly, I remember pledging myself to you. To us. I'm all in, baby. I'm all in. A complete fall. That commitment has freed me to feel the most profound connection to you. The effect: like a giant ripple, deepening my love for everything.

This love

Cracks my heart open

and pours out my pores.

This love gathers

youmeyoumeyoume

and expands.

Dear heart,

I love that you

ignore the boundaries of the body.

Don't come back.

I'm not afraid. to let you.

Be.

Martha, Martha, Martha

I've got domesticity on my mind. The days are just me. Long and lonely and beige. I tap my words into this computer all day, hearing them in my bones, but not aloud. I'm happy. But I'm so silent. Life has never been so still.

As the sun hurdles itself through the sky all day, the light changes. The colors in the living room dull in the evening, and Dave will be home soon. I get up to prepare dinner. It's my favorite part of the day.

Cooking calms me. It's me & me, nodding to music, moving through the yellow light in the kitchen. It's quaint and slow; the sound of chopping vegetables makes me feel purposeful, deliberate.

When Dave and I got married, I broke down near the end and did a wedding registry. I didn't think I wanted one. I thought we had everything we needed, having already lived together for four years. I also thought I was better than such frivolties. I was wrong. On all accounts.

You see, when one buys items for oneself with oneself's own money, certain things are compromised. For example, quality. Why would I buy a $20 cookie pan, when I can purchase one for $3? Also, convenience often trumps as well. Why would I trek to Williams-Sonoma when three Super Targets exist within three square miles of my abode?

Up until the wedding, I had been living in The Now. If I needed to make roasted vegetables, I'd pick up a $5 pan at the grocery store. Did my toaster break? Buy another one--heck they're only 10 bucks! The result? A kitchen full of cheap, mismatched shit.

The Macy's registry changed my life. (p.s. don't register at Target. You would buy yourself anything from Target. Nothing could stop you and you know it. Register a little bit out of your league. Make it special.). Did you know a more expensive pan actually helps cook the food more evenly? Or that a fancy 4-slot toaster makes cooking quicker AND more stylish?

I got china that I'll surely pass onto my children. I got embroidered table runners that will make me the coolest party host EVER. I got a thick cutting board made out of bamboo that I use everyday. And to quell any protests about the impersonality of registries, I do remember who gifted me what and thank them frequently.

But today, I want to tribute Martha Stewart. She's like a cooking inventor or something. Here's three super cool AND super cute tools I got and use frequently. You don't even realize how much you need them until you have them. Get them. Now. I don't work for macy's or anything, but I think these items are only available there. Imagine how cool you'll be...

1)Citrus Press - In her signature Martha blue, this sturdy little number is made of iron or something it's so hefty. Forget hand-squeezing those lemons, just cut em in half, pop it in, a voila--easy peesie.

2) Vegetable Steamer - As cute as it is functional, this old school steamer doesn't plug in. Fill the bottom of a pot with water, put your new steamer in there (it folds open like a flower and closed to fit almost any size), put your broccoli and carrots in there, cover for a bit and voila! Toss your clunky plug-in model in the trash.

3) Over-the-sink Colander - Stop precariously pouring hot water and macaroni into your old plastic colander. You're losing good macaroni! This wire mesh colander is adjusts to fit over your sink, so you can pour within worrying about whether your colander will tip. I even wash veggies in it.

Cabin Fever

With the holidays tucked neatly behind us, we're disheveled. You are in the next room, clearing your throat and sucking snot through your nose, as you play some loud thing. I pound green tea to prevent the body from giving in to the cold that hovers in our living room.

Alaska: you are so large and dark in the winter. When we first landed, our plane shook in your freezing air. I held my stomach and averted my eyes from the window. When we are sick, we are alone.

At touchdown, we clacked onto the peach shining tile of the new Anchorage airport. Things change, you must have thought. Your hometown, where your heart grew in its palms, grows without you. It mars your memory. I know this because the Fargo from my youth doesn't exist anymore either. It is something else entirely. It is present. I am past. When I visit, its new buildings tell me, I don't belong anymore.

Through the cold window in the car, the night white snow mesmerizes me. I am not speaking as the black spokes of the trees zip past. A dark organic silhouette emerges on the street, lit by the yellow globes of the quiet winter street. There's our moose, sauntering through the streets like a living poem. Only in Alaska...

I am grateful to love your family. Grateful to hole up in the dim light of that cozy cabin. Grateful for the five-day hibernation that felt like a warm hug. Grateful for blankets, tea, Christmas lights, and carbohydrates.

We were so silent together, the five of us. Even the dogs outside barely barked. When Humvee, the sheep, wanted crackers, he butted his head against the window without a cry. The only peep I heard from him was when we were leaving; his thick hooves crunched in the driveway as he galloped after the car.

I saw you unwind there. I'm not sure who needed that more--you or me. Since we moved to San Diego, I've seen you hold that tight rein around your life. Squeezing it so hard your knuckles whiten, your neck stiff. I know you do it for us and I love you for it, but I miss you.

It's temporary. It's temporal. It's necessary i know. But gawd my heart screamed when I saw you breathe. Even as you got sicker and sicker, your nose stuffed and your head clogged, I was still relieved. It meant, to me, your body letting go. Laying down. Sleeping.

When we boarded the return plane, you handed me our tickets: first class. You smiled at me. I punched you. We sat down and you held my hand. I started to cry. You said, 'we'll figure it out.' And we will.

Day 133 - Moms, Anniversaries, and DMVs

1. Moms

Sometimes, I miss my mom so much that it hurts. Such is the case today.

But I'm also very very grateful. I just spent five blissful days with her, whooping it up here in sunny San Diego.

My mom is one of my best friends. I feel blessed that I mean that.

Like tourists, we traversed this town. From art fair to botanical garden. From the open green hills to the loud downtown.

At the risk of sounding like I work for the San Diego tourism department, I must say, I'm so in love with this city.

Per usual, we also tackled a home project. Couldn't resist spray-painting my old wicker furniture. We opened the garage and surrounded the chair, the end table, the chest of drawers. From ratty tan to chocolate brown, we transformed my bedroom stuff, all nice and new. Brick orange cushion for completion.

My mom has the ability to unwind me. Sometimes I get so tight. So serious. She just can grab the end of that string, and skip off into the sunshine. When it's all said and done, I'm new again. Unraveled. Disheveled. Smiling. Remembering to let go...

Of course I also have the habit of taking it too far. Ravished for the younger and freer me, I probably maybe perhaps smoked a few cigs while she visited. I probably maybe perhaps drank coffee, soda, and rum. And better yet, I think I probably maybe perhaps needed all that.

Let's face it. Stress management has never been one of my strong suits. Too-shay.

I miss you mom. I wish we lived in the same city.

2. Anniversaries

I'm going to brag here. I just can't help it.

Dave and I celebrated our six-month wedding anniversary over the weekend. With my mom in town and his mom and step dad also stopping in for the weekend, the morning of our anniversary, we quickly shared some lovely sentiments and a heart-felt spoken "Happy Anniversary" to each other before crawling out of bed. He went off to sail with his family. Mom and I, off to the gardens. (That all sounded so bourgeoisie) I didn't think anything of it, I figured we'd celebrate after our guests departed.

Later that evening, he came smiling up the stairs with a fist full of pink and white balloons, one of which, in red lettering said "Happy Anniversary." His other hand? A bouquet of lilies. His mother and step dad followed close behind him, with a smooth rectangle of tiramisu cake. What a guy. What a guy.

I love getting love in all the girly, cliche ways that hipper girls might renounce. Flowers are pretty. Balloons are awesome. And cake is divine. I have a theory that girls who claim to not like these things are actually insecure. They think YOU don't like these things. So they claim the same.

Or they saw a movie somewhere where the quirky protagonist girl said something witty to her potential mate like, "Why would you buy me flowers? It's a waste of money for something that just wilts and dies all over my kitchen table."

Which was really just the screenwriter's lazy way of using character development. The underlying message of the dialogue was meant to communicate this: This girl is so different and unique than all the other girls this guy has ever met. And the guy is supposed to know he's met someone real special and that perhaps his whole life might be changed from here on out.

So some poor girl out in the audience thinks to herself, hmmm...maybe if I don't like flowers than I'll be unique and special and someone will love me just like this guy loves Amanda Peet.

But sadly, the results are simply this: These girls miss out on one of the oldest and simplest forms of male to female courtship. Here's a flower. It means I love you. I'm not much of a talker. But I got you this pretty thing. Because I want to give you things. Because you're pretty. And I like you. And I want to continue touching your boobs.

We're so smitten with this display of affection that we let them. As well we should.

In a more advanced form of male to female courtship, Dave handed me two tickets to the dance tour of "So You Think You Can Dance" in downtown San Diego in November. Row Five. Center Stage.

WHAT??!!! (Can you hear me jumping up and down and screaming at the top of my lungs like Mary Murphy?!) This male to female show of affection says: I love you so much that I went out and did for you (for us) what might make you love me till we die.

Add to that, that my mom witnessed our anniversary exchange. Which means, Dave earns mad brownie points. Which means, I'm all the more ecstatic. Because I'm petty and I love it when things look good. Kidding. Kind of. Let's face it, everybody wants their parents to adore their chosen life partner. Life isn't as fun without that key element.

Anyway, "Happy Anniversary" to the the love of my life. For the seven years before our wedding day and to the 70 years after--my love continues to thicken and grow in my heart. It digs deeper; it gets more complicated; it gets more light than ever.

3. DMVs

Went to the DMV today to finally get my California driver's license.

At the first counter, the guy said, "I like your name. Darcy. That's nice."

Me (smiling): Thanks.

DMV employee: Have you ever seen the TV series "Pride and Prejudice"?

Me (replying in my head): You mean, 'Have I read the classic piece of epic romantic literature written by none other than Jane Austen?'

Me (actually said): The character Mr. Darcy?

DMV employee: Yes, that's it! Mr. Darcy. That's who I thought of when I heard your name. Very English sounding. I love it.

At the second counter, the woman said, "You and I share the same middle name."

Me (smiling): Oh, your middle name is "Jo"?! Are you from the Midwest?

2nd DMV employee: My parents are.

Me: Well that explains it.

We share a laugh.

By the end of our time together, she had complimented my ability to take a good thumb print and also said "Pretty picture!" after snapping my new driver's license shot.

O.k. so my trip to the DMV was lovely. What the hell? Did I just walk into some kind of DMV twilight zone? Where the most upbeat and supportive employees uplifted residents all day long? Next time I go they'll be distributing champagne and cookies at the buffet table. Knock on wood.

While the customer service was friendly, I have to say California government lags lags lags. First off, my written driver's test was actually written. What? Written. Like pencil and test sheet. And when I was done, I watched my fave employee with the middle name Jo grade it by hand. By hand. What kind of backwards shit is that? Don't they know that most states have these electronic things, they're called computers, that not only save paper but also increase efficiency?

And to boot, they said, "Your license will arrive in the mail in a few weeks." What? Um, in Arizona and Minnesota AND in po-dunk North Dakota (circa early nineties), you get, hold your breath, the darn thing printed off right there. Weird. Why is CA so behind?

To further this point, the other day I got pulled over by a stoic motorcyle cop. Why? Um, I was also interested to find out. Apparently it was for talking on my cellphone while driving. Without a hands-free device. Apparently that's a law they enforce here. I thought they were kidding. And when he handed me the ticket, he said I could call a number and pay, but I would have to "wait a month or so, so that they can get the ticket in the system." Hmm... it's no wonder Cali has budget problems.

Which brings me to my last point. Which is quite far down here, so I'm hoping some of you have dropped off before getting here, so you'll miss one of my few Republican-like confessions.

Now, most of you know that I'm a Democrat through and through. I tend to agree with and therefore vote blue, the majority of the time. But I have to say, one negative thing, I've noticed since living in this dark blue state (the first one in my life, Arizona and North Dakota are blood red), is that (begin redneck twang here and kick dirt with cowboy boots), "There sures are lots of laws here. Lots of big bureacracy, red tape. I don't know if I like the gubernent' deciding all my bizness." Sometimes a point is a point.

Day 77 - He Loves Me; He Loves Me Lots

Dave is busy. Really really busy. And sometimes when I tell people that, they get all "oh poor you." And sometimes, I admit, I feel that way too.

But mostly, I support him with my entire heart and soul. Why? Because I love that Dave has dreams and vision and ideas for his life. Because I view my role in his life (or my role in anybody's life for that matter) as a support beam--I want for Dave what he wants for himself. As long as he stays within the line of legal, moral, and with respect for me and my dreams, I want to be the tailor that stitches his wings together, the breath of wind that whispers 'you can do it, I'm here for you.'

And it's vice versa too. I believe that what I want for my life is what he wants for me too. Dave's not gaga over art like me. And I'm not really turned on by the business world like him. But the common thread that binds us is our mutual respect for our respective loves--we're each other's fans, we cheer each other on.

I care that Dave HAS passion about something, not if I share it. In our vows we promised, "I will trust you with my dreams, and support you in fulfilling yours."

And I'm not saying it's all perfection. It's not. I've been known to throw little pouting fits when I find out he won't be accompanying me to the next family fiesta. Or I've abruptly ended phone conversations when he calls to tell me he'll be late to our dinner date. I've said I'm o.k., no, it's nothing...more than once when I didn't mean it. I've even stared at him as if he single-handedly took away my soul when he changed our Thanksgiving plans.

But the fact of the matter is: Nothing is perfect. But what I DO consider perfect is that no matter what: I trust him. He never pushes me past my limits. He respects me and my words when I say, 'This is my limit of what I can give you, without forgoing my needs.' Which really sounds more like this: 'I need your time so badly it hurts.'

When I get there, he always rushes towards me. He never walls himself away, defensive. He never says, "Why don't you calm down?" or "You're being ridiculous." He says, "O.k. what can I do?" He opens. If he closed in those moments, I'm positive we would have never made it to that beautiful spring day, pledging our everlasting devotion. His gentle and kind reactions to me make my heart blow up like a balloon. My love is as infinite as air.

The other day, he arrived home late at night after a long day of work. This week has been extra rough. In his eyes were smiles and in his hands were a vase of two red roses and one white. I beamed knowingly at him as he handed me the plump and fragrant knot of petals. He beamed too.

You see, recently I added the phrase "Give wife presents--pretty flowers" to his lengthy to-do list on the dry erase board hanging up in his personal office. Giggling to myself as I scribbled.

Instead of laughing off my humorous addition to his to-do list, he drove around the neighborhood after work looking for an open retail store. He finally spotted a 24-hour drive-thru flower kiosk (gawd love California) where clean glass cubes displayed vases of various flowers.

He didn't mention my addition to his to-do list. Instead he said, "The flowers there were seriously beautiful, not a bad one in the bunch."

The next day I noticed a very important item on his list with a new checkmark next to it.

Day 57 - Like a Dear in Headlights

My husband flew to Alaska today. He grew up there. But he's not going there to visit, he's going there to fish. That's right. Fish. What??? This is not the man I married. I thought I made sure of it...

I was born and corn-fed raised on the golden plains of North Dakota. Smack dab in the middle of the Midwest. Growing up here, one notices some pretty distinct patterns. Specifically, most of your male relatives, such as grandfathers and fathers and uncles and cousins, hunt or fish. With the same intensity a Midwestern woman plans baby showers, these men plan their seasonal killing excursions.

They pack their guns or tackle (depending upon the target animal), a few coolers of Bud Light, and they bounce away in their dusty pick-up trucks.

My father claims these killing sprees are simply the male species elaborate opportunity to bond, or in other words, to drink. I remember watching an old video of a very young version of my father and his friends, camouflaged in matching tan gear, moving a dead deer by its antlers. I was repulsed and fascinated by this secret club. As a Midwestern girl, you are not invited on these trips, like your same-age boy cousins. Why don't you run along and help your aunt with the dishes?

Thankfully, when my father lost his taste for liquor and also moved out of the region, he also lost his desire to shoot furry mammals. I am relieved to hear my father's genuineness when he sounds as flabbergasted by the whole thing as I am.

The pervasiveness of the hunting culture in North Dakota is overwhelming though. Take, for example, my 11th grade Anatomy class. One day during hunting season, my teacher offered extra credit for bringing in deer hearts. The next day, few students arrived empty-handed.

I remember how nonchalantly the shapeless blubbery masses sat on the long tables. As class wore on, they started to dethaw (most were pulled straight out of parents' freezers), and drops of blood dripped onto the grey tile below. Mortified, I refused to participate when the dissection period began. The frustrated teacher docked me ten points. By then, the pus and blood was everywhere.

So imagine my delight when, during our courtship phase, my now husband recounted his meek hunting tales. While he grew up in Alaska, his father is a born and bred Minnesota man. So, like any good Midwestern father, he takes his son out in the field. With a gun. And teaches him to shoot things.

Much to my absolute joy, Dave never shot anything. Ever. O he went, sure, but either he couldn't bring himself to do it, or he really just never saw ANYTHING. His father would drag countless bucks down the hill on their excursions, but they never died by Dave's bullets.

The one time where Dave had to kill something, it was a chicken. Since he grew up on small farm, it was bound to happen. I'll spare you the details, but I'll tell you this: When Dave tells it, he is noticeably disturbed. The execution left a deep scar and he firmly says no to any future death missions. I hold that story in a little box near my heart.

Fast-forward to present time...

Dave has 'gone fishin.' Apparently, while we covered his hunting preferences, we never covered his fishing ones. An obvious oversight on my part. Although I do realize fishing isn't even NEAR hunting, it must just give me flashbacks to my childhood or something, cause I accidentally threw a little fit.

He assures me it was his buddy's earnest idea. His friend wanted to see Alaska with an Alaskan, and also experience the United States' greatest great outdoors.

Dave sees it as a rare opportunity to do something different, and also a chance for him to see his family. O.k., sure. I get it.

I think I'm hoping he doesn't catch anything. Or if he does, he gets all grossed out by ripped gills and eyeballs, that he throws his rented poles in the pond.

Day 49 - My Husband, My Hero

So, as you can see by yesterday's blog, I was a hot mess. In fact, as I finished silently tapping out the words, salty tears dissolved into my checks. I sat in the yellow light of the lamp and let them.

Right then, Dave walked into my emotional war zone. I tried to compose myself, only making matters worse. God love em', he gave no indication of worry at my mini-meltdown. He quietly read my blog from yesterday, typed a comment, and went to watch television.

Later that night, I read his comment. In it, he basically said just go Darc. I leaped from the couch, galloped into the other room where he was munching on celery, "Really?!" I said hopeful-like. And just like that, he said, "Of course."

My husband, my hero. My heart wells with gratitude.

And so within minutes, I combed Travelocity, Expedia, and CheapAir.com. We bought an overpriced ticket to the green humid plains of Fargo, my old heart my hometown, so I, the godmother of Nova, could watch her dipped in holy water in St. Andrews church. The small brick church where I watched my cousin marry, the church were I bid my grandpa good-bye.

It isn't practical, no. I'm seeing them in a mere month for our yearly family vacation with my dad and stepfamily. I'll be able to hold Nova for days.

It isn't practical, no. I can only go for one day. I fly away Saturday. I fly back on Sunday. As I need to save time off for the family vacation. The flight has transfers and it's ridiculously long.

It isn't practical, no. We are budgeting and chipping away at our debt. We save for X amount of trips per year. This plane ticket clips our savings.

BUT, it is completely and impractically right, oh yes.

I'll never remember that $300-plus we didn't save. I 'll never remember the long flight and the brevity of my stay.

But what I will remember, is that I was there. For Nova. Watching as God hugs her. And I, her doting godmother, does too.

Day 39 - So Much To Say

Gosh...I sure ditched you for the weekend didn't I? Well you'll smile to know that today, full of guilt, I combed through and filled in the previously sparse weekend words/photos in the last few blogs below. Scroll down and scroll up for air.

I have so much to say here. How is it the words keep bubbling to the surface? Today is for conclusions though, and summations, which signifies the ends of things. The weekend, the lightness, the failures...

I failed in nearly every goal this week. I played a symphony of failure. The band, proud of itself, bowed and curtsied, and twirled off stage. I didn't possess the energy to tackle them to the ground. I watched them saunter past, whooping and hollering. I shoved my face in my hands.

I'm home now and it's Sunday and I had a helluva time. I ate fries with my niece. I didn't exercise in leiu of seeing precious little newborn Jack on Saturday. And I didn't write a page a day, because to be honest, my book really really blows and I'm giving myself one week to rethink it. One redo.

I know I know, but I can't care.

So here we are. Goals all blown up and scattered on the floor. Heart filled up with light and joy.

I have to admit, today I thought "oh it's too hard!"

And when I mouthed it out loud, Dave saved me.

He lovingly dragged me from my nachos to show me this this crazy workout video he ordered called "Insanity," which we then proceeded to run to, jump to, sweat to, laugh to--together.

We also finished our thank you cards today. The words pumped up my heart.

We cut up watermelon and pineapple and talked about next week's groceries.

I feel good. I feel renewed. I think I can do this.

(Dave's quote to lift my spirits: "Listen...No NBA team goes 82 and 0.")

Day 34 - Where Everybody Knows Your Name

Thank the sweet lord I'm driving to hawt Phoenix this weekend. As much as I adore Dave (and the cats of course), I crave conversations with other members of the human race. Due to our lackluster social life in our hilly new town, we depend almost entirely on each other for entertainment. And while staring at each other and speaking incessantly about nothing much is just a hoot, I need to junkie-inject my soul with some wine and good times with my friends!

(Case in point: The cats often switfly duck out of the room when they see me sauntering down the hallway, mumbling jokes to myself. LOL. At myself. You see?)

(Case in point #2: What about virtual friends, doesn't that count? I talk to you. I think about things to tell you. I've even shared meals and drank wine with you once. You weren't there though. At least not at the same time. And I imagine a shrink would tell me to find three-dimensional friends. 'Words aren't friends,' they might chastise. And I'd rage back defensively, "O they do talk back! Haven't you read my 'comments'?!)

(pauses...clears throat)

Soooo, I'll have you know, in an effort to manifest livingbreathing friends to share time with here (and save myself some obviously looming professional-couch time), I've put in a bid to join a very-hip-looking ladies' book club of twenty&thirty somethings that congregate ever-so-often at some equally hip spot downtown. Perusing their previous reads gives me the giggles--they boast many of my long-time faves!

So I'm smoothing my hair down and putting on my best blouse as I try to win me over some brand new friends. BUT, the problem is, I emailed three days ago to join. And nothing. Not a word. Not a calendar. Not a hello. Not a "here's the next book...see you next Thursday!"

I really kinda sort of want to send another e-mail. I mean, did they not get my first one? How soon is too soon to send another one? Three days? Four? What's the lead time these days on friendship courtship? I mean, I don't want to seem desperate or anything...

But I like totally am.

Day 29 - Marriage, Four Thoughtlings

1) Marriage is weird. I'm a wife now you know. It's like a whole new identity, made very real by an actual name change.

2) Marriage provides your life with answers. And in many many ways, that's the best part. You've made a decision. You're sticking to it. I mean, I had a big fokkin' party right? I must be serious...

3) Marriage changes the psychology just a bit. Now, when your beloved irks you one day, instead of thinking 'psh I can leave if I want to!'; instead, you think 'Omg, I signed on for this FOREVER?!' (Of course, Dave and I are so madly in love that we, heavens no, never ever have those thoughts, golly gee no...)

4) The commitment of marriage is either really romantic or tragic. And you never really know which one it is until its end. You either stay happily-ever-after until death (in this case it's romantic) or you divorce (there's the tragic one). Unless, of course, you and your hubby die in a plane wreck together and they find your charred bodies intertwined together holding hands, in which case, that's tragic AND romantic. But I digress...

Day 26 - Confessions: It's a Learning Curve

I failed last week. That's right. F.a.i.l.e.d. I missed my exercise goal for the first time (by two!), and like a domino, I ate whatever the last two days of the week. I'm not tore up about it. I'm not going to cry about it. Geeezzzz....

Why's that? Because I learned, that's why! (I read in a book somewhere that it's best to see failure as a chance to do better next time and that perfection was kind of a disease and since this all works conveniently well with my experiential experience right now I'm going to go ahead and run with it...).

First, I need to force consistency with my time i.e. getting up at the same time every day (not my strong suit...sleeping till noon is not uncommon). Secondly, need more food readily available. Solution: purchase more at farmer's market this week. Thirdly, exercise-wise: plan ahead for oddities like vacays and holidays...

O.k. All fessed up.

pause

breathe

begin again...

Sometimes I love Dave so much I want to eat my arm. Like the other day in the grocery store, he was intently searching for something in the deli aisle. Suddenly he murmured, "I'm looking for summer sausage...I can't find one I want..."

Then he turned to me with his eyes wide, he pointed into the freezer at the labels and said so seriously, "I want it to be just all-beef. Why are all of them beef AND turkey? WHY would I even want a combo meat? What's wrong with just one or the other?!"

He was so genuinely flabbergasted. I don't know, but the look of conviction on his face as he stood there looking at me (he really wanted an answer), it just made me giggle and warm to the core. I agreed and love-him-so for being so upset about it. I mean, he IS right for pete's sake.

Day 24 - Independently Owned and Operated

Happy 4th of July!

1) LOVE: I'm actually celebrating my first 4th of July as a NOT-independent woman. And I couldn't be happier. I spent years being scared witless of marriage and its "chains". I feel blessed to say that marriage, or yet, my major commitment to my man, has made me a better person. As opposed to what I originally thought, which was: If I got married, I would soon wither and die.

2) LIFE: I am, however, freed from my cigarette addiction. Well almost. I don't smoke and haven't for 3 weeks. I'll probably be an addict forever. One is not an option for me. Social smokers: I despise you.

3) CAREER: I am also freed from the notion that this matters. Well, it does and it doesn't. And you know exactly what I mean.

Be safe. Live free. Eat Strawberries.

Day 13 - Break another little piece of my heart

I work this graveyard shift tonight, unloading art supplies and new frames, so I kinda feel like I've been twiddling my thumbs all day. Like nothing could be done cause I work at 11:30 at night?! Silly. It's getting dark and my cat Diego is cuddling on my lap, unconcerned by my furious typing.

Talked to some friends and my mom today on the phone. My mom ran into an airline sale for tickets to San Diego from Minnesota; she is buying a ticket for the fall. I can't even express how much I miss her here, there are not enough words. My sister and her new little perfect baby, Nova, my new little perfect niece, I can barely think about without getting teary-eyed.

Moving to California has been a blessing. No doubt. And moving to Phoenix right after high school, I believe, was the right thing to do, life-wise at that time. But when we do things then, at tender ages, like in my case, 18 years old, you can't really quite understand the long-term effects at the time. Twelve years later, at 30, when your baby niece is learning how to crawl and you can't see her--that's when the tears start to choke you.

That's you realize the gravity of your decisions (driveway goodbyes in Fargo, the city still breathes in me) on your future--arms consoling your family with one arm, waving good-bye with the other.

It's when the old and familiar moving pictures of your memories start to change their meanings for you. What was always a carefree and bright moment becomes a harsh definitive moment, suddenly taking the blame for why you can't hang out with your loved ones right now. But i know i know it's obsession and unhealthy to go back there, and worse, by its very nature, negates all the goodness of your relationships now.

But just let me--for today it breaks my heart.

I wish I could stop by my sister's on the weekends, help with garage sales and put my niece to bed. I wish I could meet my mother for lunch or help her paint anything in the house. I wish I could drink twelve-packs in the basement with my brother as we laugh and watch too many DVR'd shows in a row of our fave humor and Discovery shows.

And I don't want to do it on vacation, or in some small span of manicured and planned time frame. I want to do it spontaneous-like, like tomorrow or next weekend. I want it to not have to be meaningful or "spending time" together cause I'm on a plane tomorrow. I just want it to be. Natural. Just cause we want to, when we want to.

I think if they were around, I wouldn't feel so lonely, or better yet, dependent on Dave. And I don't mean I'm missing them in San Diego because I don't have any friends yet, because I felt that loneliness for them in Phoenix too. I have friends in Phoenix I adore, and love spending time with. And I have my dad there, and my step-family. All of which, I have excellent relationships with, fulfilling. But I grew up with/bond with/became best friends with my mom and siblings, and as I get older, my heart/my mind/my entire being crave their companionship above all others (not including husband of course).

I have no idea what the future holds. I have outrageously giddy hopes (not completely fanciful as they've been slightly encouraged and supported by these very family members), that there might be a gradual migration to my part of the country over the years. I am planted here. I know that. It's the right place for me. I know that. And as I wait for them (god willing, god willing), I will go to them as often as my pocketbook can stand it. Because that's what you have to do. When you can't have it all, you have to be there anyway. I want Nova to know me. Dear God, I want Nova to know me.