ODE to the ECHO

On Halloween 2012, I lost something very dear to me…my car. You can roll your eyes; you can brush it off but let me explain something to you: that car has been with me longer than my husband, and it’s taken me everywhere I’ve ever lived!

In 2000 my dad had to get a new car for us. After he and my mom split up he picked his own car out. He really wanted a Toyota Prius, but if you think those babies are expensive now, imagine 12 years ago! The Toyota Echo was a new model they’d released that boasted 35 miles per gallon. He chose a four door forest green version and this new car sported the first I’d ever seen in the “middle dashboard” style interior. No more odometer and gauges through the steering wheel; they slapped that sucker in the middle and tilted it to the left. It was almost like a little alien car!

My dad bought her in Lancaster, Pennsylvania at Lancaster Toyota. Let me explain something about my awesome dad, he hated most new technology with the exception of musical equipment. He wanted a CD player and a tape deck, but no power windows and no air conditioning. The air conditioning wasn’t a choice: he had to have it, but the windows you had to roll down. Nothing too fancy in the new car!

When he and my mom split up we left Lancaster.  I left for Delray Beach, Florida to try and live with mom my junior year of high school and my dad headed out to Oregon after purchasing 40-some acres of isolated woodland property. He took the Echo with him.

When my life with mom went to shit, my dad drove the Echo from Eugene, Oregon all the way to Delray Beach Florida to pick me and my possessions up and take me back to Oregon. That Toyota Echo towed a trailer with my bed, my furniture and all my other stuff I deemed important. Under complete protest he dragged me to the west coast in June. The car was so overworked the check-engine light came on before we even got out of Florida. We couldn’t tow my crap with the air conditioning on or she’d overheat. So we rolled down the windows, sweat profusely and had a lot of ice to munch on. We had to crawl up the mountain ranges. And eventually she got us to Eugene safely.

For my senior year I shared that car with my dad. Occasionally he’d allow me out on the town with that car, and so began the legend of Enid the Echo. By 2003 she was still relatively new. My dad kept her in pristine condition. I helped wear her in.

Much like the Queen classic, I’ll admit, “I’m in love with my car.” I snuck cigarettes in that car. I went on drives to nowhere and everywhere. It took me to concerts, to work, to school, to events, to new apartments, to visit friends and boyfriends, and to visit family. That car took me practically everywhere I’ve ever been.

Enid the Echo didn’t officially become mine until my dad bought his truck. After she was paid off, he needed an all terrain vehicle to help him get further into his rustic property and Enid just wasn’t that kind of car. She could hit the Oregon coast highways and curvy roads like no other, but she wasn’t a rough and tumble kind of car.

When she became mine I’d just started my punk rock princess phase, so I immediately outfitted her properly with bumper stickers, cartoon air fresheners, interior stickers and stuff. My car became local legend. Everyone knew the bumper sticker car.

Anyone who knows me, even remotely well, knows me with that car. That car took me to meet my old best friend for the first time, and without that trip I would have never met my husband. That car took me to and from the nannying job that changed my life. Enid drove me to and from Lane Community College so I could get my Associates Degree. My car took me to University of Oregon every day to get my Bachelor of Arts.

My horrible ex almost stole my Echo and when I drove three hours to retrieve her, I then drove home in her alone crying, listening to Modest Mouse and she rocked out with me. That car took me to so many concerts and then was festooned with souvenirs from those epic adventures.

Enid the Echo took my husband and I on our first date. He wanted to drive because his car was filthy and didn’t have a reliable heater. That car drove half of my husband’s band on their one and only multi-state tour. That car took my husband and I on our first anniversary when we were still dating. She took the little ones I babysat to feed the ducks and one day when I gave her stickers, she decorated the passenger, back sear window. Dora the Explorer was all over, and I never took it down.

I got my first and only two speeding tickets in that car. That car had more memories and stories than most and anyone who ever knew me, even just a little bit, probably rode in it. That car was a part of me, and she was tough to let go.

I’ll tell you one story about Enid the Echo. It sounds like something out of a movie, but I swear this is true: Back in High School I went through a classic music phase. My friend and I were obsessed with Led Zeppelin, Elton John, The Who, Cat Stevens, The Doors, The Grateful Dead, etc. My friend and I got the Echo and went on one of our afternoon drives. It was just after we graduated high school and we were rocking out some “Tiny Dancer.” We had the windows down and the music up. We were on a quiet but main road in Eugene at a stop light singing, and we look over and on the front lawn there are three hippies playing hackey sack and they join in with us and we’re all singing “Hold me closer, Tiny Dancer!” And we all knew all the words.

Enid the Echo was there for me in all other changes. When we moved, when I broke up with my exes, fought with friends, needed to run away, needed to get from job to job, she was there. She was my constant in a world of chaos and change. She was my first and only car up until recently.

She took my old best friend to say goodbye to his grandparents when they passed because he didn’t have a car. She took me to and from the airport to fly to see my grandparents for the last time and to say goodbye. She took me to and from the airport so I could see the world and study for three months in London. She took me to and from my in-laws houses. She was my wingman!

The night my husband and I got married, we packed her to move to Florida and left her in front of my Aunt’s house. Someone broke her window and stole a bunch of our stuff. We took that car, on a trailer across the country again on our honeymoon moving adventure, with a busted window. We duct taped a Forever 21 bag on her and it didn’t budge in the scariest storm we’d ever seen. There were still marks form the duct tape on her when we said goodbye. She took us around San Francisco and even down Lombard Street. She took us all over Memphis and New Orleans. She took us to Tampa. She’s always brought us home.

Enid the Echo had 253,000 miles on her! She still got 29 miles per gallon! She lived in Tampa for three years with no tinted windows and unreliable air conditioning. We had a scare with her last year but because she’s a rock star she cost us very minimal amounts to maintain and I swore I’d drive that car until she just didn’t drive anymore. But sometimes life has other plans.

When we found out I was pregnant in May, we’d already been discussing, getting a newer car. We’d decided on Toyota or Subaru because my husband and I had seen great longevity with both. Finally I won out on trading the Toyota in for another Toyota and I had my heart set on a Yaris or Matrix. Every time I wanted to test drive new ones, my husband came up with something else we needed to do.

Finally, about 5 months into my pregnancy we realized that with my not working for three months, having a new car payment and insurance wasn’t exactly a smart plan. We also realized we’d have no down payment. We thought we’d just keep Enid for one more year and then turn her in next summer.

In the midst of all this we had some other unexpected expenses come up, as they do in life. We were desperately trying to bounce back when my husband told me Enid really needed new brakes, which we’d put off long enough. We took her in and it cost twice what we’d estimated.

It was around this time and opportunity came up. Our best friends had just been given a brand new car and were getting rid of their old Pontiac Grand AM. They’d planned to just take it to Carmax but they offered it to us for a very fair price. Up until we took Enid in for the brakes, we’d toyed with the idea of having both cars. But when they came out to quote us on brakes they came out with a laundry list of other issues totaling over $2000. This was it. She was a goner.

We looked at her bluebook and even with a few dings and a LOT of bumper stickers she was worth about $1400. We took her to Carmax and they offered 500$. That was a slap in the face. I started to mentally let her go but to be honest, I just wanted it to be done. I couldn’t handle it.

Being pregnant and getting rid of my car was intense. I realized she was the first car our fuzzy pup, Brodie had ever been in. He loved to go on car rides and he knew which car was ours. I realized that someone else was going to take her away because we needed to put her on Craigslist to get a fair price.

Even though our amazing friends gave us the Pontiac, it took us a few days to sell Enid. It was very stressful for me because I wanted it to be over with. I’d told so many people I had to let her go but the whole letting go thing was not easy. I spent as much time with her as I could before we showed her to a buyer. I had this sneaking suspicion that she would just sell. That someone would see her and just say yes and that would be it.

My husband is a saint because he knew this whole thing would suck so much for me. I would never ever recommend selling a car you are attached to while pregnant. It’s unfair on every level. I’d already taken almost everything out of her and she looked barren and sad. But on Halloween my husband had a buyer. He took them on a test drive. He let me stay in the apartment and I just cleaned up a storm to distract myself.

He came to get me. He told me the offer and he said we should take it. I agreed. I asked if I could keep my key and he said no, we needed to give them both. I went to change and get the title and I started to well up. I felt the tears bubbling inside me. I went downstairs and met them. They had heavy accents. I have no idea where they were from. They gave my husband the money and I had to sign over the title.

As I was signing I had that moment. That moment out of “The Goonies” where you’re about to sign something and you hesitate and double check what it is you’re signing, while someone is leering over you to make sure it happens. I signed and we were going to have to give them the keys. The buyer said “Is that the only key?” My husband looked at me, and then him, and said, yes, just that one.”

We shook hands and they left. I saw them pull out and I lost it. I couldn’t watch her drive away from me. I bolted up to the apartment and just started to ball. My husband handed me my key, and said, “Here, she’ll always be yours.” I looked up at him red-faced and cried, “This really sucks!” He told me he knew and he’d miss her too.

It was the end of an era; the end of Enid. Everyone put the realistic and positive spin on it for me but I still needed a good cry. I know that the Pontiac was a better family car. It had more room, 150,000 less miles than Enid and was a better investment for the next year. It was definitely better to get rid of Enid while we could before she really broke down. And our friends saved us from having something seriously complicated happen and helped keep it simple and on our own terms.

BUT, it sucks saying goodbye. I miss her; a lot! And like I said, you can make fun of me as much as you want but when you have a car with that much history, that many memories and that many miles, it’s bound to stir up some emotions…especially when you’re nearly 7 months pregnant.

So goodbye Enid! I’m so sorry we had to let you go after taking such good care of all of us for 12 years but you’ll always be a rock star and I could never watch you really die. Thanks for being the best car ever! YOU WILL BE MISSED AND REMINISCED! ALWAYS!

The Ugly Truth about the Beauty of Pregnancy

Six months into pregnancy, I’m feeling pretty good. I have the big old baby bump and the hormones to boot!  But there’s so much that no book, no movie, and no Google search could ever tell you about the horrors of pregnancy. And the worst part is, it’s barely physical or mental, it’s all the outside sources converging into one big ball of disaster.

Part One: The Shower

My friends threw me an amazing baby shower. And I had my baby shower at the beginning of my 6^th month. Why? Everyone asked, “Why so early!?” Well, many reasons actually. The first one being, our due date is January 30^th, 2013. Who wants to wait until around the holidays when everyone’s broke and then try and get gifts out of them? The second one, I knew six months in I would still want to be around people in a celebratory capacity. When I’m 8-9 months, I’ll barely want my husband around me. Why push our luck? Thirdly, we live in Florida and October is a great month to have outdoor events and the free place we had the amazing event allowed us to take over the patio. It’s a win-win.

I work with most of my friends so the shower created quite a stir.  I work in a place with about 50 employees. I have a great relationship with about 30 of them. Everyone wanted to go. We’re open 7 days a week so my girls tried to make it on an early close evening and make it an easily accessible event. Two weeks before the shower the drama fairies dropped glitter bombs all over. People who RSVP’d were dropping like flies, and all of the sudden people we never thought would show up, were definitely coming. It was slightly overwhelming! On top of that co-workers were arguing about my shower and the schedule to accommodate everyone requesting to go.

The shower went off without a hitch. We have some amazing people in our lives who contributed A LOT. All of the sudden we had such an amazing collection of things, both necessary and fun. The girls who threw my shower are amazing and we will never be able to thank them enough!

Part Two: The Social Commentary

Everyone wants to know about your pregnancy, but what YOU don’t want to know, is their opinion on how you’re handling things. Doctors are one thing. Doctors are made to scare you. My doctor yelled at me for gaining too much weight because I started to be able to physically eat. My husband yelled back at her that he intended to feed his family and I looked beautiful. Then my doctor scared us into flu shots, which I’m still recovering from. She basically said that if we refused and the baby and I died, it’s not like she didn’t warn us; such a calming picture.

What’s worse is when people ask and you tell them and then they interject why they are right or why you are wrong. I’d been verbally accosted throughout my pregnancy, so I was used the form of mental abuse, but now there were other forces at bay. We’d made the executive decision to do cloth diapers. Why? My husband was allergic to regular diapers, and with a lot of help and advice from a co-worker and his wife I found out that I’d save an obscene amount of money with just a little bit of help. When someone asked about diapers and I told them cloth I got two adverse reactions. One saying, “Oh, that won’t last long,” and another saying, “Cloth? Ugh! What a pain!” I’d learned then that this “hippie” idea may not easily be reveled in.

Then there’s insurance. Everyone wants to know what kind of insurance you have if you have it. At this point I know so much better than to even reveal that part of our lives, but I’ll tell you this: it’s OUR BUSINESS. There are far worse off people in this universe than us, and what we do or do not have, whether coverage is great or crappy or nonexistent, we KNOW WHAT WE ARE DOING. This baby girl was NOT A SURPRISE. We entered into this amazing journey knowing that we could handle ANYTHING because that’s what we do and WHO WE ARE. No matter what, this baby girl will be LOVED and will NEVER go without the basic necessities in this world. EVER!

And of course, there’s the name. Up until last year my heart was set on naming any female of mine Lillian. But then when we were discussing boy and girl names and my husband threw out the name Luna. The middle name was easier. He came up with infusing both of our father’s middle names together into Raylee: unique and gorgeous. And so we had Luna Raylee Chriss. And that’s when the jokes came in. Look, every child will be teased but everyone just hopped on the point, “Wait, you’re naming your child, Luna Chriss?” Some of my favorite people didn’t get it right away. But then it sinks in, it sounds like ludicrous.  But what’s so ludicrous? Naming our baby girl something like Luna Raylee Chriss? Or naming our child something ordinary or trendy? She’s ours and she’ll wear that name with pride. So laugh all you want but our child will be amazing because she is OURS!

Part Three: The Gross Anatomy of Pregnancy: What the books don’t tell you!

Pregnancy is beautiful yes, but here’s what the books never admit: Your boobs grow to porn star proportions. It’s alarming and not charming. They itch and they’re sore so even though your husband wants a little boob time, if he comes near you, you’ll slap him away. Your ankles at one point, no longer exist and you do in fact get the ever dreaded “cankles.” It’s not a good day.

Bending down in any way becomes something out of a science fiction novel. Either you’re getting yelled at for not squatting or your knees bump the belly or the belly bumps other things. It’s so awkward. Your hormones are so out of hand you feel bipolar. You’ll be crying and then laughing and then crying.  Forgetfulness plays a large part too, so odds are you’ll forget if you were laughing, why you were. You’ll forget something that just happened 10 seconds ago.

The gas is out of this world. It’s not even the smell, it’s the activity. You’re a walking whoopee cushion. You’re just one big ball of bloat and gas. And I think I saw the hints of a double chin in some photos: scary!

 

The bottom line is that pregnancy is definitely an adventure in more ways than one. You’d be surprised who comes out of the woodwork to surprise you with love and support and sometimes gifts! Then again it can stir a dirty jealousy in people. Some people, people we’ve had into our home, fed and helped out, have treated me like a chubby leper! No “Congratulations,” no card, no gift, no acknowledgement! But a high school friend you haven’t even seen for four years will pleasantly surprise you and send you an expensive gift off of our registry.

Pregnancy is tough. It’s not easy in any way. But it is a gift. Some people enter into it hastily. Others enter into it accidentally. If you’re like us, you enter into it knowing it will change your lives for the better and take you into a realm you never thought possible. And everything they don’t tell you, you’ll come to easily. And everything people do tell you, you’ll learn to tune out. Just remember: it’s about you, your partner and the life you’re nourishing. Keep that in mind and all these other stressors just kind of…fade away!

Parental Control!

One of my all time favorite Keanu Reeves characters was his supporting role in the film “Parenthood,” which has an all star cast and definitely covers some of the craziness of parenting, but also contains my favorite quote: “ Ya know, they make you get a license to drive a car, to catch a fish, hell they’ll even make you get a license to buy a dog…but they’ll let any butt-reaming asshole be a father…”

Luckily, the man in my life is ANYTHING but a butt-reaming asshole, but we certainly don’t want to be complete fuck ups in our role as parents. As if the whole pregnancy thing isn’t strange and terrifying as it is, next you’ve got parents asking you all about your plans for bringing up baby.

I was just hoping to read some baby books, maybe get some DVDs, get through the actual labor and then step into mom-hood. But now I have people asking if I’ve started interviewing pediatricians!? I realize we have control here but seriously? Wow…

Perhaps I’ve underestimated the greatness of the whole baby thing, but what about who WE are as prospective parents? My husband and I are pretty laid back. We’re healthy people who love our food, wine and spirits. We love our relaxation, our work and our play. And we love that we’re having this baby.

Sure we’ll take the baby in for check-up, to get shots and all the normal baby stuff, but we’re not research and interview pediatrician people. We’re barely long term planners! How about referral? How about it depends on the level of healthcare we have for baby at that time. How about we need to set up the nursery? How about we can’t afford to freak about these things!?

Time is already flying, as it does, and as the hormones go wild I continue to have overwhelming moments of “this is a life changing thing,” realization, shouldn’t we just be allowed to be? One of my last blogs I wrote about enjoying the journey. Will society allow us to do that?

If I could tune out the clatter, I would. TRUST ME. I enjoy the excitement part, it’s just the questions, and then the “have you’s?,” implying that you haven’t done enough yet. It is my personal opinion that you can have too much information. I’m enough of a worrier. I’m trying to take the whole pregnancy and parenting thing one step at a time. I’m trying to keep calm and carry on.

As hormones and emotions run high, I have to wonder why people keep pressing me!? Am I overly sensitive or are people just insensitive assholes? I think it may be a combination of the two. Can’t I just try the instinctual motherly thing to get me by? I’ve always promised myself I would try with every fiber of my being to be a good mother. Here I am, facing the challenge, with an amazing man by my side, and I just want to live day by day. One day at a time.

Why obsess over the little things we can’t control when we’ll have the ultimate parental control? This amazing little being will come into our lives and change everything in the best way ever and you want us to obsess about laundry detergents, preschool, pediatricians, what brand of food, and formula? No thank you. I just want to be with my man, my baby and my dog. I just want us to be a family.

Sure, some families aren’t always perfect and some guys won’t be good fathers as some women will be wretched mothers but in this realm of parental control, I’m just glad I have a front row seat. We’ll learn as we go. We’ll all learn as we all grow. So why get all controlling and overly cautious when you can just enjoy the ride and the journey. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. This is us, and we’ve come a long way. Nothing will get in the way now. If you want to share a great family story, please do. If you want to tell me how to be a parent, please don’t. My hormonal side is growing less and less patient. And in these last few months, I tend to grasp every single amazing moment I can.

Pregnan-see?

Where have I been in the world of writing and composition? I’ve been pregnant. You may think that’s not an excuse, but believe me, it totally is. When you find out your pregnant you have way to many options for reactions. For me, it was all very cautionary.

I told maybe a few girl friends I was late, of course my husband already knew. Some women say “you know.” All I knew was I’ve never been late, and I’d been off of birth control for four years. I’d never had so much as a “scare” in my 27 years on this planet, so it was definitely an indicator.  I jumped the gun on excitement earlier this year and grabbed a pack of pregnancy tests. Those things are expensive so my husband insisted that I wait until we had a real cause to take one.

It happened on Memorial Day, well the eve of that Monday. I was exhausted but couldn’t sleep. I wasn’t sick but I wasn’t well. I had to work all day Monday of Memorial Day and then be hostess to dinner plans I’d conjured up. That Sunday night I was curled up in a ball in bed desperate for sleep and begged my husband to come straight home. I remember he knew I was late and I just wailed, “I don’t feel good.” He put his hand on my lower stomach and curled up with me so I could sleep.

Memorial Day we went by and I snagged a nap before dinner. My girls were buzzing wanting to know when I’d pee on the stick. I promised that Tuesday I’d do it and we’d see. My husband agreed. I woke up that Tuesday morning after over ten hours of sleep anxious and excited. I’d heard the morning was a good testing time so I read the directions and took it. I don’t think it took the full minute before the two pink lines radiated the signal for “Pregnant.” I crawled back in bed and woke my husband.

I put the test on his chest and let him see for himself. He smiled and said, “I knew it.” When I asked how he just said, “I just…knew.” We went to the doctor to get the definitive “Yes,” and then we told people only on a need to know basis, which was a total of three co-workers. No family, no old friends, just the girls that I needed to help me cover my ass at work in case I got sick or the rumors started.

At the time there was another woman at work pregnant. She told everyone right away and it was all anyone could talk about. That wasn’t going to be me. None was the word. My husband actually caved and told his coworkers first. Everyone thought it was adorable and wanted to keep me fed.

And so the journey began. Keeping it quiet was pretty easy. Believing I was pregnant was the hard part. And all the books say different things. I also quickly discovered that women don’t even tell you how crummy being pregnant is. It’s truly amazing to be forming human life but it’s also exhausting and very intense. I’ve had cousins and some of my best friends give birth to 2 or more babies and no one tells you the pitfalls. The constant nausea, never being able to find anything decent to eat, the headaches, vomiting, aches and pains and pure unadulterated exhaustion are never really detailed. The books just call it “fatigue.” I think it’s slightly more than that, readers!

The miracle of life is hard. I’ve caved many times and whimpered to my husband that this is all very hard, but what makes it even harder: the peanut gallery.

Once you start telling people that you’re harboring a baby, the reactions are hilarious and always very candid. My dad was delighted, my step-mom squealed, my eldest sister was ecstatic, my other sister seemingly complacent and my mom was pretty stoked as well. At work, some people were stunned. The general question was whether or not it was planned. The answer is: “Well, it wasn’t unplanned.”

We’re not the kind of couple who lets life take us for a ride anymore. We can go with the flow and just ride it out but we make the big decisions that make our life great. We refuse to be victims of circumstance.

I think my biggest pet peeve of telling the world we’re expecting, is everyone telling us, or at least me about my pregnancy. It’s like as soon as you say “Pregnant” it opens this can of worms starting with “See, when I was pregnant,” or “I heard if the baby,” “Have you thought about…,” “You should…,” and it just goes on and on.

And no one is right, and no one can really tell you what’s going on with your body, but everyone must chime in. Those you listen and genuinely care just want to hear about you, not tell you about you. The peanut gallery will always be there though.  So far I’ve been told that since I have constant heartburn, I’m having a boy. A week later another person said my heartburn means it’s a girl. Others say my belly is sitting high, which means it’s a girl. I then explain to them where exactly the child is within my body, and then they say, oh well maybe it’s a boy then.

I’ve been told what to eat and not to eat by people who live off of shitty Chinese food and McDonald’s. I take their advice with a grain of salt, or perhaps a pound of salt in some cases. I’ve been told by a complete stranger I need to avoid a hospital birth and get a midwife because it’s more cost effective and my baby will be happier and healthier if you keep it away from the scary hospitals. I’ve been told a lot about my pregnancy, but sometimes you just need to tune it out. Mostly I just listen to my baby and my body, and believe me, that baby tells me if it doesn’t like what I’m doing.

Everyone wants to know my cravings. Cravings? I’ve recently discovered meals and snacks from my childhood are the easiest to go down. I’ll tell you this though, if there are no mini-bagels with cream cheese, cheddar cheese, ice cream-related dessert items, or some kind of chip other than potato, like tortilla or corn chip, there will be hell to pay.

Oh and then there’s the activity factor. I had some extra weight on me before I conceived. At that time I was hitting the gym 5 days a week for at least an hour. I took up to four spin classes a week. I did weight training, yoga, and jogging. After I found out about the little minion inside of me I had to slow down. And my first trimester I had experienced a kind of tired feeling like I never thought possible. My second trimester is much better but working out is not easy. If I’m lucky I get some activity in once a week. But working 40 hours a week, and then keeping up with pup and home is a lot harder when creating life.

And I was always taught never to taunt the animals so I can’t for the life of me understand why the people in my everyday life insist on testing me. I’m pregnant people, let’s not go out of our way to annoy or piss me off. For the most part, the whole pregnancy journey has been just that; quite a trip.

Family has been a rock, although it is times like these when having a present and active mother sure would be nice, but I have an amazing husband to take great care of me. That kind of support isn’t something that comes with every marriage and every child. That’s something that through being pregnant, I see.

Mostly, being pregnant is a miracle and I wouldn’t change anything. Through all of the less desirable symptoms it’s still just so amazing to be a part of something so big. I’ve always been worried that I couldn’t become everything a mother should be but with this pregnancy, I feel this ever-growing sense of calm. Everything will be okay. We are a family and we’re growing more and more every day now. Times will be hard and things will be different in so many ways, but we’ll all be so much better for it. We’ve never felt so…lucky. We finally just fell into the place we’d been trying to get to, and the feeling is indescribable.

So that’s my pregnancy, see?

What to Expect When You’re Expecting the Conversation About Expecting…

Someone once told me that there’s no “right time” for a baby. There’s no “readiness” for a child. You just adapt. I guess I can see both sides, but personally I see it differently. To me there are two choices, you either consent to having a child, embracing the possibility, or you take the proper precautionary measures to keep “single” life alive and kicking.

Years ago my husband and I made the agreement: kids when we’re 30-ish.  And then a couple years later we thought, “okay we can stop being ‘cautious’ when we’re 28.” But then this year, all of the sudden, it hit me that age 28 wasn’t so very far away anymore. I’ll admit I had moments for the past two years where my body was begging for babies but I’d always seemed to skirt around them. The puppy purchase certainly helped.

Occasionally when I’m acting too baby crazy, my husband tells me to yell at my hormones and ask them to leave us both alone, but he scared the shit out of me at the beginning of this year when he told me he was actually okay with the idea of us having a baby.

I’d recently given up on the whole, planning of a life thing. Five year plans turn into 12 year plans and you’re almost never where you thought you’d be…ever. Sometimes you just go with the flow and adapt. You make the decision to let life happen instead of waiting for it to knock on your door and ask for an invitation in.

And thus the “expecting” conversation happened. All of the sudden we just weren’t afraid or feeling cautious. I think it came with the new security we’d found with stable jobs, real paychecks and new responsibilities and capabilities.

I’m not one of those women who can strategically plan to conceive. I feel that takes all the fun out of it. It makes the whole thing a chore, instead of something made out of love. I can’t even keep track of my cycle, let alone the other things around it so we agreed: we aren’t “trying” we’re just not trying to not try.

Don’t get excited people. Us Chriss’ believe in things happening as they should. After many mistakes and miscalculations, we like to make sure we aren’t in over our heads. We like to be pretty darn sure of things. Our engagement, wedding, and move to Florida all happened out of our sureness, not out of a fleeting idea.

We have almost been married three years and are still on our honeymoon. We barely fight anymore. Where we once had to fight out of frustration with every other person but each other, now we usually have a good row now and then just to keep with the spice of life, but our fights are miniscule compared to pre-married life. We grow, we work and we live out of love, and so will each step forward.

You may be reading this thinking, “Oh wow, so they’re like trying to have a baby,” but life is never that simple. Seeing as how you can’t force something to happen and you’re never really ready, I think it’s safer to just say…”It’s all happening.” And it’s happening at its’ own pace. We are ready but we’re not rushing. It’ll happen when it happens. And then another blog entry will appear about “The Happening!”

Shifts of Self

Can you have a mid-life crisis if you’re not, mid-life? Can you just wake up one morning and be out with all the old and ready to usher in all the new? Can you recommit to yourself in the snap of a finger?

These are the questions slapping me in the face as I realize that I’ve outgrown many, many things. I just had my birthday and instead of doing the boring thing where I freak out about getting closer to 30, I’m just ready to dive into some new things.

I had a great month in March. I ran a 5K, worked out here and there, ate what I want, did what I wanted and just let it all go. If I wanted wine, I had it. If I wanted a margarita, I’d get one. But soon enough my body put a big old yield sign in my face and urged me to rethink the nonstop,
carefree whims I’d been allowing myself to succumb to. It was time to get it in gear.

My husband helped with one of the best presents: A YMCA Gym membership. I’m a group fitness junkie. Spin, tone and sculpt, Step class, yoga, whatever; I’m there! I do pretty much everything but water aerobics and Zumba. I went head first into old routines and completely realigned my diet and eating habits. My husband and I agreed on giving up bad habits for 30 days,
just to see what, if any impacting effects it had. No alcohol, less caffeine, up the veggies, grains and goodness, down the snacks, junk and fun badness.

Then I noticed some other stuff too. I’m anything but a cook. Occasionally I like to bake, but I’m not a cook. My favorite food is tacos. Well, that, and salad. But I can never get enough of my husband’s tacos. Simple ground beef or turkey and guacamole, pico de gallo, lite sour cream ,
cheese, cilantro, maybe even some lettuce and I’m hooked! One night he said that if I wanted tacos, I had to make them, with his supervision of course. He gave me the play by play and prepped everything (I SUCK at chopping anything) and it wasn’t so terrible.

The next thing I know, a few nights later, I’m heating up some basic veggie casserole from the Crockpot that we made for reserves in the event of long days and no energy and I realize we have some things I could add to make it a bit…tastier. Before I know it, I have Boca Burger crumbles,
mushrooms, onions, jalapeno, garlic and basic seasoning sauté-ing in a pan. It was delicious, but the idea of me creating culinary delights.

It happened again on an evening when my husband was home and before I knew what I was saying, I’d somehow offered to make dinner with his gentle direction. And there it was, BAM! I made spaghetti sauce with ground beef, mushrooms, fresh parmesan, spices, banana peppers, onions and garlic!

Before I could control it on my day off, I made a key lime pie, roasted chickpeas for a snack/appetizer, cinnamon crumb cake (okay that one was from a box), and a chicken fajita/enchilada concoction complete with chicken, red bell peppers, jalapeno, onion, seasoning, enchilada sauce, and garlic to add onto casserole or brown rice! I didn’t know where it was coming from! I’d also been on a rampage making small home improvements in attempts to make our new place more “grown up” and “homey.” We’d decided to have a stay-cation if a vacation even existed this year and we were determined to make this place an oasis.

I also started a curious journal out of an Alice in Wonderland notebook I’d been given for Christmas a couple years ago. I named it my “Desiry: A Diary of Desires.” Keep your head on straight people, this is not a naughty book! I just started writing everything I want in it…from the
physical and tangible to the completely fantastical and improbable. It’s freeing!

I’d recently come to the realization that some of the simple and seemingly ridiculous goals I’d set for myself when I was in high school have been achieved and I didn’t want to live life forgetting what I’d wanted in my twenties. When I was 17 I wanted to make my own money so I could purchase brewed, coffee house coffee for myself every day. I can totally do that now if I want. It’s a total waste of money, but it’s the principle of the thing. I also vowed to free myself of my dad’s one-ply toilet paper embargo and dare to get something quilted. That’s in my twenty-something budget as well. Go me!

So I just started writing. I put the date and what I want. So far a Louis Vuitton purse, trip to New York to see “Wicked” on Broadway, new towels, new bedroom sheet set, and watching everything on my Netflix Instant Queue all live in my “Desiry.” I think I’m scaring the people around me too. I’m more in tune with realities, frustrations and demands. I’m doing things I haven’t done
in a long time, and it’s a positive move forward. Perhaps I’m, somehow, having an out of body experience.

Maybe these are attempts at staving off a looming feeling of impending depression. Maybe I’m just growing into my 27 year old self at an alarming rate. Maybe I’m having a Tom Hanks circa “Big” experience! I’m replacing my hunger for content with a hunger for the new and exciting. We’ve met some new amazing people and they are rubbing off on me, in a good way!
I still have a long road to full adulthood but at least I know where that path is, rather than constantly meandering elsewhere. I’ve revisited the past through memories, music and momentary daydreams about the “What If,” all too often. I guess I’m just ready for positive forward momentum. Life is touch and every day is not always rainbows and sunshine but the good definitely outweighs the bad.

Some changes sneak up on you with no choice and no warning. Some changes are looming but never fully present. And some changes are constant and ever evolving. I guess it’s time for me to be a part of the evolution embrace it all! There may be a new kind of Ali around but she’s still sassy, sarcastic and ALL ALI! I guess it’s just the New and Improved version of Ali…stay
tuned!

The Relationship Contribution Ideal

I guess it all stems from some weird family thing where we buy each other’s love. Rather than constantly saying “I love you,” we just spoiled the shit out of each other with stuff and things. Perhaps that’s where I got my inherent need to contribute to relationships, both romantic and platonic. Buying gas, food, fun and entertainment just became a regular thing. Oh, it got
taken advantage of, let me tell you, but with the people that count, it counted me in as a person who wasn’t afraid to contribute.

When it comes to work, I never really had a problem with getting a job and making my own money. That comes from my mom’s side; with the exception of her, they are all workaholics. I liked paying my dues. At the end of the day, I could close the book and say, “I worked hard, and with my earnings I’m sure going to play hard.” I have always done what I was supposed to do and what was asked of me with my work. As a nanny I even ventured to do a little more than just that. I liked to be a good worker, and someone who was valued by my employers. Although this is another area I’ve been taken advantage of in, for the most part, I just want to participate and be present.

When it comes to my husband and me, we like to be equal participants in this marriage. Even though we both bitch to each other about it, we end up wearing it with pride. As two people who have been screwed over in more ways than one, monetarily, emotionally, and even with our own
possessions, we are all about sharing the wealth as often as we can to keep the karmic cycle on our side, rather than repeat earlier fallbacks. Sure, the standing joke from my husband is “My money is our money and her money is her money,” but we have an agreement when it comes to family finances: He works more and brings home the bacon, and the rent check, so I keep up the house and work part time to pay the bills and keep us fed. We are masters of our craft, masters of our relationship and of our marriage. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

One of my best friends and I always say, “Do you work to live, or live to work?” I think we can all agree that all work and no play makes us all dull people! My bestie and I also agree that no one WANTS to work, but as a part of society, that’s usually just how it is. Some people have this sense of entitlement, which I've never understood. We are entitled to working to earn a paycheck and we are entitled to general human rights. This does not include the American Pop Culture trend of laziness, a general disregard for basic responsibilities and being a loaf upon society.

Personally, I would go crazy if I was stuck at home all the time. I would have to find all kinds of crazy projects to keep me busy. And I love being an active participant in my world, my marriage, and in all of my relationships. We may not have a million dollars and money to just throw away,
but we can care for ourselves and the people we love. Isn’t that what it’s all about?

Sure, someday my husband and I will settle down and have little ginger kids and I won’t be working all the time. We’ve already agreed on my staying home for the first handful of precious years with the little ones. I agreed on my staying home, because I want to be an active contributor and participant in my role as a mother.

Don’t get me wrong, I would LOVE to see my husband’s face if I just said, “Yeah I don’t really
wanna work anymore. It’s not very fun.” He may pee his pants laughing at me as he gave me the “Tough shit,” look. But the again, I would never say that. Working gives me sense of purpose. No one loves their job 100% of the time, but both of us have found a place in our lives where we are pretty happy with the general state of it all. This is a new horizon for us. We'll embrace it! Things could always be worse.

This isn’t some sanctimonious statement of how I’m some holier than thou, bad ass
wife and lazy wives and single gals suck; this is just my way of saying that you need to find
whatever makes you happy and fit it into your lifestyle. Contribute where and when you can to whatever relationship you feel most strongly for! We’re in a very progressive age. I doubt most women have the simple goal of being taken care of and pampered these days. I’m just saying, why spend all your time and energy doing nothing when you could be doing something!?!

My husband constantly taunts me. As an Aries, I’m a busy-body. I can do everything all at once but relaxing is the hardest thing for me. Sitting still and indulging in “nothing” is something I’m not very receptive to. Lately I’ve heard so many friends talking about work, long term plans and
life as we know it. When you leave the grace period of your “early twenties,” you’re all of the sudden just expected to have it all figured out.

I’m coming to realize, however, that if you can’t contribute to your immediate realm, how are you going to contribute to a plan? It all goes with that whole, “If you’re not a part of the solution, you’re part of the problem,” thing. I feel lucky that I didn’t marry some macho pig who thinks my
job is to cook, clean and cater to his needs whilst pumping out a parade of kids. I feel lucky that I have a job and that I can pay my bills and afford a few frills here and there.

I think it’s safe to say that my relationship contribution is that I want to be truly IN my relationship. I want to be an active being, rather than watching the world go by as a spectator. I love being lazy as much as the next person, but when I look back and I give advice to the generations behind me, I’ll tell them I had to work my way through this world too. I have a feeling the end of the journey will be just as rewarding as the journey itself! I guess I’ll let ya know.