It's funny how many things in your routine can change just because one thing is missing. Michael is away for his job again, for a night or two, and so many things change when he is gone. I don't worry about getting home right after work, I might run to the store for a few things or rent a movie. I don't make a full dinner like I normally do, I just make do with whatever is in the fridge and can be cooked or heated up in the microwave. If I don't have anything like that, I either don't eat or I go down to the gas station/convenience restaurant and get a cheeseburger or personal pizza. I take a long, slow shower, since I'm the only one using the hot water. I stay up as late as possible so I'm really tired and fall asleep quickly when I do go to bed. I sleep on his side of the bed, and use my cell phone as an alarm so I can turn it off without getting out of bed. That way I can take my temperature in the morning without it being erroneous (we use natural family planning for birth control - no, it's not the rhythm method, yes it really works).
All the little adjustments I make to my schedule seem so natural to me, I wonder if that's what my life would be like if I had somehow built the same life I have now without meeting Michael. I know that would be impossible, but sometimes I wonder. I probably wouldn't have a dog, or leather furniture, but everything else is possible, if only remotely.
The good thing is that I look at my life, see what it is without Michael, and I am infinitely happier to have him. Yes, it's nice to have some time alone once in a while, but it's nicer to know that no matter what, I have someone to love, to celebrate and cry with, and to just live with. For all we are or aren't, I'm so glad there's a 'we'. I'm also grateful for the large part of my life when I wasn't part of a 'we', because I appreciate this so much more.
April 29, 2008
April 24, 2008
Sarcasm
I try to listen to myself when I speak, and judge how I would feel if someone spoke to me that way. Mostly I'm nice, and I try to only throw sarcasm out there when the person knows I'm joking, and only if I'm not online, as it's really difficult to tell if someone is being sarcastic when you can only read what they're saying. Over the past year or so, however, I've found that sarcasm is becoming more prevalent in my conversations, and that bugs me. Sometimes I become downright mean, and I'm no longer joking. Occasionally I realize what I'm doing while I'm doing it, and do my best to turn the conversation around. Most of the time, however, I either realize it and continue being hurtful as a defense mechanism (a really bad thing to do when you're dealing with your husband, mother, or siblings), or I don't realize it until after I've gone way too far, and been a complete witch. When either of these things happens, I usually try to run away very quickly, which only confuses and upsets the person I'm speaking with more. But if I run away, then I can take some time to calm down, remember that the person I'm speaking with is someone who loves me and who I love, try to understand why I felt so hurt that I turned so mean, and decide how to explain why I was so mean. My poor husband has borne the brunt of this horrible side of me, and but I still haven't managed to explain to him or myself how I can be so mean to someone I love so much.
I think, perhaps, I'm still dealing with some dissapointment in the way my life has turned out, which is very different from what I expected in high school. I thought I would graduate college with a degree in music ed; marry someone who was devilishly handsome (black hair, blue eyes, tall, well-defined but lean musculature), with a voice like Josh Turner (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iLn6maxATvQ), a smile like his, an avid interest in music, reading, education, and Catholic; get a good job; have kids; and live happily ever after. That's not exactly what happened.
I dropped out of my four-year college, enrolled in a tech school where I half-heartedly attempt to complete a two-year degree. I married a wonderful man, true, but he has none of the interests I expected in my husband, and while he's cute and has nice lean well-musceled arms, he's not devilishly handsome, and doesn't have the black hair, blue eyes, deep voice or heart-melting smile, and he's a bit duck-footed. (I'm really not shallow, I don't truly care about his face or voice or smile or walk, he's just a lot different from who I expected to fall in love with. Actually, I kind of surprised myself by falling in love with him, I did think I was shallower than that.) I have a good job, but it's not teaching music, and I'm not living happily every after.
To be fair, I'm not sure a life like I had planned out for myself is even possible, especially the happily ever after bit and the 'perfect' husband. Still, I know in my heart that I'm both happy with my life and dissapointed with myself. Perhaps that's why I feel under attack when someone asks what's wrong. Even just that simple, caring question can make me feel hurt and mistreated, simply because I'm dissapointed with myself, and I don't want anyone else to know. I feel like I could have done so much more with my life if I hadn't ended up with Michael, and yet I'm so grateful to have him in my life, to have his love and be able to love him. So, I suppose I had a choice to make, and I chose Michael over the rest of my life. It's funny, you hear about people who regret not choosing love, but you never hear about the people who regret choosing love. I'm not saying I regret it as a whole, but I think part of me does. Hmm, that's kind of a big revelation for me. Well, well, not only is a blog cathartic, but it's therapuetic as well. Perhaps now that I've discovered all this I can work through it. Wish me luck.
I think, perhaps, I'm still dealing with some dissapointment in the way my life has turned out, which is very different from what I expected in high school. I thought I would graduate college with a degree in music ed; marry someone who was devilishly handsome (black hair, blue eyes, tall, well-defined but lean musculature), with a voice like Josh Turner (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iLn6maxATvQ), a smile like his, an avid interest in music, reading, education, and Catholic; get a good job; have kids; and live happily ever after. That's not exactly what happened.
I dropped out of my four-year college, enrolled in a tech school where I half-heartedly attempt to complete a two-year degree. I married a wonderful man, true, but he has none of the interests I expected in my husband, and while he's cute and has nice lean well-musceled arms, he's not devilishly handsome, and doesn't have the black hair, blue eyes, deep voice or heart-melting smile, and he's a bit duck-footed. (I'm really not shallow, I don't truly care about his face or voice or smile or walk, he's just a lot different from who I expected to fall in love with. Actually, I kind of surprised myself by falling in love with him, I did think I was shallower than that.) I have a good job, but it's not teaching music, and I'm not living happily every after.
To be fair, I'm not sure a life like I had planned out for myself is even possible, especially the happily ever after bit and the 'perfect' husband. Still, I know in my heart that I'm both happy with my life and dissapointed with myself. Perhaps that's why I feel under attack when someone asks what's wrong. Even just that simple, caring question can make me feel hurt and mistreated, simply because I'm dissapointed with myself, and I don't want anyone else to know. I feel like I could have done so much more with my life if I hadn't ended up with Michael, and yet I'm so grateful to have him in my life, to have his love and be able to love him. So, I suppose I had a choice to make, and I chose Michael over the rest of my life. It's funny, you hear about people who regret not choosing love, but you never hear about the people who regret choosing love. I'm not saying I regret it as a whole, but I think part of me does. Hmm, that's kind of a big revelation for me. Well, well, not only is a blog cathartic, but it's therapuetic as well. Perhaps now that I've discovered all this I can work through it. Wish me luck.
April 17, 2008
A Real Vacation
I feel like I need a vacation. My version of a vacation, anyway. My husband and I have gone on several trips in the two years since we met, going to several states and cities. We almost always drive, and we always do a lot. We take a day and do the touristy shopping in downtown of whatever town (or towns) we're visiting, and we take another few days to go to the local attractions, anything from skiing and horseback riding to 'gem grubbin' and eating at the places the locals recommend. We'll drive around and find hole-in-the-wall places to explore another day. Inevitably, our whole vacation is eaten up by our going and doing.
This is a lot of fun, don't get me wrong, but I need a real vacation. The kind where you clean up the house before you leave, and then go and don't worry about cleaning for a week or so (or at least a weekend). You do whatever you feel like. If you're with someone you can go your separate ways or stick together, whatever works that day. When you get back, your house is already clean, allowing you to slowly slip back into your daily routine, instead of having to rev back up immediately.
A typical day in this type of vacation for me might go something like this:
9:00 am: lazily roll out of bed after dosing for an hour or so; eat something for breakfast (could be ice cream, or pizza, or whatever)
9:30 : shower, dress for day
10:00 : pick one of the books I've brought along, read a few chapters.
11:00 : stroll outside of my temporary residence, and decide what to do. Go fishing, stroll along the beach? Mini-golf? Maybe a movie?
1:30 : Eat lunch. Again, whatever strikes my fancy.
2:00 : Pick a lazy-day indoor activity, like reading or cross-stitch, maybe some TV surfing.
4:00 : Walk along main street of whatever place I'm in. Peek in interesting stores, not worry about the money I spend because I've saved just for this.
6:00 : Start thinking about dinner, ask around about good local places, or dinner shows, etc.
9:00 : After whatever dinner entertainment I could find, and perhaps a few unplanned side stops, return to temporary residence, take a dip in the pool if it's still open.
10:30 : Watch TV or read, find out when Mass is on Sunday, drift off to bed when I feel tired.
Sounds good, right? I could have a vacation like this for two weeks and not get bored. Unfortunately, my husband does not enjoy this kind of vacation. I wouldn't all the time, but this is what my childhood vacations were like. My grandmother had a timeshare in Daytona Beach, FL, and we would go every summer. There was a pool, the beach was just a few feet away, and we would have fun. As we got older, we explored the joys of mini-golf and beach-town attractions. We would tire ourselves out, and Mom could sit on the covered porch area overseeing us, reading or just relaxing and having adult conversation with the other parents keeping an eye on their kids.
This is the kind of vacation I remember. Going to a place that was familiar, but exciting nonetheless. A total break from responsibility and chores. I miss those times, and hope to have something similar back soon.
This is a lot of fun, don't get me wrong, but I need a real vacation. The kind where you clean up the house before you leave, and then go and don't worry about cleaning for a week or so (or at least a weekend). You do whatever you feel like. If you're with someone you can go your separate ways or stick together, whatever works that day. When you get back, your house is already clean, allowing you to slowly slip back into your daily routine, instead of having to rev back up immediately.
A typical day in this type of vacation for me might go something like this:
9:00 am: lazily roll out of bed after dosing for an hour or so; eat something for breakfast (could be ice cream, or pizza, or whatever)
9:30 : shower, dress for day
10:00 : pick one of the books I've brought along, read a few chapters.
11:00 : stroll outside of my temporary residence, and decide what to do. Go fishing, stroll along the beach? Mini-golf? Maybe a movie?
1:30 : Eat lunch. Again, whatever strikes my fancy.
2:00 : Pick a lazy-day indoor activity, like reading or cross-stitch, maybe some TV surfing.
4:00 : Walk along main street of whatever place I'm in. Peek in interesting stores, not worry about the money I spend because I've saved just for this.
6:00 : Start thinking about dinner, ask around about good local places, or dinner shows, etc.
9:00 : After whatever dinner entertainment I could find, and perhaps a few unplanned side stops, return to temporary residence, take a dip in the pool if it's still open.
10:30 : Watch TV or read, find out when Mass is on Sunday, drift off to bed when I feel tired.
Sounds good, right? I could have a vacation like this for two weeks and not get bored. Unfortunately, my husband does not enjoy this kind of vacation. I wouldn't all the time, but this is what my childhood vacations were like. My grandmother had a timeshare in Daytona Beach, FL, and we would go every summer. There was a pool, the beach was just a few feet away, and we would have fun. As we got older, we explored the joys of mini-golf and beach-town attractions. We would tire ourselves out, and Mom could sit on the covered porch area overseeing us, reading or just relaxing and having adult conversation with the other parents keeping an eye on their kids.
This is the kind of vacation I remember. Going to a place that was familiar, but exciting nonetheless. A total break from responsibility and chores. I miss those times, and hope to have something similar back soon.
April 16, 2008
Harley
I haven't yet written about my maniac dog, Harley. He is a three-pound bundle of...well, I'm not quite sure what. Officially, he is a yorkie-poo, a cross between a Yorkshire Terrier and a Miniature (or Teacup, not quite sure) Poodle. Unofficially, he is a craziest dog I have ever met.
When we got our cat (who is normal), we put up child gates to keep her off the wooden floors and away from the leather furniture. Well, that didn't work for long, so we put them away and once again enjoyed being able to walk through our house uninhibited. Then, about a year later, we decided to get a small house dog. Our original thought was to get a miniature dachshund: they were smart, fairly trainable, and the miniatures did not seem to have the back problems of the full-sized (though I truly couldn't tell the difference in the sizes). Upon seeing a classifieds ad in the paper, we went to a local, well-respected breeder who reported having a new litter of dachshunds, ready for inspection and deposit until old enough to be taken to their new home. We thought that would be perfect, as it would give us about two weeks to buy the various puppy things we would need, and try to start introducing Tigger (our cat) to dogs of all shapes and sizes. Instead, my husband fell in love with the yorkie-poo who was ready to take home that day. He had the yorkie markings and coloring, and my husband was convinced he was almost one-of-a-kind, despite the breeder's repeated statements that genetics really could repeat the feat of a yorkie-looking cross quite easily. In fact, he said, the usual litter consisted of at least one puppy colored the same way. My dear husband didn't seem to hear. I agreed we could take the puppy home (he was really cute).
Upon our arrival, Tigger sniffed the invader, hissed and fluffed up to proportions I didn't think were physically possible, turned tail and hid under the computer desk. My husband went to the store while I tried to coax Tigger out and show her that the puppy was friendly, to no avail, of course. Obviously, the strange thing had duped her precious feeder and litter box scooper into thinking it was harmless. She would not be fooled.
My husband came home from the store with well over $100 in puppy bedding, toys, food, shampoo, dishes, bathroom pads and a collar, leash, and cage. Silly me, thinking that the money we spent on what would have been a free mutt ten years ago would be the worst of it. We began setting up the puppy's area, and decided it was time to break out the child gates again, to keep him off the hardwood floor and the leather furniture. Thankfully, there was no way he could get over them, even full grown.
Nearly six months later, one of the pet gates has a Harley-sized hole chewed through it. One of his strange behaviors is that he never goes through that hole. It's like he wanted an evacuation route, just in case. We have gone through multiple telephone lines and various electric cables after they were chewed through (how he is still alive is a mystery). We've only gone through two and a half eight-pound bags of puppy food, but way too many bathroom pads. They are more expensive than his food. We are training him, but he's kind of dense. If he's outside when he has to go, great! If he's not, there's a fifty-fifty chance he'll actually go on the pad, unless it's only 'number one' and then it's about a ninety-five percent change he'll use the pad. He has learned absolutely no word commands, although he has learned that to pull on the leash is to get choked by the leash being pulled back. Still, the connection between that and 'heel' fails him. Mostly, he is pure furry energy. Other dogs are the only way to lure him in if he gets off the leash. If you give chase, you will lose to his racing genius. At less than foot long, and maybe six inches tall at the top of his head, you wouldn't think he could do it, but I doubt the person who wins the next Olympic race could catch him. He joyously looks forward to each day, and what he can chew or destroy next. We timidly creep forth from our bed each morning, wondering what important thing we accidentally left within his reach, and sighing relief, not when we find he shredded nothing, but when we find it was only yesterday's junk mail. If he shredded nothing, we contact the Vatican to notify the Pope of a miracle. Walks are frequent, in an attempt to curb his endless puppy energy. He has dedicated himself to licking any part of your skin he can get to, and frequently enjoys climbing up on either me or my husband and attempting to lick our face off. If there is food around, it has his full attention. His pure yorkie markings still remain, although the grey fur he's developed on the top of his head have stopped people from asking where we found a miniature yorkie. The question now is if we are sure of his age, as though people simply can't believe that a puppy can have grey fur, despite his ancestry and the number of grey poodles out there. He and Tigger tolerate each other fairly well.
We will get him neutered soon, the vet said it might calm him down a little. His saving graces? He's not a barker, and he's small. If something comes to his attention and he thinks it something worth talking about, he'll belt out a little, but usually we can go the whole day without hearing from him. If he runs into you or pulls on the leash a little, you can't really feel it, and it certainly won't knock you over.
So that's my maniac dog: willful, energetic, irrepressible, annoying, happy to lock his jaws or teeth around anything in his reach, and always ready for a good lick attack. But, he's our Harley, and, better or worse, he's here to stay.
When we got our cat (who is normal), we put up child gates to keep her off the wooden floors and away from the leather furniture. Well, that didn't work for long, so we put them away and once again enjoyed being able to walk through our house uninhibited. Then, about a year later, we decided to get a small house dog. Our original thought was to get a miniature dachshund: they were smart, fairly trainable, and the miniatures did not seem to have the back problems of the full-sized (though I truly couldn't tell the difference in the sizes). Upon seeing a classifieds ad in the paper, we went to a local, well-respected breeder who reported having a new litter of dachshunds, ready for inspection and deposit until old enough to be taken to their new home. We thought that would be perfect, as it would give us about two weeks to buy the various puppy things we would need, and try to start introducing Tigger (our cat) to dogs of all shapes and sizes. Instead, my husband fell in love with the yorkie-poo who was ready to take home that day. He had the yorkie markings and coloring, and my husband was convinced he was almost one-of-a-kind, despite the breeder's repeated statements that genetics really could repeat the feat of a yorkie-looking cross quite easily. In fact, he said, the usual litter consisted of at least one puppy colored the same way. My dear husband didn't seem to hear. I agreed we could take the puppy home (he was really cute).
Upon our arrival, Tigger sniffed the invader, hissed and fluffed up to proportions I didn't think were physically possible, turned tail and hid under the computer desk. My husband went to the store while I tried to coax Tigger out and show her that the puppy was friendly, to no avail, of course. Obviously, the strange thing had duped her precious feeder and litter box scooper into thinking it was harmless. She would not be fooled.
My husband came home from the store with well over $100 in puppy bedding, toys, food, shampoo, dishes, bathroom pads and a collar, leash, and cage. Silly me, thinking that the money we spent on what would have been a free mutt ten years ago would be the worst of it. We began setting up the puppy's area, and decided it was time to break out the child gates again, to keep him off the hardwood floor and the leather furniture. Thankfully, there was no way he could get over them, even full grown.
Nearly six months later, one of the pet gates has a Harley-sized hole chewed through it. One of his strange behaviors is that he never goes through that hole. It's like he wanted an evacuation route, just in case. We have gone through multiple telephone lines and various electric cables after they were chewed through (how he is still alive is a mystery). We've only gone through two and a half eight-pound bags of puppy food, but way too many bathroom pads. They are more expensive than his food. We are training him, but he's kind of dense. If he's outside when he has to go, great! If he's not, there's a fifty-fifty chance he'll actually go on the pad, unless it's only 'number one' and then it's about a ninety-five percent change he'll use the pad. He has learned absolutely no word commands, although he has learned that to pull on the leash is to get choked by the leash being pulled back. Still, the connection between that and 'heel' fails him. Mostly, he is pure furry energy. Other dogs are the only way to lure him in if he gets off the leash. If you give chase, you will lose to his racing genius. At less than foot long, and maybe six inches tall at the top of his head, you wouldn't think he could do it, but I doubt the person who wins the next Olympic race could catch him. He joyously looks forward to each day, and what he can chew or destroy next. We timidly creep forth from our bed each morning, wondering what important thing we accidentally left within his reach, and sighing relief, not when we find he shredded nothing, but when we find it was only yesterday's junk mail. If he shredded nothing, we contact the Vatican to notify the Pope of a miracle. Walks are frequent, in an attempt to curb his endless puppy energy. He has dedicated himself to licking any part of your skin he can get to, and frequently enjoys climbing up on either me or my husband and attempting to lick our face off. If there is food around, it has his full attention. His pure yorkie markings still remain, although the grey fur he's developed on the top of his head have stopped people from asking where we found a miniature yorkie. The question now is if we are sure of his age, as though people simply can't believe that a puppy can have grey fur, despite his ancestry and the number of grey poodles out there. He and Tigger tolerate each other fairly well.
We will get him neutered soon, the vet said it might calm him down a little. His saving graces? He's not a barker, and he's small. If something comes to his attention and he thinks it something worth talking about, he'll belt out a little, but usually we can go the whole day without hearing from him. If he runs into you or pulls on the leash a little, you can't really feel it, and it certainly won't knock you over.
So that's my maniac dog: willful, energetic, irrepressible, annoying, happy to lock his jaws or teeth around anything in his reach, and always ready for a good lick attack. But, he's our Harley, and, better or worse, he's here to stay.
April 11, 2008
Depression?
I've been a bit depressed in the last few days, but I'm feeling better. My husband keeps telling me I should go to the doctor for depression, but I feel like I go in and out of it. I know depression runs in my family, and if it's clinical depression you can't beat it on your own (most of the time). Still, I feel like it just comes and goes every few weeks. I'll have a bleak outlook, think that my marriage is a mistake and I should never have married him, and then later everything dawns bright and clear, and I know I did the right thing. My job will be the worst job in the world, and then it'll be great. Same with family, friends and just about anything I'm involved with. Feel free to weigh in on this and let me know what you think. Does anyone else go through this see-saw of outlooks?
April 10, 2008
A Ray of Hope
Last night, my husband and I managed to get through the whole evening without fighting. Yes, he still annoyed me occasionally, and Harley, our yorkie-poo, certainly was annoying (as always), but we did not fight. Nights like last night give me hope that I did not make a mistake when I married him. They make me feel like, if we work at it, we will be okay, and we will not end up divorced, as my parents did.
I did not mention my dad when I was talking about my family. He died my senior year in high school; I regret terribly that I did not make an effort to spend more time with him and get to know him better. Where I first went to college, I was about five hours from where he lived; much closer than I had been since my parents divorced. Now I live only four hours from where he lived, and I can only visit his grave. We all have regrets, and that is perhaps the deepest one I have. Hopefully I will see him again one day.
Back to my 'ray of hope', last night was wonderful. I hope for another like it.
I also have hope that I will be able to stick to losing weight this time. Before the wedding I was down to 183. Now I am back up to 197, only a month later. I let myself go on the honeymoon, and did not get back on track right away as I had planned; in fact, I stayed seriously off-track. I simply keep reminding myself that I will end up morbidly obese if I keep up the way I am, and I don't want to do that. I want to be able to take my kids to the beach (or just go with my husband, we are young, after all) and not be ashamed to wear a bathing suit. So, I keep those images in mind, and I press on. I ignore the office candy dish, I resolutely go to the gym, and I keep my calories under 1500/day, as best I can. My willpower grows stronger every time I deny fat self her wishes, and hopefully soon I'll be able to grant my slender self her wishes, occasionally.
I did not mention my dad when I was talking about my family. He died my senior year in high school; I regret terribly that I did not make an effort to spend more time with him and get to know him better. Where I first went to college, I was about five hours from where he lived; much closer than I had been since my parents divorced. Now I live only four hours from where he lived, and I can only visit his grave. We all have regrets, and that is perhaps the deepest one I have. Hopefully I will see him again one day.
Back to my 'ray of hope', last night was wonderful. I hope for another like it.
I also have hope that I will be able to stick to losing weight this time. Before the wedding I was down to 183. Now I am back up to 197, only a month later. I let myself go on the honeymoon, and did not get back on track right away as I had planned; in fact, I stayed seriously off-track. I simply keep reminding myself that I will end up morbidly obese if I keep up the way I am, and I don't want to do that. I want to be able to take my kids to the beach (or just go with my husband, we are young, after all) and not be ashamed to wear a bathing suit. So, I keep those images in mind, and I press on. I ignore the office candy dish, I resolutely go to the gym, and I keep my calories under 1500/day, as best I can. My willpower grows stronger every time I deny fat self her wishes, and hopefully soon I'll be able to grant my slender self her wishes, occasionally.
April 9, 2008
Beginning
Hello, welcome to my blog. I am a serial blogger, coming and going, deleting past blogs along the way. It has been over a year since I last had a blog, and now I am back. With every blog, I seek anonymity. I wish to have a safe place to let my thoughts and feelings flow. Each time I have been found out by at least one person who knows me, and then was constricted in what I could say. Perhaps this time will be different.
As my blog description says, I am young and married. Many people have told me marrying so young was a mistake, but I am legally old enough that the relationship was my choice from the beginning; whether or not the marriage is a mistake has yet to be seen.
I do not lead an interesting life. I wake up before the sun rises, I go to work for eight hours, thought I don't often work for eight hours, I go home and cook dinner, scoop the litter box, walk the dog, attempt conversation with my husband, and go to bed after the sun sets. I like to read, but have never had enough books around; I like horses, but have never had the money to learn to ride well; I like classical music, and play the flute, but not nearly often enough. Perhaps my life will be more interesting when we have kids, and hopefully the responsibility of children will not override the bright color they can bring to life.
My husband is an interesting man. He is not brilliant, and not terribly well educated, though he did finish high school and attempt a two-year degree. His faith is small, I sense a great lack of understanding in him. But I can not judge, for I have been blessed with understand, but I rarely do anything with it. I love him dearly, no matter his faults and our problems, though we have many. We do not seem to understand each other's actions or words. We read tones of voice, inflections and facial expressions incorrectly. Because of that, we fight a lot. I love him still, and will always love him. No matter our fights or dissagreements (he does so hate the word fight), I love him completely.
My mother is caring, though sometimes a bit overbearing; she does not approve of my husband, but she does try to accept him as a son, and to not let her dissaproval show. My brother is a great guy, caring and protective, and very tall. My sister is married also, and she has one of the biggest hearts for children I have ever known. Her patience wtih adults is severly limited; for children she could endure anything. Her husband, my brother-in-law, is a quiet man, loving and understanding, and very supportive of her and the rest of us, and a bit anal about certain things, but he's a drafter, so that's to be expected. My nephew, their son, is a wonderful little boy: well-behaved, sweet, and generally in a good mood. I should be so lucky when I have children.
My mother-in-law is incredibly overbearing and wishes to be involved in all things all the time, especially if it concerns her only son. She has gotten better, and I know she means well, but she is still very annoying. My father-in-law is...strange. Again, he means well, but he can be annoying. Especially when he asks if I want to bathe him, or leans up agains me and waggles his eyebrows. He doesn't mean anything by it, but it is a bit disturbing. You must understand, though, that they are nice people, and they are Southerners to the core. I am too, but in a less back-woods, more big city transplant sort of way (my mother-in-law, by the way, thinks that she is a city girl, like me, because she grew up in a subdivision on the outskirts of a 5,000-person town; I grew up in 250,000-person city).
My husband's sister and her husband are great people. I worry about their marriage sometimes, but I think they'll be ok. They have two little girls, the elder is three, and not well behaved. The younger is not even a year, so she can't really misbehave, but I'm sure she will follow in her sister's path, as she has the same parents. Great people, as I said, but they have waited so long to begin disciplining their elder daughter (she still has a pacifier for goodness sake) that they have put a tough road ahead of themselves. Raising well mannered, fairly obedient daughters will not be easy at this point. I wish them luck, and hope that my husband and I will be able to do better.
So, that is a short synopsis of my life and my families. Let me be fair now and list my own faults: I hate working, I am a bit self-centered, vain and jealous. I am not content with my lot in life, and would far prefer to not have to work, and only be a stay-at-home mom, so that when my husband and I have kids, after the first five or six years of the last one's life, I will have time to pursue those things I enjoy. That is what I truly want to do, and have never been able to. Back to my faults, I spend money too freely, I'm not social, and I am too fickle in my devotion to God. There are probably more I don't even realize, but I don't want to depress myself further by looking for them.
So, read on if you wish. Maybe it will be interesting.
As my blog description says, I am young and married. Many people have told me marrying so young was a mistake, but I am legally old enough that the relationship was my choice from the beginning; whether or not the marriage is a mistake has yet to be seen.
I do not lead an interesting life. I wake up before the sun rises, I go to work for eight hours, thought I don't often work for eight hours, I go home and cook dinner, scoop the litter box, walk the dog, attempt conversation with my husband, and go to bed after the sun sets. I like to read, but have never had enough books around; I like horses, but have never had the money to learn to ride well; I like classical music, and play the flute, but not nearly often enough. Perhaps my life will be more interesting when we have kids, and hopefully the responsibility of children will not override the bright color they can bring to life.
My husband is an interesting man. He is not brilliant, and not terribly well educated, though he did finish high school and attempt a two-year degree. His faith is small, I sense a great lack of understanding in him. But I can not judge, for I have been blessed with understand, but I rarely do anything with it. I love him dearly, no matter his faults and our problems, though we have many. We do not seem to understand each other's actions or words. We read tones of voice, inflections and facial expressions incorrectly. Because of that, we fight a lot. I love him still, and will always love him. No matter our fights or dissagreements (he does so hate the word fight), I love him completely.
My mother is caring, though sometimes a bit overbearing; she does not approve of my husband, but she does try to accept him as a son, and to not let her dissaproval show. My brother is a great guy, caring and protective, and very tall. My sister is married also, and she has one of the biggest hearts for children I have ever known. Her patience wtih adults is severly limited; for children she could endure anything. Her husband, my brother-in-law, is a quiet man, loving and understanding, and very supportive of her and the rest of us, and a bit anal about certain things, but he's a drafter, so that's to be expected. My nephew, their son, is a wonderful little boy: well-behaved, sweet, and generally in a good mood. I should be so lucky when I have children.
My mother-in-law is incredibly overbearing and wishes to be involved in all things all the time, especially if it concerns her only son. She has gotten better, and I know she means well, but she is still very annoying. My father-in-law is...strange. Again, he means well, but he can be annoying. Especially when he asks if I want to bathe him, or leans up agains me and waggles his eyebrows. He doesn't mean anything by it, but it is a bit disturbing. You must understand, though, that they are nice people, and they are Southerners to the core. I am too, but in a less back-woods, more big city transplant sort of way (my mother-in-law, by the way, thinks that she is a city girl, like me, because she grew up in a subdivision on the outskirts of a 5,000-person town; I grew up in 250,000-person city).
My husband's sister and her husband are great people. I worry about their marriage sometimes, but I think they'll be ok. They have two little girls, the elder is three, and not well behaved. The younger is not even a year, so she can't really misbehave, but I'm sure she will follow in her sister's path, as she has the same parents. Great people, as I said, but they have waited so long to begin disciplining their elder daughter (she still has a pacifier for goodness sake) that they have put a tough road ahead of themselves. Raising well mannered, fairly obedient daughters will not be easy at this point. I wish them luck, and hope that my husband and I will be able to do better.
So, that is a short synopsis of my life and my families. Let me be fair now and list my own faults: I hate working, I am a bit self-centered, vain and jealous. I am not content with my lot in life, and would far prefer to not have to work, and only be a stay-at-home mom, so that when my husband and I have kids, after the first five or six years of the last one's life, I will have time to pursue those things I enjoy. That is what I truly want to do, and have never been able to. Back to my faults, I spend money too freely, I'm not social, and I am too fickle in my devotion to God. There are probably more I don't even realize, but I don't want to depress myself further by looking for them.
So, read on if you wish. Maybe it will be interesting.
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