Pregnant Dreams part 2

Dream #1: I'm at my grandmother's house. (She passed away in 2001.) My dad's mom, our Nana. We are all having a barbeque or something. I don't remember all the details but I do remember, suddenly my Nanna and I are out on the back patio alone. We are having easy conversation and hit a slightly awkward moment of silence. Nana seizes this silence and starts to shakily get down on one knee. At that moment I realize: my Nana is proposing to me! I don't wanna hurt her feelings. I have to let her down easy. I stop her before she gets all the way down on her knee. "Nana, I can't! The thing is, I'm already married." She starts arguing with me about all the reasons we should get married. She is really upset, so I hear her out. She says, "You're just going to abandon me like everyone else! Why won't you commit?!" I keep telling her I'm already married, to Ricky. Then it hits me like a ton of bricks. And if I wasn't already married??? Why do I keep using that argument??! This is wrong on SO many levels!! "Nana!" I yell, interrupting her. "Grandmas aren't supposed to marry grand-daughters! It isn't right! It's just not meant to be! And even if we weren't related, which we are, and it's not distant, we're both women! And you're much too old for me." She hears me out and it starts to resonate with her. I put my arm around her, both of us throwing our heads back, having a good laugh about it. We walk back inside to join the rest of the family as I'm thinking, Phew! That could have been really awkward! Nice save Mer!

#2. I'm a bridesmaid at Tamra's wedding. (That part did happen last October, in real life.) But in my dream she has asked me to wear this ridiculous little Richard wig:

Except mine is even worse than the real little Richard because mine's pulled down into my eyes for some reason, so I can't really see where I'm going. I keep wanting to take it off, but the voice in my head says, No. This is what Tamra wanted. It's her special day. Anything to make it perfect. So I'm a stumbling idiot running into things because I can't really see, and I can't seem to adjust the wig to move it out of my eyes either. While we're waiting for the ceremony to start in this strange chapel, I can't walk straight at all. My ankles keep wobbling and giving out on me. I look down at my stilettos to find that someone has sharpened my heals into razor sharp points! Who would do such a thing? And the other bridesmaids are being so mean to me. I'm asking them where we line up and they are just giving me crusty glares, like, "Who invited her??" The bridesmaids are all getting ready to sing the opening song of the wedding, an EFY song nonetheless, but we've never practiced it. We do a so-so job with it, and have to walk down from the "stage" to join the rest of the audience. I look down expecting to see stairs but only find a steep hard-wood slope that I've got to get down somehow in my razor sharp heals. I slip and tumble all the way down while the chapel full of guests watch, (Princess Bride style, without the yelling of As you wish as I roll). Lots of ex-boyfriends are present to witness this all.

#3: We are in Hawaii, snorkeling. Ricky is wearing his red swim trunks and we are gliding along ever so peacefully above the coral and fish. We are in love and holding hands. We let go but I'm keeping his red shorts in the corner of my eye so we don't get too far apart. All the sudden I'm seeing the red shorts torpedoing away from me. Why is he swimming so fast all the sudden? So I'm struggling trying to keep up, dog paddling rapidly. But I'm still just barely trailing him, he's swimming much faster than me. He's trying to lose me? What the..??? He's gonna get an ear full when we resurface. I finally get close enough to grab his hand. He pulls it away and turns to face me underwater. We are in deep enough water that we are now floating vertically facing each other. As he's turning, I'm a little confused at how much being under water is distorting his body. Wow, he looks really different underwater. He looks totally scrawny, sunken in pecks and a total beer gut. Weird. I don't think much of it. He looks at me and I at him, still under the surface. He raises his arms and shrugs his shoulders at me as if to say, "What do you want??" And I don't know why he's been trying to escape me so I simply mimic him in return, do the shoulder shrug back, thinking, "What is your problem, honey??" At that moment I notice silvery hair on top of his head above his mask, billowing in the sea water. With great horror, I see that this not only doesn't look like Ricky, it is not him at all. No, no. It's in fact an old man, must be in his seventies. An old man who happened to wear red swim trunks as well that day. Panicked, I swim frantically to the nearest shallow spot where I can stand up, and when I do, I see the man of my dreams at least 20 feet away from me, standing up also, wondering where his bride has swam off to.

The strangest part about these dreams is that while the first two are indeed dreams I had in the same night, ridiculousness induced by hormones I'm sure, the last story, beginning with #3, is not in fact, a dream at all. It indeed happened in reality, exactly as I describe it above. And I thought this would be a good place to slip it in, because in comparison with my dreams, it doesn't seem half bad.  I really did underwater stalk an old man and I did try to hold his hand for a good 10 minutes or so, making him feel the need to hurriedly swim away from a dangerous young siren trying to lure him into the depths of the ocean. I did even try to grab his leg at one point to get his attention, only to get my hand kicked off, and I did call him a swear word in my head thinking he was my Ricky. We did stare awkwardly at each other for a good 60 seconds, and I did give him the shoulder shrug back, still thinking he was my husband. I could have given him a heart attack for heavens sake! Just needed to tell that story for the posterity. They need to know about the good blood that runs through their veins.

And yes he would still have me. Even after I tried to leave him for an older man.

Mars and Venus parte dos

(She looks like me. Even her short spikey little hair-do, and as of late, googly, glazed over eyes.) So, we have been out of town a ridiculous amount these past couple months. This is the busiest time of year in the hub's profession and we really have been taking jaunts rotating between California and Arizona on almost a weekly basis (6 2-3 day trips in the last 7 weeks). I feel like I am home in time to do all of our laundry and pack the suitcase again. Even though these trips are business trips, we have ourselves a good 'ol time on these little jaunts, so I don't want you to misunderstand me. I'm not complaining. I'm just sayin', it's catching up to me.

We got home from California last night. I walked into our house like a zombie, took a bath and went straight to bed. I came down with the most miserable head cold the night before last. My eyes are itchy, my glands are swollen, my sinuses are pounding away... basically my head could implode at any moment. So I sit here and type still in pajamas, with my little bowl of hot soup and tissue box. What makes it better is being this pregnant. It's nice because I can't take anything to relieve myself and actually counted last night how many times I woke up to pee. SIX. And it's not like a mild need to use the bathroom. It's like the kind that makes you do a little dance. So, uncomfortably pregnant + out of town a lot + a messy house + virus gnawing my face off = really awesome and cheery wife and mommy.

I had a little melt down this morning to my dear companion. It was a perplexing exchange. You'll see what I mean. First off, I was beastly upon waking up because I never really felt like I fell asleep, secondly I knew I had gone to bed with no dishes in the sink and woke up to lots of dirty dishes and that was perplexing. So I was ornery (that's pronounced "awn-ry", not "orny", as in "horny". That's not what we're talking about here folks. The two are commonly confused.) and asked Ricky why it looked like a family of 5 was over for dinner when he was the only one who ate. So we conversed back and forth a bit, I cried around the house for 10 minutes or so, and then apologized to him for being snotty first thing in the morning. He apologized as well for not loading his dirty dishes (which he did before leaving for work). And then I went on... "It's just that...." and opened those cathartic flood gates right up. High pitched voice, distorted face, big tears coming down. I was rambling about feeling like I can't get on top of things at home because we've been out of town so much, and how I'm needing to nest, wanting to get things done before baby comes, feeling overwhelmed, etc. So he sat there listening, didn't say anything. Then came the interesting part.

Amidst my hullabaloo, in between weeps and wails, I pulled up the bottom of my over sized pajama top to dab at my eyes, exposing my bare hammish belly. Once finished dabbing, I opened up my bright eyes to find that my husband had magically disappeared into thin air. It was a very stealthy maneuver, no sound was made. I remained there wiping my wet face, sheepishly looking around the room all alone, thinking maybe he heard his phone ring in the other room and would be right back to dutifully nurture me. But he didn't come back. I heard him in our room going about business as usual, getting ready for work. He didn't say a word to me. I think I would have been upset if I hadn't been so utterly confused. I started thinking maybe he thought I was crying to Veggie Delight. Or maybe he thought I had a ear piece in my ear and was talking to my mom on the phone, even though that clearly wasn't the case.

Then I imagined him having a melt down to me, and me without any kind of response or acknowledgement, getting up and walking out of the room, going on about my day. I was racking my brain, playing what had just happened over again, thinking how anyone could think that was the appropriate response at precisely that moment. I felt no anger, but more humor than anything. Confusing humor, but humor nonetheless. I came to the consensus that he was already mentally gone. When he was sitting across the family room from me appearing to be listening to me cry, his mind was saying a little something like this, I wonder where my gym shoes are. I've gotta meet that guy at nine at the office and need to run by the bank before doing so. I wonder if trading Ronnie Brewer was a good move for the Jazz, I mean I know it frees up some of our money but I wonder what'll come of it. Now that he's injured Memphis has gotta be ticked about it. Where did Veggie Delight drag those shoes off to? all the while watching me blubber. It probably occurred to him right where they were all the sudden, so he got up and went back to his closet, naturally. He eventually came back out, ready to go out the door, and said, "Do you wanna have prayers?" We said our family prayer, kissed each other goodbye, and that was it. I have still been a little confused about it all morning, though amused as well so that makes up for it.

I think he will read this and say, "What? That didn't happen." But it did happen folks. It did. And I'm bearing record of it to the world now on this blog post.

I held no ill will towards him as he happily bounded out the door. I just sat back, smiled and slowly shaking my head thought, "What am I gonna do with that guy? I sure love 'im," and let out a good, loud chuckle.

A couple hours passed and I texted him about the intense scrabble game we have going on our phones. Me: Did you see I passed going first on our game and it's your turn? Him: Yes, I saw last night. I got nothing so I might have to pass too. :) Me: Okay. Do you regret marrying me when I'm not nice to you all the time? Him: No I only regret making you upset so you feel like you have to be mean to me. You're a wonderful wife.

See? Absolutely no consciousness on his part of my meltdown or of his response to my blubberfest. It's pretty funny. Funny as in "haha" and funny as in interesting. Men and women really are that different but boy! Gotta love 'im!

*By the way, he did read this post, and he did say exactly what I thought he would. No recollection whatsoever. It's pretty awesome, that tune-out ability of his.

This and That....

One evening, when Terd and I were first married, I brought home a snickers bar that someone had given me at work. I was feeling all selfless and excited to give it to Terd... but my hopes were dashed when he responded, "meh, I don't really like snickers that much." Oh really fool? You don't like snickers?! I tossed it on our nightstand in disgust and punished him for the rest of the night for not appreciating me enough.

You can imagine my surprise when that night, in the middle of the night, I was awakened by the sound of rustling wrappers. I looked up to see Terd sitting in the v-sit and reach position next to me in bed, the snickers clasped between his hands like a hamster with a sunflower seed. The wrapper was peeled back, banana style, just enough to reveal half of the bar. Ah ha! I sat up, armed with ridicule, when the light of the moon fell on his face and I realized, much to my surprise, his eyes were still slammed shut. He was asleep. He was asleep, and eating my candy bar.

I sat there in wonder, watching my little heffer of a husband gripping his wee little candy bar, in his wee little hands, taking bite after bite, crunching away until the very last bit of chocolaty goodness disappeared. I started laughing. He was undisturbed. He tossed the wrapper off the side of the bed and snuggled back in. Really? Not even a drink to wash it down? I laid down next to him and stared in disbelief as he puffed peanut breath on my face, snoozing away peacefully.

The next morning when I recounted our midnight rendezvous, Sam was skeptical and completely oblivious. I referenced the empty wrapper on the floor next to our bed as evidence. He was shocked. We laughed for a long time. And then turned to the internet for a little self-diagnosis and googled, "sleep eaters." Turns out it's a real, somewhat disturbing, disorder that wasn't nearly as amusing as my hubby and his candy bar. We're talking people who fire up the grill and stuff in the middle of the night in their sleep and burn down their houses and crap like that. Talk about a buzz kill.

At any rate, I still find occasional evidence of midnight dining at our house that Sam claims to have no recollection of. Generally if we have left over dessert. Hmmm.

Creepy.

A Night to Remember...

A Night to Remember...

So... I had a "you're in a new place with lots o' weirdos" experience the other night. Not that I'm not used to it... I've been living in San Francisco for the last 3+ years. And by San Francisco, I mean Weirdo Mecca. BUT, this was my first intro to the Chicago brand of weirdo. And it came in the form of the cable guy.

To start, Terd was off at a friends house watching BYU get spanked so I was all alone. Which makes having a strange man in your house especially invigorating. I knew I was in for a treat when I got a frantic call from an unknown number:

***I'm typing this in my very best eastern European accent, so read it like that***

Ahem...

Cable Guy (CG): Ummm... miss Vanessa? I can't find parking ANYWHERE! (stream of expletives) YOU GOTTA BE KIDDING ME! I'M GONNA WRECK MISS VANESSA! OH (expletive) I'M GOING THE WRONG WAY DOWN A ONE WAY STREET! (honking) YOU GOTTA FIND ME A PARKING SPOT!

Me (trembling in fear): Uhh, ok, let me go to a window and see if I can see a spot.

I lead him to a spot pretty much directly in front of our building.

CG: Oh man I am such an (expletive)! You are my SAVIOR Vanessa! I'm so stressed out. Today has been a very very bitter day.

At this point I was super excited to hang out with this guy, so I said a quick prayer that I'd know not to let him in if he was gonna kill me, and opened the door.

The first thing he proceeded to do was snoop around in the kitchen. I was surprised, but I thought for sure there was a cable related purpose to his snooping so I didn't intervene. When he emerged, he shouted in a whisper that he needed a soda and asked if I had any. I got him a drink and he stood there in the middle of my living room, head thrown back, guzzling like a drunk, gasping and smacking his lips in satisfaction after each swig.

He busied himself with the cable wires, etc. in a very dramatic, frustrated fashion, peppering his expletives and grunts with small talk about his life growing up in Serbia and his transition to the States. He asked me where I was from and I immediately regretted telling him I had just come from San Fran. This sent him off on a tirade about homosexuals. He shook his fist in the air and told me, "If you try to be gay in my country, my people will bloody you!!" Then he asked if I was gay...

Don't you worry, there's more. My very FAVE part....

Just before my Serbian Stallion was about to leave, he told me he wanted to run one more test on the cable outlet, which was located in one of the coat closets. I sat back, anxious for him to be done. He disappeared into the closet and reappeared suddenly in the doorway, arms clasped and stretched out in front of him in a Charlie's Angels pose, pointing his power drill at me like a gun. I gasped and wet my drawers.... he threw his head back IN LAUGHTER and gave the drill two revs to show me what it was. Even now, as I type this, my heart is pounding out of my chest remembering the feeling that washed over me when I thought this maniac had a gun.

Needless to say, I was a bit jumpy and a little irrational for the rest of the night. I checked on the Turkey Sub like 10 times.... I called Terd and witched him out for not being more protective and allowing the cable to be installed when he wouldn't be home.... pretty standard post think-you're-gonna-get-shot-or-at-best-maimed behavior.

Now that it's over and I'm past the trauma of it all, I'm probably gonna get myself a power drill and pull that little prank on some of you. It was a pretty good joke.

THE END

A Lesson in Self-Awareness... and some other stuff

Whenever I make eye contact with someone on the street/hall/whatever, I always make a point to smile. Not like a big toothy grin or anything, more like one of those slight, closed mouth, minimal effort smiles. You know, the "stranger smile." This particular point has been a source of some stress and annoyance because I rarely get a smile back. More often than not, my little gesture of camaraderie is met with a hurried glance to the ground. I've attributed this discrepancy to my Idahoan upbringing starkly contrasting the guarded streets of the big cities that have been my home these last few years. Recently however, my sister snapped this little jewel, and I was faced with a startling reality...

Turns out my "stranger smile" looks like this:

Meet Chester McPervy. It's sobering to discover that my making a conscience effort to smile at strangers (something I've secretly always congratulated myself for) was in reality, only seriously creeping them out.

Terd had a "self-awareness" moment like this a few months ago when I happened upon him peeing himself with laughter on the couch... no doubt thinking back on something hilarious and brilliant I had done that day. I just so happened to have my camera in hand and immediately began snapping pictures. He suffered through a small identity crisis and a brief stint in therapy after seeing these...

Of course I think these pictures are completely adorable and am over the moon when Terd laughs... especially if I'm the one making him do so. BUT, have you ever caught an unintentional glimpse in the mirror, or had a picture taken of you mid belly-laugh? It's never anything like you imagined you would look... and it's usually quite terrifying.

I remember when I was in 3rd grade and a group of my friends were swimming at the Aquatic Center, an indoor swimming pool in Idaho Falls. There was one boy I loathed more than anything named Brad Vuccovich. I write his name unabashedly because he knew very well that I hated him. Anyway, after various attempts to dunk him under the water (I was a brute of a 3rd grader and he was a complete pip squeak of a 4th grader and when you're in elementary school it's still okay to practice violent dominion over those smaller than you) we actually started having a real conversation. For some reason, I was explaining to him and showing him all of the different kinds of "smiles" I had in my repertoire. I remember one was "flirty" and one was "cheesy." I don't remember the others. I had never practiced these smiles in the mirror, or differentiated my different kinds of smiles before, but it seemed super interesting at the time and I was sure the feelings I was having on the inside were showing through perfectly on my face.

After our conversation, my feelings of hatred towards Brad had, of course, transformed into feelings of true love. When I got home I was anxious to get to a mirror to check out the different smiles I had showed him... just to make sure I had indeed been as sexy and charming as I thought. I can still picture exactly the ridiculous, chestery, creepy little girl that looked back at me from the mirror when I reenacted my "flirty" smile... hair still slicked straight back from swimming (not a good look for me) with the little bit of my mom's make up I had secretly applied that morning, forming dark smudges beneath my eyes. Come to think of it, it was pretty much the 3rd grade version of my "stranger smile." It was hideous. I had made a complete fool of myself. And making a fool of yourself while trying to be flirty (seductive) is ten times more foolio than any other kind of fool you can make. If that makes sense. At that moment the only obvious choice I had was to start hating Brad again.

I realize this post has gotten off topic... hence the addition of "and some other stuff" to the title. Here's where I attempt to tie it all in. Ahem.

I can't even count the number of experiences I've had like the one I had with Brad, or the discovery of the "stranger smile." Not over the top humiliation (those I'll save for another post) but just times where I was completely lacking in self-awareness. I wish that I could go back and talk to my teenage, or pubescent, or pre-pubescent self and tell me not to worry, and that I wouldn't even remember the times I made a spectacle of myself... and to take comfort in knowing that the adult version of me is super confident and graceful and pretty much awesome in general. But I can't. Because the truth is, I still get a wave of embarrassment down the back of my neck when I think back on my "flirty" smile from 3rd grade. And I still make a big fat fool of myself on the regular.

What's A Girl to Do....

I know many of you ladies reading will relate, but one thing that has caused some special irritation in my marriage has been, what I have perceived to be, Terd's oblivion. I don't know how many hours I've wasted throughout our relationship getting gussied up, all excited to see him, for him to come home and not even notice. These instances have almost always lead to the same conversation:

Me (sheepishly): So, do you think I look pretty?

Terd: Yeah, of course I do. You look beautiful.

Me (hopefully): Well I got all ready, did you notice?

Terd: Yeah, I did. You look great.

Me (annoyed): Well why didn't you say anything?

Terd: I just did. You always look beautiful.

Me (irate): Oh, I always look beautiful in my sweats when I've been cleaning and haven't showered in two days?! I had to drag it out of you! You didn't even notice!

Terd: I did notice! I was going to say something about it! I promise! You look HOT!

Me (sheepishly again): ......what else....?

Then we laugh.

But not for long. I usually have to cut the laughing short to deliver a brief lecture on being attentive and showing appreciation for all my efforts. For which Terd is always grateful. This kind of thing is always in good fun, but the other day his obliviousness went a little too far...

Terd and I were sitting on the couch all tangled up when he attempted to get up to get a drink. Because we are oafs, Terd's knee came up and knocked me squarely on the cheek bone, right beneath my eye. It was a really hard blow with a sickening crack, and it hurt like the dickens. You can imagine my disappointment when, minutes after the assault, my cheek looked completely normal. Not even a smidge of swelling or bruising. It's always such a let down when you go through something like that with nothing to show for it... nothing to make people gasp with horror and pity and glare at Terd all accusey while I point a finger at him and say, "he did it."

No, this wouldn't do. Something had to be done. So, naturally, as soon as Terd left the house I scampered over to my makeup case, grabbed my eyeshadow, and masterfully applied a big bruise over my cheekbone. I even rubbed in a bit of red lipstick for that "fresh bruise" look.

I busied myself with making lunch and doing the dishes when Terd returned from his run. He sat down at the table and I steadied myself and honed my acting skills in the kitchen before presenting him with his lunch. I was trying not to smile and be all obvious as I sat across from him, waiting for his eyes to fall on my face for the first time. I imagined the shock and fawning that would take place when he saw my giant bruise, and the subsequent laugh attack I would have when I started wiping it off in front of him. Oh what a good joke it would be!

He looked up... and looked right back down to his plate of food. I thought, "well, that was just a quick glance" and waited for him to look again. He did... and we started chatting... and nothing. I got NOTHING. He had a full on 20 minute conversation with me, jabbering away about his run and classes and aspirations, and failed to notice the great big pulsating bruise that covered the left half of my face.

I felt my blood start boiling. How the crap was this happening? I put my hand up to my cheek, and in a last ditch effort not to ruin my little joke said, "man, my cheek is still hurting, is it bruising or anything?" He looked up briefly and said, "I don't think so, I'm sorry it hurts sweetie."

I felt like Tommy Boy. "Not so much here, not really here... but riiight here."

I was dumbfounded. I flew out of my chair and ran to the mirror in our bedroom. I thought for sure I had accidentally rubbed off my little masterpiece. There was no WAY he was this clueless. But no, it was still there, staring back at me, blaring and obvious.

I stomped back into the dining room and shouted, "It's not BRUISING???! LOOK AT MY FACE!" He looked up in surprise, "Oh! Yeah, there is a bruise. Oh man, that's bad. I'm sorry baby."

After I got all tantrumy about it and he was all sweet and attentive, I felt a little guilty and ridiculous and didn't really know how to tell him it was a fake. So I settled on trying to make it funny and quietly slipped away to wash my face.

When I reappeared in our living room all fresh-faced and giggly... trying to display my injury-free cheek in the most obvious way possible... guess who didn't say a word? That's right. He didn't notice the dark blue and purple bruise he'd inflicted, the very one I'd just thrown a hissy over, had magically disappeared...

And he still hasn't brought it up.

Good grief.

It's a good thing he's so preoccupied with taking stellar care of our little family, or I'd never get over it....

Just a little Something....

Because of my desperate need to send my last two posts further down the screen, and because I have nothing new of note to blog about, I'd like to share with you a little "Terd and Vanessa are meant to be" moment that should have been documented long ago. Now, I wouldn't necessarily say this story shines a flattering light on my dear, sweet husband... but he's in Boston right now, dutifully snoozing away. And I'm wide awake in Utah, all alone, and feeling feisty. So here we go.

Terd and I were about to be engaged when we had this sweet conversation:

Me: Baby, if I were an animal, what kind of animal would I be?

Terd: Hmmmm... I'm not sure, what do you think I'd be?

Me (thinking hard about what would most effectively stroke his ego, while still being realistic): Hmmm... you'd probably be a fox. Because you're really smart, and resourceful. And handsome! So you'd definitely be a fox. Or wait, a wolf.. cause they're still clever like a fox but more majestic and serious and powerful.... and dangerous (insert eyebrow shimmy).

Terd (clearly pleased): Really? Hmm...

Me: Yep... so, what would I be?

Brace yourselves. The following response has not been falsified or exaggerated in any way.

Terd (thinking to himself): Hmmmm... I think you'd probably be... a walrus.

..........................

..........................

A WALRUS.

That's right. Savor it. Just let it sink right in.

You'd think this response would have been immediately followed by an upheaval of laughter on his part and a swift charlie horse delivery on mine. But it wasn't. Instead, Terd just stared at me with the sincerity of an all too-honest child. And said nothing.

His only defense, to this day, is, "what? they're cute. and they make people laugh."

Yes, Terd. That's nice.

Seems about right....