Dulywed: Year 5

Mr. Thomas,

Holy shit. Can you believe it's been five years since we had a 3-minute-and-16-second ceremony that committed us to each other for infinity?

The last couple of days have definitely tested your devotion regarding the "in sickness and in health" part, but you have taken such good care of me while I purged Thanksgiving from both ends and barely managed to keep my eyes open for three of the last 48 hours that I'm no longer worried about the bedside manner you'll have as a doctor. You amaze me with the extent of your caring, and even though I've seen it when you rescue spiders and crickets, I'm usually too resistant to being vulnerable to accept it for myself.

What a lovely surprise to see that beautiful heart that lives under your hard exterior, and what a blessing to have it getting me G2 and ice and phenergan and ibuprofen and vegetable soup every time I whined for it. I felt so bad at one point all I could do was cry, break apart, fall to pieces, but rather than let your annoyance for emotional outbursts take over, you responded by picking me up and putting me back together. Thank you for packing up all of our stuff, for loading the car all by yourself, for putting away the beds we slept on at my parent's house, for bottling up your emotions, for excusing mine. Thank you for helping me get better.

Five years doesn't seem like a long time, but when we were looking thru the old blog archives the other day, I was amazed at how much we have done in five years; the places we've seen, the people we've met, the experiences we've shared. I realized five years is a lifetime, specifically Ben's lifetime, and seeing how much he has seen and grown and learned shows the potential inherent in half a decade. I think we've done a pretty good job helping the first five years of marriage reach their full potential.

There was the time we laid on the bed in a beach cabin in Beyin looking out at the ocean while listening to Beethoven. The time we stood under the stars in Negril and you told me I looked beautiful. The time in Venice when we drank coffee on the boardwalk and watched the bird man have his Sunday service. The time we swam off the coast of Mexico with the ancient Mayan ruins on the bluff overhead. The time we watched the elephants dunking each other and spraying water through their snouts in the lake in Mole. The time we rode the Boughaz ferry into North Africa under the moonlight. The time we hiked out of Topanga Canyon in the dark holding hands. The time we took your new remote controlled airplane to Jacobson Park and you became a 9-year-old in a 32-year-old's body. These have all been pinch-me moments in my life, moments that I hope flash before me just before I die, moments that have happened since I met you, that I have shared with only you. These moments are what marriage is all about for me. These moments make all those moments where I think about poisoning you fade into the background.

This anniversary is supposed to involve gifts of wood or silverware; wood because a marriage is considered strong if it makes it five years, and silverware as a reminder of the connection formed over meals together. To be perfectly honest, I don't think a marriage is strong until it hits the 40th anniversary, and since most of our meals are enjoyed with a side of Millionaire Matchmaker, silverware isn't really an appropriate reminder of our connection either. How about a trip to Belize instead? Awesome.

I know we've got an endless amount of work to do until our relationship deserves wood, but I'm proud of us for getting this far. I am getting better at accepting your cup gardens and am trying to see how saying "No" to some things that sound really fun is saying "Yes" to spending time with you. I am learning how to argue according to your linear map, and I am almost there when it comes to not taking things so seriously. You've still got a long way to go with saying "I'm sorry" and resisting the urge to shut down the conversation and giving in to negativity, but I know somewhere deep down inside, close to that place in your heart that you accessed to take care of me the last couple of days, you're working on it. 

Mack, I love you. And I fully accept that love is a pain in the ass, that love is sometimes the very root of unhappiness, that vowing to love someone for forever is setting yourself up for failure. But when I look back at the past five years, loving you is the best thing I have ever done... definitely not the easiest, but indisputably the best.

Happy anniversary, cake.

Halloween. Also known as Therapy.

I spent most of my weekend assuming an alernate persona and doing devilish things, so today I'm just wearing a t-shirt with a bat and a creepy tree on it.

Leiah came to Lex for the festivities and dressed up as a corpse bride. We only got a TINY bit of satisfaction destroying her old wedding dress, and running over it in the car was totally Leiah's idea. I swear she spent 20 minutes dragging that gown up and down the sidewalk, and there may have been a knife involved in the destruction process. See, Halloween is therapeutic.

Leigh is terrified of clowns, so she also used Halloween as a therapeutic tool, in her case immersion therapy. From the top hat on her head to the striped stockings on her toes, she dressed the part and ended up being too cute to be scary.

I'm still not sure what I was doing this year. I just wanted to be infested with spiders and discovered my hair's extraordinary ability to be teased into unbelievable heights... let's just go with Spider's Nest. I think this was my subconscious inspiration.

This year was the first year I made wounds out of latex and toilet paper, creating spider boils on my face and hands, road rash on Leiah's back, and rotting flesh on the side of Leiah's face. I sort of want to play with latex all the time now.

We didn't host a party this year (it is on for next year though since it will be our last Halloween in Kentucky), but we did go to an awesome Bridezilla party hosted by a lesbian couple who just got married.

After that party we hopped on the trolley and headed downtown to investigate other alter egos unleashed by the Halloween spirit. I feel like the trolley is my own personal taxi service because no one is ever on it, it's absolutely free, and the drivers are so nice.

One of my favorite encounters was with the Terminator. Leiah, of course, wanted to eat him. We also ran into a crawdad, a cowgirl, Maverick from Top Gun, (a young and much sexier) Hugh Heffner, the Hamburglar, a rag doll, a mouse, and, scariest of all, a bald Republican in a Polo shirt. They were pretty good costumes, but nothing like a Spider's Nest.

Any Random Weekend

One of my favorite things about being a grown up is the weekend. Or rather, one of my favorite things about being a grown up without kids is the weekend.

We generally make no plans on the weekend. Sometimes we'll schedule a trip to Louisville to snuggle babies and eat yummy food made by my mom and dad, but usually we just let Saturday and Sunday take shape however they want. I'm always amazed at how easily they fill themselves up, and not just because we sleep until at least 10:30.

One Sunday we took a walk downtown and ended up stopping at the Kentucky to watch a movie. Another Saturday we ended up on a 25-mile bike ride along the Legacy Trail and back. And there was that one time we took an impromptu tour of thrift stores for no good reason. We never know what we're going to get into, and even if it's just our pajamas and schoolwork, it's always more relaxing since it's unplanned.

A few weeks ago, though, was the most random Saturday ever. Mack had a test to study for and I had my boot camp consultation, so I left the house, got Leigh, and went to the park for our evaluation.

Well, the trainer had the puke disease that I'd picked up one random Saturday at Bike Prom, so our morning plans were squashed. We had a chunk of nothing to do, and then Leigh said, "Batting cages."

We were off.

That is how random is done.

Yeah, do NOT do a Google image search for giant squid.

Patrick of SpongeBob SquarePants? Okay. Kitteh shafting a squid toy? I get it. Giant squid engaged in a wrestling match? I can even understand that. But topless Asian lady? Where the hell did that come from?

We all go a little crazy sometimes.

I've started taking a boot camp fitness class. And it's all because of this.

Nooo, it's not because I'm becoming a lesbian.

I visited Heather a couple months ago and she started showing me all these pics from Tough Mudder. Because I really only enjoy playing volleyball, riding my bike casually, or taking walks to get a beer, I had no idea these new mud/race/obstacle courses were all the fitness rage. FINALLY. A fitness rage that actually sounds fun.

While Heather and I have a lot of differences, we both love a challenge, we both love spending time together, and we both love getting dirty. Our preferred quality time activities include cabinet installation, bedroom renovation, and compost distribution, so doing a muddy obstacle course was right up our alley.

We got to work training and kept each other motivated by sending before texts and after pictures.

The Hotness Collection

We thought about doing a Warrior Dash instead of a Tough Mudder, but we ultimately signed up for a Rugged Maniac. I told you this was a fitness rage.

For race day, Heather outfitted us in customized electric pink shirts with magical wicking power (something I never knew about) and pink camo bandanas. I added some hot pink nail polish, neon lip gloss, and pink mascara. Sufficiently geared and glammed, we were ready to get messy.

That Rugged Maniac was one of the most fun things I've ever done. The goal was just to finish, so we didn't exhaust ourselves running the whole thing. We just did our best on all the obstacles, completed every single one, and tried to help other people when we could.

Highlight of the whole thing for me? When I scaled that 8' wall all by myself. Low point? My first attempt at scaling that 8' wall all by myself when I fell on my ass and into a backward roll of awkward. Favorite part? Going down that water slide, holding hands with Heather, plunging into an icy, muddy pool, and coming up breathless and laughing.  If every 5K can be like that, sign me up.

Meet the New Neighbors.

The fatties who used to live upstairs moved out, and a pair of granola, earth-loving DJ sisters moved in. Instead of waking up to whale sex at 5am, I wake up to Katie playing her viola because, unlike Fatlock and his pursuit of a law degree, she's majoring in music.

Also, this lady moved in. She's been on our back porch all week, coming out at dusk, cleaning up her quarters, and keeping us in awe of her ability to pull a house out of her ass. I hope she stays all month and have mounted !Spider Alert! signs both inside and outside to make that happen.

Those of you who love Jesus might appreciate the crucifix on her back, which is how she got the name Neoscona Crucifera.

This sent me on quite a stroll.

Mmm, mmm, good.

Cold, rainy days need warm, hearty soups. This one is from my mom's Skinny Soups cookbook, which means you can eat a giant bowl, get cozy on the couch, and resist turning into Jabba the Hut. (Skinny Soups gets credit for the chilled strawberry soup at Jen's baby shower and for a chicken rice soup that can cure any sickness, except mine because I don't eat chicken.)

CREAMY BROCCOLI-POTATO SOUP (makes 6-8 servings)

• 4 medium-sized leeks (about 1 lb)
• 2 tsp non-diet, tub-style margarine (do your heart a favor and use Smart Balance)
• 3 c. chicken stock, divided (I used veggie stock)
• 1 1/2 lbs boiling potatoes, peeled and diced (3 1/2 cups diced)
• 4 cups broccoli florets (I used 4 crowns because I hate measuring)
• 1/4 tsp white pepper
• 1 1/4 c whole milk
• salt to taste
• 1-2 tsp chopped chives as garnish (I used scallions)

Since sand and dirt collect under the leaves of leeks, clean them very carefully as follows: Trim off and discard root end and all but about 1 inch of the green tops. Peel off and discard 1 or 2 layers of tough outer leaves. Then, beginning at the green end, slice down about 1 inch into leeks. Put leeks in a colander. Wash them thoroughly under cool running water; wash again to remove all traces of dirt. (This was a leek education for me!) Set them aside until well-drained. Cut leeks crosswise into 1/2 inch pieces.

In Dutch oven or very large saucepan, melt margarine over medium heat. Add leaks and 3 tbsp of stock and cook, stirring frequently, about 10 minutes until leeks are tender but not browned. If liquid begins to evaporate, lower heat slightly and add more stock. Add remaining stock, potatoes, broccoli, and pepper.

Lower heat, cover, and simmer about 11-14 minutes or until potatoes and broccoli are tender. Remove pot from heat and let cool slightly. In batches, puree mixture in a blender on low speed for 10 seconds (I used my immersible blender that my culinary genius momma got me). Then raise speed to high and puree until completely smooth (I left some chunks in mine because I like using my teeth). Return puree to pot in which it was cooked. Add milk and stir to mix well. Simmer an additional 4-5 minutes. Add salt if desired (I definitely desired it).

Serve in medium-sized bowls. Garnish individual servings with sprinkling of chopped chives if desired (I recommend desiring). Soup keeps 2-3 days in the refrigerator.

calories: 163          fat: 2.8g          % cals from fat: 15
sodium: 219 mg    protein: 6.7g    cholesterol: 5mg      

Nurse Google

Yesss, I'm still in nursing school. Noooo, I'm not positive I want to be a nurse when I grow up. Buuuuut, no one will pay me for party planning. Soooo, I get to tell stories like this.

I started this year in a mental health rotation. Having grown up in my family, I learned to love me some crazy. Got anxiety and depression? Yay! How about childhood trauma? Woo hoo! Can I get some substance abuse? Oh yeah. Violence as common as family reunions? That's what I call a party.

To be fair, I think I love me some crazy because I've always just been on the periphery of it. Sure, I've had to pack my grandma's stilettos in a garbage bag so she could flee a fever-ravaged psycho killer, but my family family -- my parents and my sisters -- was at its worst Roseanne-caliber crazy. We weren't the Huxtables, but we weren't the Bundys either.

For me, crazy people are as fun as a good episode of Cops. Or Intervention. Or Hoarders. Or Bad Girls Club. Maybe it's time to tone down the TV watching...

I think my appreciation for crazy people comes from a place of compassion more than a need for entertainment at other people's expense. Although, come on, if someone ever told you they used to hang out with Chuck Norris and were waiting to collect their fortune from Crime Stoppers, could you resist being entertained by the story they were spinning? Even television isn't that good.

My first day on the unit, I was mostly curious, but I was also a little bit afraid. I know my mood disorders, am pretty good with my personality disorders, and am basically an expert with substance abuse, but I had never been around schizophrenia more than as a passerby on a street corner. I had never had to interact with someone whose brain was really, truly betraying them, making them believe things as fully as I believe my perception of the world. To probe those minds even a little bit was completely fascinating sprinkled with a little bit of terrifying. You see, they're not stupid. Their intellect is intact, moreso than some people I go to school with. Some of the things they said, some of their insights, some of their feelings about strangers, while they were completely bizarre at first, they sort of had a psychic transcendence about them after a double-take.

My most memorable account, however, was just plain crazy.

My class was lined up against a wall and a guy walked past us and locked his eyes on mine in such a way that I needed a shower. I tend to think I imagine things, so it wasn't until a fellow student said to me, "I think you just got eye-raped," that I gave that feeling some credence. Not wanting to provoke him, I sort of looked away, then looked back to prove I wasn't afraid of eye contact, and then looked away again. That's called non-verbal communication. Dogs do it, too.

He made another round, and this time he asked my name. I answered him, and then he explained that he had dated two other girls with my name before. Apparently, one had a smell he liked and the other didn't. And then he asked me the weirdest question I've ever been asked in my life.

"Can I smell you?"

How exactly are you not supposed to find that hilarious?

Partyin' Partyin' YEAH!

Ben asked his mom for a popcorn party for his 5th birthday. Yes, a popcorn party. I had never heard of a popcorn party before, but that didn't stop me from blindly renting a popper and making a mood board.

The day before the party I decided I'd better check with Leiah to make sure that by popcorn party Ben meant the snack and not some superhero I'd never heard of. Dodged a bullet on that one and Leiah and I stayed up until 3 am snipping marshmallows and turning cupcakes into sweet popcorn boxes.

The party was adorable, and thanks to Steve de Ruble's job as a "package engineer," we got a couple of giant popcorn boxes and the kids were able to go inside them and play... which scored me big points toward best auntie ever. Boxes and balloons. That's all you need to keep kids entertained. For two hours.

After everyone had left, Leiah, Ben, and Lilly stayed and helped break down the party, which was my favorite time of the whole day. Lilly pulled at the grass while Leiah and Ben sat on balloons and got pop surprises. It was just one of those unexpected perfect moments, propelled by a 5-year-old's delight and the sanctity of a backyard. Success.

Sugar. Spice.

I do not have baby fever. Renee is just getting to be so sweet even though she's a sass diva and now there's Kieron who is a sleeping beauty and seriously.

The Breeders Union

I look at these pictures with all these babies, and rather than feel like I'm missing out on something, I feel like I am part of something wonderful and unlikely, something that is a blessing to be close to even if it's as an observer. It's like I've got a balcony seat to the greatest performance on earth, and I don't have to go to a single late night rehearsal.

That a part-time job in high school would have flourished into lifelong friendships still amazes me. Together we've helped each other through heartache, rock bottoms, financial crises, the loss of parents, disease, layoffs, and miscarriages. We've celebrated graduations, engagements, marriages, and births, and while the physical distance between each of us has increased, the emotional closeness seems to be as tight as it ever was, if only out of gratitude and appreciation and understanding.

 

The only wish I have for this next generation is that they get to have people in their lives as wonderful as the people I've been blessed with in mine. I hope they have people like you who teach them what friendship is all about.

New Fitzgerald

He came last night at 6:43 in a full on tug of war with his umbilical cord.

 

 

He weighed 8 lbs. 8.5 oz. and was 21" long. He came equipped with 100 different squeaks, all of which made us go 'Awwww' and 'Oooooh' and 'Hahahaha.' His head full of hair and his detached earlobes are from his daddy, and his long fingers and perfect cupid's bow are courtesy of his gorgeous mommy.

After about 13 seconds of seeing him, he had a grip on my heart that is still choking me up.

He, like his sister, will probably remain nameless for another day or so while his mom and dad get to know him and feel out a name that suits him, which is why we nicknamed him Fitzgerald months ago (thanks to Liz's suggestion).

For now, he is our sweet baby boy, the littlest cousin, the newest addition, one of us. And we continue to be incomprehensibly lucky.

UPDATE: We have a name. Kieron Sparrow Ellis. Never saw that one coming, which means it's just what I expected!

Here's the deal.

Dear World,

We have no choice but to let you have this little guy. He is too smart and too curious and too awesome for us to keep him contained and fulfilled.

So, we are sharing him with you. But there are things you should know.

He is a sensitive boy. He has a depth of feeling and understanding that most adults don't even have.

He is full of love and kisses and fairness. He will not cut your kid in line and he will not disrespect you. He has been raised better than that.

He likes to wrestle and play hard, but he is not capable of bullying. He needs down time, quiet time, peace. Just give him some cut up red peppers and a movie about dinosaurs and let him chill.

He remembers everything, so if you tell him he can have a blue popsicle next Tuesday, by god you'd better have that damn blue popsicle or he will call you on your lies and you will deserve it.

He has healthy fear. It keeps him from jumping off the roof but it isn't so much that he is a prisoner of it. He will take risks, he will go out of his comfort zone, but he needs to be able to do it in his own time. If he's not ready, back off.

All that being said, perhaps the most important thing for you to know is this: his aunt is prepared to kill you if you hurt him.

Love,
Amber

Cray-cray

Mack sometimes needs attention, and he has become pretty good at finding a way to get me to stop watching the Real Housewives of New Jersey that is effectively annoying. Not too much that I get pissed, but just enough that I am distracted.

Well, the other day a magazine came and Mack started flipping through it.

Then Teresa said something totally bitchy with a smile and thought that'd make it okay.

"Ohhh look, there's a free sample."

My head snapped from the television to the man on the couch peeling out a free sample of something I needed, something that was MINE because I pay for that subscription, something that he was about to STEAL FROM ME!

"What is it? Huh? Is it perfume? I hate perfume. What is it? SERIOUSLY."

"It's a Bioré strip."

Dammit. I love those things.

"Give it to me. It's mine. It's my free sample. GIVE IT TO MEEEE."

He managed to keep it just out of my reach, peeling it out of the package, removing the backing and putting it on his nose, and all I could do was degrade into a swirl of irrational consumer jealousy. Finally he snapped his head around.

Yep, that's a pantyliner.

Maters Precious

My mom and I went to the Tomato Festival today. And we ate tomatoes. Like a dozen types of tomatoes. And it was fabulous.

The adventure started with crepes at 6 Friends. Then we rode our bikes to the Arboretum, where we pretended to be tomato connoisseurs and got our faces painted.

Mom and I finally did shots! :)

We decided to take a little walk around the gardens and the woods, and on the way to the gazebo area, a bee got caught in the strap of my sandal and did a little freak out that resulted in his death and a stinger in my foot.

Bee stings burn a lot worse than I remember.

Things seemed fine yesterday. I'm not allergic and the pain subsided pretty quickly. But then when I woke up this morning...

You know that movie Pure Luck where Martin Short is stung by a bee and his face explodes in swollen? Yeah, I have the foot equivalent of that. As if these feet aren't hobbit enough on their own, now I gotta deal with bee puff on them.