One Year and Nine Months Later...

Oh my. It's been a long time. A lot of things happened this month, and when a lot of things happen the old blog tends to take a back seat.

The biggest and most exciting news is that my long lost husband is home. For good. Not just a visit. The first set of large black containers showed up on May 12th. There would be two more separate sets of box deliveries before he finally arrived on May 26. It would be pretty fair to say he's been quite the distraction ever since. A good distraction. I went from living alone for one year and nine months to rarely being home alone, and I like it.

Kinda Loopy

I loved roller coasters when I was younger.  I wanted all the loops.  All the dips.  I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs with my arms in the air. The more extreme the better. Disneyland was cute, but I preferred the thrill of Magic Mountain. I got excited just looking at the Colussus sprawling across the park. It was so pretty, and massive, and it was my favorite. These days...no. I haven't been to a major amusement park in a really long time. The last major roller coaster I rode was The Big Apple Coaster on the roof of New York, New York Hotel in Las Vegas. I only did it because my sister insisted. So much fun! I have the guts for it mentally, but not physically. We got jerked around so much I thought my neck would break. When we go to the fair, mild rides are the way to go (if at all), and only before I've eaten or else I risk being nauseated for the rest of the day.

Three Days Four Nights

Wow.  This is officially the longest I've ever gone without posting.  In eight years.  I've been tired, and haven't felt inspired.  I almost re-wrote that sentence because I didn't mean for it to rhyme, but really, that's what it was.  Tired and uninspired. Why am I not surprised that the first post in a month is about none other than my handsome husband?

Three days.  That's all we had.  Well, five if you want to get technical, but I don't because a Sunday night arrival, and a pre-noon departure does not a day make.  It took me at least a day to believe that he was really here.  This was a surprise visit that came out of nowhere because he had to make a trip to Arizona, so I wasn't expecting to see him any time soon.  I didn't believe it when he told me he was coming two weeks prior.  I didn't believe it when, I got his flight itinerary.  I didn't believe it when I picked him up from the airport, and wrapped my arms around his neck.  I still didn't believe it the next morning when we were laying under clear blue skies at our favorite picnic spot in Balboa Park watching airplanes roar above our heads.

It was a perfect day.  The weather warmed into the 80's just in time for his arrival, and neither one of us had eaten those juicy Italian Subs from Capriotti's in a while.  The next day I took him on a date to The Lot.  It didn't bother us that our showtime was cancelled due to technical difficulties and that we would be seeing Get Out at 3:30pm instead of 2:00 because we had nowhere to be except right there with each other.  Instead of eating inside the theater we ordered another drink, and ate burgers at outdoor the bar all the while soaking up the ambiance.  We were refunded the cost of the tickets for our trouble, which really wasn't any trouble at all.

Just when I fully and truly believed my husband was really home, is also about when it started to hit me that he would soon leave.  On Monday, Thursday seemed so far away, and I refused to acknowledge that his presence was temporary, but by Tuesday night, I couldn't help it.  One day left.  We met his co-workers for lunch, and sat outside eating Mexican food.  Then we stopped for yogurt, before heading to Best Buy for a new Blue Ray player, because I had to get in at least one Honey Do while the getting was good. 
 

He was jet lagged the whole time.  Early to rise, and early to get tired.  He managed to stay awake those first two night, just because he didn't want me waking him up and marching him to bed, and he knows I would.  With only so few nights home I wouldn't allow him to spend a single one of them sleeping on the couch.  It was enough that I could watch him sleep, so on the fourth night I let him doze off, and he didn't complain when I woke him up after two hours and marched him up to bed.

It was so nice doing even the little things we always do together.  I held off on watching The Walking Dead on Sunday so we could watch it together on Monday.  I got to watch him dart around the kitchen cooking our Blue Apron meal in half the time it would take me, using proper cutting technique I will never master, and then swoop in to finish off the dishes while he started the movie.  We did that spur of the moment run to Mary's for the best donuts in town.  When it was time to eat them he want straight for the milk.  He doesn't believe in eating donuts without milk, but he saved a little bit for me because I don't need my own glass; just a big sip after my last bite.

I couldn't believe he was here, and then I couldn't believe I was at work.

I dropped him off at the airport, and was slogging through emails by 10:30am.  It was surreal.  Almost as if the last 3 days had never happened.  Getting to see him at all was great, but another airport drop, and another good-bye smacked me in the face with the reality that even though we've been living separately for seven months (!!), he's been gone long enough to be moving into a second apartment in two weeks, and we still have another nine months to go. 

He'll be in Arizona this week, before he heads back to Germany, and I thought I'd like it that we could at least share the same time zone for a while, but oddly enough, I don't think I do.  I've grown accustomed to counting ahead nine hours to figure out what he might be doing, and I'm used to not doing things here at the same time that he does them there.  When I'm on my way to work in the morning, he's on his way home.  When I'm powering through the middle of my work day, he's winding down for bed.  When I'm winding down for bed, he's getting in that last hour of sleep.  It might not make any sense, but when he's nine hours ahead, and our days are so out of sync it somehow makes the distance between us feel less real.  He's doing his thing in his time zone and I'm doing my thing in mine.

I don't like it that we are doing the same things at the same time, but can't do them together.  I don't like it that we are both going to sleep at the same time, but can't sleep together or watching the same TV shows at the same time, but not watching them together.  I don't like it that he's gone, period, but this is how it is right now and I'm so grateful for these visits in between that break up the time.

Seven months down, nine months to go...

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They Don't Pay Me Enough

There is no other way to say it. International airline travel sucks.  I had two flights each way.  There, it was 5 hours plus another 8. On the way home it was 10 hours plus 6.  I splurged on a pricier neck pillow, and the recline angle was pretty decent, but sleeping while sitting up is no fun.  It's just not natural to sit in such tight quarters for that long. Ridiculous even. Like how? But if you want to walk the cobblestone streets of Paris it's what you have to do. When your husband is living overseas it's what you have to do. 

Rome, Italy

This trip wasn't planned, but if I was a regular wife it would have been. You know, the kind of wife who says, "Sure I'd love to honey! When do I leave?" when her husband asks her to come to Germany and stay at a romantic lodge in the mountains of outer Bavaria.  Who wouldn't want to get away and enjoy that with their husband?

Well not me, because I'm not a regular wife.  We talked about it in August. Well, texted about it, because sometimes you just don't get around to talking about all the things you mean to when your husband lives nine hours ahead.

"Impossible," I said. 

Because it was. There isn't any possible way that I can get away for that long during that time of year.  I have one job! And it's showtime. The work floods in on the 18th, and I have a hard deadline on December 2nd.  Like really hard, as in the most important and biggest deadline of the year.  We lose 2 days for the holidays, but if I went to Germany when he wanted I'd have exactly 4 days (Tuesday to Friday) to do five times the amount of work that I would normally have 10 days to complete.   Impossible.  I could swing an extra 2 days max, but who spends 15 hours and a cool G on a flight for a 6 day visit? I really wanted to, but it was impractical, and I am nothing if not practical.  

I would see him two weeks later for Christmas and that was that because that's life and you simply don't always get what you want.

We didn't talk about it again until much later. We had a nice week together in Hawaii, but as Thanksgiving approached I knew something was wrong.  We don't argue, but for two months I had an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach I couldn't shake. Hawaii was weird. Something was wrong, and when I flat out asked him what it was, I found out he had stronger feelings about the situation than he let on.  Election day was hyper emotionally charged for more reasons than one.

"Well, it's too late now," he said.

"Probably, but it wouldn't hurt to look."

So I looked, and my heat sank, because the cost was $600 more than when I was "just browsing" in August.  Yes, there was a total breakdown in communication.  We should have had that conversation a heck of a lot earlier, but the bottom line is that I should have known. I should have known that it was not okay leave him alone for Thanksgiving, and I had to fix it.

 

"It's way too much money," he said.

"I know.  Way too much, but I'm tempted to do it anyway."   

I mulled it over.  I talked to my mom.  I called my boss at home.  What would the lead girl in the Rom-Com do in this situation? She would cancel her airline ticket to Vegas and book the damn ticket to Stuttgart. She would do whatever it took to get to her man.

I'm not the type to say screw them, they'll figure it out.  That's not me.  I'm the girl who tried to come back to work 2 weeks post op, but stretched it to 3 because I was told to stay home, and then worked in pain all week because of the very same deadline that was keeping me from my husband.  I offered to work from home while I was in Germany, and I still didn't know how I'd get all the work done, but it was the only option I could come up with.  Mind you, it doesn't really work like that in our office, but desperate times called for desperate measures.  I had to make this happen.  I booked the flight on Friday and one week later, I was on a long ass flight to Stuttgart.  No easy task for someone who suffers from travel induced anxiety.

At least they keep you occupied on international flights. Plenty of movies to choose from.  I watched four on the way there, and five on the way back.  Five!  High Strung has to be one of the most cliche dance movies that ever lived.  Dance battles in the subway station, spontaneous dancing on table tops, a scholarship at stake, and a love that depends on winning it all in a dance competition.  Loved it! I was ready to try for a nap until I saw that and it passed another 1 1/2 of time.  

My meal after I demolished the chicken

You get hot towels before meals, and there were two (plus dessert) sandwiched between 3 beverage services giving me the opportunity for two glasses of wine plus coffee. I had three on the way home, and those flight attendants are not nearly as stingy with their pours as bartenders.  The food is good and perfectly designed to fill you up.  They offered it, and I ate it.  Eating is something to do.  They feed you on short flights too.  We had quiche on the way to Rome.  They make you feel so cared for, and then you get on a domestic flight and feel like a squatter who is lucky to have a bag of peanuts tossed in your direction.

Stuttgart, Germany

I imagine that in the movies the girl would have surprised her man. She would have booked the flight without a word and showed up at her husbands apartment triumphantly, suitcases in hand, and a loving smile on her face.  But this is me we're talking about, and as romantic as the idea of a surprise trip across the country is, I live in reality.  I needed his input just to get the flight booked.  The sappy music montage cutting between me navigating the transportation system of Stuttgart and my lonely husband on the couch drinking hard alcohol straight out of the bottle, would never happen.  It turns out that his apartment is pretty secure.  You can't get past the outer door without a pass key.  Also, I am so directionally challenged that I would have been lost and stranded somewhere in Stuttgart, and if by some miracle I managed to find his apartment he wouldn't be around.  My husband isn't one to sit idly or drown his sorrows in alcohol.  He would have made other plans and been long gone. 

It was still pretty perfect.  I headed through customs, then into baggage claim and looked for him in the crowd standing behind the glass.  He waved.  You guys, my husband is so cute.  I waited for my luggage and when I saw him in new cold weather active wear I'd never seen before I knew I made the right decision and that whatever I had to deal with to make it happen was well worth it.  He made a similar sacrifice for me, because he knew how important it was to me that he be in Hawaii, and I needed to do the same for him.

The price of that last minute ticket was utterly outrageous, and totally impractical, but the most practical choice isn't always the right one. Once I decided I needed to get to Stuttgart, the price didn't matter.  What mattered is that I was there for my husband, and we got to be together.  I got a chance to see what his life is like in Germany.  We ate Italian food in Italy, drank beer in Germany, and got to sleep in the same bed for nine nights.  You can't put a price tag on that, and when it comes down to it, they don't pay me enough to put work before my marriage.

We Don't Want Kids

One weekend stands out in my head for the crystal clear lens through which it showed me how different we are from everyone else.  It started with my high school reunion.  At the first one you are an oddity one step away from cat lady status if you aren't married but at reunion number two you are a freak of nature if you don't have at least one or two kids at home.  I found myself saying we don't have kids, so we travel a lot.  Repeatedly.  They wanted answers and I didn't want to go into it so that was the easiest thing to say. "No kids?" a former classmate said in confusion.  "Wow. Your life is a fairy tale."  And I guess in a way it sort of is, when you consider how rare the childfree choice is. 

The next day was a pool party and it isn't a party in your thirties without at least one child present.  One baby made an appearance at my high school reunion and at the party all married couples present had kids except us.  The following day we attended our very first pony party.  Things like that happen when all of your friends have kids.  We were the only childfree couple which I would totally expect for a pony party considering the weight limit is 100 lbs, but at least we have the kind of friends where you can always expect adult beverages even when the guest of honor is four.  It was a busy weekend, and I was very tired by the end of it.  I came home and took a long hot uninterrupted shower while my husband retreated to his Xbox.  I had no obligations that needed immediate attention so I fell into an exhausted slumber while I imagined our friends hustling home with kids in tow to the non stop marathon that has become their life.  I'm pretty sure there was no nap or leisurely lounging about the couch in their future.  Every single thing we did that weekend, even the nap was reminder that we are the only ones our age without kids. Not on the planet, although it feels like that sometimes, but at least in our social circle and among those around us.

No kids in your thirties is a fairly unpaved and little trodden path it seems.  In your twenties and early thirties, there are rumblings of three kinds among childfree couples not actively trying to conceive.

A.  We definitely want kids but aren't ready yet.

B.  We aren't sure about kids.  Maybe someday. 

C.  We aren't interested in kids and don't want any.

We are in category C, not interested don't want any group, but it was automatically assumed that we would shift up to category B and then ultimately land on category A at some point.  I mean, everybody does because everybody wants kids right?  And even if you don't, you do it anyway because the maternal instincts are so powerful.  If they don't get you, then eventually you succumb to the pressure of the masses.  It's not uncommon for women in their twenties to still be in their so called "selfish" phase where they are not willing to hand over their life to a child, but as you mature and it becomes the norm among your peers it seems like the natural step.  Even if you were against it, you start to see it as something you want.  If everyone else has abandoned their fears, turned their body into an incubator/food source, totally upended their lives, given up sleep, and freedom to move about the world then made it sound like the best thing in the whole wide world it must be the thing to do.  Preferably, before it gets too late because after you have one, chances are you will spawn another even if you don't know it yet because that's what people do.

You are not alone in your twenties, but the thirties separate the ones who were serious about not having kids from the ones who simply weren't ready.  It's been well over a year since the last hold out in our group had their first and they are already speaking about seconds while the ones who took the plunge years before already have.   Unlike most people we haven't shifted up from category C.  Do you know that some people have told me that they didn't even know it was an option NOT to have kids?  They get this dumbfounded look on their face when I tell them.  "Yes, it's true.  You don't have to have kids.  You can if you want to, but you don't have to.”  Mind blown.  When we say we don't have kids we feel the pink elephant sitting in the corner with large round questioning eyes.  If we don't say it first, they inevitably ask because people are very bold about sticking their noses into the reproductive lives of others.  Also, it's just that much of an oddity to come across a stable married couple of our age who have not gotten around to procreation that even if they had the restraint to refrain from asking a newlywed couple in their twenties they are probably going to ask us. "Why not?"  

From our 2010 wedding

We happily jumped on the home ownership and wedding wagon but the baby train has yet to leave the station and it's kind of a strange place to be right now.  What started with weddings, turned into baby showers, and shifted into birthday parties.  The number of kids at get togethers has multiplied and the dynamic of outings has shifted to accommodate friends with kids.  It used to be that my husband's friends could plan a bike ride or a group dinner with one week notice but the call for social outings are fewer and far between and  group sports have fallen by the wayside.  The social reservoir available to parents juggling life and children seems to have officially run dry.  There is childcare to arrange, time and energy already stretched to the breaking point, and a serious case of chronic sleep deprivation going around.  I'm happy to still have the freedom they don't, but also can't help feeling left out even though it's something that I never wanted in the first place.

I'm not a woman who always wanted a child, but it is really bizarre how you can know one thing and yet your body tells you something entirely different.  The maternal instincts didn't start kicking until my thirties after my nephew was born and after all of my peers had already started doing it. There was a tug of war happening between what I know to be true and instincts beyond my control.  Maternal instincts and the babies of Instagram with their tiny moccasins and gummy grins are an inescapable duo.  Cunning.  Convincing.  Impossible to ignore.  My body ached with the want of it even though it is something I didn't want.  I don't want the physical, emotional and financial strain that goes along with bringing another person into this world and yet maternal instincts threatened to convince me of otherwise.  My mind is objective and calculated but my heart was driven by emotions beyond my control.  I wavered slightly, he did not.  The important thing is that we have always been on the same page regarding this matter, but it should be noted that had he not been so steadfast in his position things could have turned out differently. 

If I see one more bump date, have another baby poop conversation or hear one more person say "it's so worth it," I think I will scream.  Hold on a moment while I stifle that scream with my hands.  Don't worry, it's not you, it's me and it's the same phenomenon that occurs anytime you buck the trend.  I imagine that people who don't believe in home ownership or marriage understand.  Everyone else is on board but you haven't quite bought into the notion that it could make a wonderful difference in your life.  When they say how awesome it is you can't relate and grow tired of feeling the need to defend your choices. The entire world is talking about it, dreaming about it, hoping for it, doing it and you are not.  Having it in your face day in day out starts to feel like a tiresome barrage you can't escape.

I may be tired of hearing it, but I believe you when you say it's worth it.  Once you have a person in front of you that you created it's pretty crappy to say oops we changed our mind it's not working out and we don't like you very much.  There is no going back when it comes to parenthood.  Even parents who feel that way are hard pressed to verbalize such thoughts because this is a helpless little person that you have agreed to take care of for a very long time.  They may drive you crazy with their ability to do nothing but poop, eat, cry, yet control everything and spend all the money, but they need you and you love them fiercely if for no other reason than because they are yours.  As ambivalent as I am I'm quite sure I'd feel the same.  The difference is that I'm not willing to accept the end of life as I know it and the ensuing trials and tribulations in exchange for being the one saying those words.  I'm not a monster.  I am not immune to those adorable baby leg rolls, round tummies and tiny dimpled hands.  Babies are indeed precious.  I adore my nephew.  He is the sweetest thing ever.  His hugs and sweet smiles melt my heart.  I admit, I'm torn between wanting to send him home with mom and wanting him for myself but they don't stay little forever and behind every adorable baby is a mountain of struggles that I don't want to have.

The DINK life suits us well.  Dual income no kids, for those who don't know.  I really enjoy the time that we have to ourselves, the vacations we get to take and a life I don't have to try to split between work, finances, self, spouse and child which seems to be an impossible tug of war that nobody wins. It's startlingly sad how little time working parents get to spend with their children and I barely have enough time and energy for myself let alone a kid who wakes up at the crack of dawn and needs to be entertained all day long.  We get to come and go as we please and our life is our own.  Pregnancy and childbirth sound awful. I'm glad I'll never have to do it. And then there is the money.  Money doesn't buy happiness but you are lying to yourself if you say it can't help.  People with less income have multiple children and I don't believe I can afford one.  They say you never believe you have enough and that you figure it out but I am the stubborn sort.  I don't want to just figure it out.  If I can't do it the way I want to then I don't want to do it all.

I realize that there are things we might miss out on.  I say might because nothing is a given when you have a child.  It is 100% fueled by hope, and just doing your best.  I won't ever know what our child might have looked like, what they would have done with their life or what joys they might have brought to ours.  I won't ever know what it's like for someone to call me mom or experience that parent child bond.  We are a family of two.  We won't have anyone to take care of us when we are old, because you know, having children definitely guarantees that.  

The childfree choice can be a lonely path.  The gap widens between yourself and everyone else. Children present their own set of challenges to relationships but so does not having them.    Our first few years together were a whirlwind with the house hunting, the wedding and everything that goes into early stages of building a life together.  Then it all stopped, and it hit me that this is it.  It is just us and this is how it will be for the foreseeable future. Without bath time, story time and car pools there are no distractions and no kids to shake things up.  Our relationship is what we make it just the two of us, for better or for worse now and ten years from now.  We have to be okay with that.  Part of me wishes I wanted kids just so I can be like everyone else, but I can't do it because everybody else is doing it.  I can't do it because babies are so cute and I certainly can't do it out of fear of future regret that may or may not ever occur.  Some call it selfish.  Some call it lazy.  Others just call it weird.  I call it making a rational, informed, practical decision that is right for us.  We decided the cons outweighed the pros.  We decided we are enough for each other.   

We don't want kids, so we aren't having any.

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Men and Their Caves

I've only seen one man request a zen room, but plenty who want a game room, a gym, or a movie room.  Those I get.  A room with a purpose.  But what is the deal with men and their man caves?  Every other House Hunters features a man who wants a space of his own where he can relax and escape. What exactly is it that these men need escaping from? From the nagging wife with her honey do list that keeps the household running?  Do I talk too much?  Probably.  The way I see it if anyone needs an escape it's probably us and double that if kids are in the mix, so I am perplexed that the whole Woman Cave thing hasn't taken off.  Oh, I know why.  It's not really an option.

"That poor woman,"  I'd think to myself.  Her husband is so desperate to get away that he needed a whole room, preferably the basement or any room furthest away from the rest of the household dedicated to getting away from every other member in the household.  I'm glad my husband doesn't need a man cave.

Around Christmas time last year I was fishing around for gifts for the husband when out of the blue he sent me a link to his Amazon wish list.  Perfect.  This will certainly make things easier.  Then I saw the list.  Buffalo Bills clock, Buffalo Bills blanket, Buffalo Bills Fathead.  A Fat Head?  Aren't those giant decals that you stick on the wall.  A gigantic red bean bag.  What in the world is going on?   I was so confused.  What was does he want with this stuff and where does he think he is putting it all?  He didn't say anything so I brought it up.

"Uh, I got your Amazon wish list.  I don't get it."
"It's for my man cave," he responded matter of factly as if I was supposed to know.
"What man cave?  You don't have a man cave."
"I'm getting one." 

Oh really.  I thought.  We hadn't discussed this.  And why the heck does my husband need his own room?  He says he wants his own space to play his video games, decorate the way he wants and keep messy without me being able to say anything about it.  Okay.  I get it.  There was some hypothetical discussion about how we could get rid of my desk and futon; both of which I have sentimental attachments to.  We negotiated.  Hypothetically speaking, the desk could go in the other room but the futon would have to stay.  And just like that I had consented to a man cave and there was no stopping it from there so I went ahead and got him the Buffalo Bills clock for Christmas.

How can I say no when we have two extra rooms that rarely get used?  I mean, it's not like I pay the mortgage by myself or anything.  We pay for all the square footage together so if he wants to start utilizing it more than we already are and it makes him happy to have his own space I'm not going to stand in his way. 

We don't have basements in California so men here have to be content with an extra room.  He happily took down my blue clock with the brushed nickel rim that I got from Ikea in favor of his sports themed clock.   My pretty clock found a home next door along with the desk.  He was none too happy when he realized that in exchange for the desk he would now have to take on the Ikea cubes but hey, this is how marriage and man caves work.  Compromise.

The man cave was taking shape and it was all good, until the sign showed up.  Man Cave Rules. Really, I have no problem with the sign.  His room his rules and all that, but I didn't expect him to put it OUTSIDE the door.  I protested but lost that battle.  "It's already up," he said curtly and I decided to let it go.  For now anyway.

I had reservations at first, but now it seems like a win-win for everyone.  The loft area has turned into our home gym area and is always available for use.  He gets to plop down in a jumbo sized bean bag and game for however long he wants without me watching him do it.

That room had became the dumping ground for his stuff has an actual use now.  He rarely went in there, yet somehow it was always messy and now that it's his man cave it's still messy but at least we are making use of our square footage.  When it was a guest room the mess annoyed me but now that it's the man cave I couldn't care less.  It is one less room I have to concern myself with.  I'll still clean the blinds but I won't be vacuuming because there is usually too much junk on the floor and that's exactly how he wants it.  Turns out, I kind of like the mess.  A mess anywhere else drives me insane, but in the man cave there is something very soothing about sitting in the midst of chaos.  Deep down inside I want to be that messy person because I have this theory that life would be so much easier if I didn't care.  It's not my mess or my space AND I'm not responsible for it so I'm at peace with the mess which is a state of being I can't achieve anywhere else in my house.  That gigantic bean bag is actually pretty awesome.  I kind of want to get another one.  I sneak in there every now and then and flop down on it just for fun.

Almost a year later the room is still very much a work in progress.  He says he can't decide what he wants do, but he can take as long as he wants.  He's not getting a honey do list from me.

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