Tag Archives: crazy

The One with the Blubbering

31 Jan

What else are you stressed out about?” asked the futhubs gently, as he stroked my hair.

Handmade Wedding Invitation

DIY Invite - Image via Wikipedia

All the things,” I whispered.  And then it came pouring out like Pandora’s box of wedding craziness.  Wedding decorations.  Favors.  Figuring out flowers.  All the inserts to go with our wedding invitations.  Wedding invitations!  Wording them.  Setting a deadline for one of our groomsmen to design it.  Getting them printed in time.  Inviting people over for an assembly line.  Getting them sent out.  Having time to send out multiple rounds of invitations.  Where to stay the night before the wedding.  Where to put the out-of-towner bridesmaids.  Not knowing how to ‘DIY’ anything at all.  Wanting our wedding to be pretty without pinching our wallets more than we already have.

“And it’s so stupid because I look at all these wedding blogs and see all these themed weddings –  and I’d love for our wedding invitations to have a cohesive theme that carries through the ceremony and the reception – but I don’t know how to do it.  And I’m frustrated at myself because I know that that’s not important and who CARES if our wedding is themed and ‘blog-worthy.’  But I just want it to feel pretty.”  (Ah, yes.  That would be me waving the crazy-bride flag.  Nice and high now.  Also, I started off sputtering and totally ended up blubbering).

The futhubs murmurred something akin to, “My poor girl!”  And he took me in his arms.  He kissed my face and whispered in my ear:

“The theme for our wedding is us.  I love you.  And I would marry you in any kind of wedding.  Pinwheel-themed, gothic, Halloween, whatever…  I’m just so excited to marry you.

The rest of that stuff, you don’t have to worry so much about.  You can worry or you can pray about it– you don’t have to do both.  Our God is a God who provides.  It’ll all work out.  I promise.

…more blubbering on my part.  Gah!  He’s right.  And he’s so frigging patient with me.  haha.  I’m grateful to be with someone who’ll hold me when I’m overwhelmed, listen kindly, lift my chin, and give me honest, loving truth.  I love this man.

The One with the Breakfast Tradition

27 Jan

Purchased: two bags of baby spinach, a block of smoked gouda, a carton of eggs, a sack of clementines, one bouquet of wild flowers, and a card.

In about 5 hours I’m going to wake up and do what I’ve done every morning that I’ve been home on this date.  I’m going to wake up early, clang around some pots and pans in the kitchen, whip up a gorgeous and scrumptious meal, lay it out all fancy on our family’s “You’re the Best” plate, and serve it to a certain someone in bed on a breakfast tray.

It’s my mom‘s birthday today.  And this breakfast tradition has made her happy since… forever.  And I’ve loved it– all of it, the entire process, every year.  Setting my alarm impossibly early so that I’d beat her downstairs.  Rummaging through the cupboards to find the right cooking gear, always unintentionally making a huge racket in the process. 😛 Finding new ways to fold the napkin all fancy; she likes it when I do that.  Figuring out how to make instant coffee taste drinkable.  (Still can’t brew a real pot of coffee to save my life).  Realizing it takes a whole mess of eggs to make an egg-whites only omelette.  Adding splashes of color with a single flower.  A sliced and fanned out strawberry.

Birthday Breakfast 2009

I just love the look on her face.  ‘Beaming’ is the word that comes to mind.  And suddenly she seems more like a young girl.  “Sit with me,” she always says, offering food off her plate.  (I just realized Papa always makes his way downstairs.  “I don’t like to eat in bed,” he says.  But maybe he wants to give us our time).  Because we just sit there my mom and I, talking and laughing by ourselves, splitting the bites between the two of us.  Until finally I say something like, “I better go make Papa something; he must be hungry.”  And she’ll just wrinkle her nose at me for a second, as if in childish protest, give my hand a squeeze and say, “Thank you!  I love this.  I look forward to this every year!”

Every year.  Each time it goes down more or less exactly like this.  I’m not sure why I felt the need to write about it… except for the fact that this will be the last year that I do this for my mom.  The last year that I wake up in the morning in the same house and give her this gift of a home-cooked breakfast, of time.  Together.

Our relationship is just so… complicated.  I even got into an argument with the futhubs tonight about it as we were wedding planning at his place.  I got upset with him for something he said because I felt like he was making an indirect jab at my parents.  (He wasn’t at all; I found out later).  And I got super defensive and protective of them.  But after we talked it out (read: I cried it out), I realized that… I’m crazy.  I always vent to the futhubs about how my mom is unreasonable, demanding, and sometimes a little cruel.  But if he even says one word that sounds even remotely like it’s against her, I immediately fly into action ready to defend.  I throw up a shield with the words: “I know my mom’s crazy, but only I get to say so, dagnabbit!

Even on this blog whenever I vent about the latest conversation with my mom, in the same paragraph I want to jump to defend her honor.  To tell you that she only says what she says and does what she does because she doesn’t know how else to show me that she loves me.  She doesn’t know how to be vulnerable when she’s upset.  So she fights with me because she feels like I’m going off and getting married and she’s ‘losing me’– her ‘baby.’  Because if she says it outloud, she’ll start crying.  And sometimes she does say it outloud.  And on rare occasions she’ll even let me see the tears.

And sometimes on her birthday I get to spend a whole morning laughing and talking with her, seeing her as the young, joyful woman she must have once been.  And I think, “What a gift!” It’s like I’ve been given a secret: that in my mom’s heart of hearts she’s just a young woman like me.  A young woman who loves to laugh.  Who hates goodbyes and can’t stand change and loves so much she’ll think her heart will break.  It’s like for one morning a year, we somehow understand each other.

And maybe I’m being stupidly sentimental and overly nostalgic (or just plain PMSy and emotional ’cause, not gonna lie, it’s totally about to be that time of the month).  Maybe I’m making all this so much more dramatic than it needs to be.  But I’m thankful for today.  Every year.  I’m thankful for my mom.  She’s a firecracker and a frigging handful, but I love her to death.

And dagnabbit I’m every bit as crazy as she is sometimes.

The One with the Bad Dreams

23 Jan

It’s 2:41AM right now and I’m not in bed yet.  Partially because I’m such a n00b at navigating wordpress and I’ve been trying to figure everything out for the past hour and partially because I know that once I nod off into dreamland I’ll be transported to a dark and unkind world where the theme is: Our Wedding Gone Wrong!

Awful Dream #1: Last night, for example, I had an unnerving dream about the day of.  Not quite distressing or fear-inducing, just unnerving.  I dreamt that the futhubs and I had just finished the ceremony, which may or may not have been completely lovely– I don’t remember.  Basically, we were supposed to take family pictures immediately but my dad’s side of the family went missing.  And then my mom’s side went missing.  And I spent the entire hour running around, looking for all of them only to find out we had no more time for any pictures whatsoever.  I think I was about to sink to the ground in despondent, sweaty resignation when I woke up.

Awful Dream #2: This was a couple of weeks ago.  I dreamt that we were running 2-3 hours late on the day of because we couldn’t find my dad, who will be officiating our wedding.  I ran around the venue looking for him like a chicken with its head cut off– much to the surprise and disapproval of all my parents’ friends.  And then the futhubs started yelling at me in front of everyone because it was somehow all my fault that my dad was MIA.  I was so humiliated; I just stared at him wide-eyed until he turned on his heel and left.  The dream ended with me numbly trying to tell my guests that he’d be back without believing it at all myself.

Yesterday the futhubs told me that he had his first bad dream about the wedding too.  (Also, I refuse to call them nightmares because I feel like that would mean I’m letting these dreams terrify me.  And I’m not!  I refuse!)  The futhubs’ Awful Dream: It involved our ceremony going through with neither of our immediate families being present.  He said that all he remembers is the recessional; once we walked to the end of the aisle we slowly looked at one another and started to cry.

My days are filled with so many wedding details and hypothetical things going wrong already.  It’s so frustrating that my nights have been taken over by dreams about it too.  Can’t a bride catch a break?  Even the futhubs has gotten dragged into it.  Le sigh.

Have you had any crazy dreams about your wedding?  Any tips on how to will yourself into kinder dreams at night?  Help a sista out!  Please!

The One That Began It All

23 Jan

I’m not gonna lie; I’m a hopeless romantic.  And I’ve been one pretty much ever since I popped outta the womb.  “Let me outta here, I just want to find my soulmate!” is probably what I was screaming as I made my way into the world.

Okay, that last part’s not true.  But here’s something true: I’ve found him.  I’ve found the person that I want to spend the rest of my life with.  He’s the real deal.  And he frigging popped outta nowhere.

Maybe in future posts I’ll elaborate on how exactly the love story between me and the futhubs (my shorthand for ‘future hubby’ : ) unfolded.  How we met by accident.  How I was not at all interested a romantic relationship… initially.  How I fully intended to set him up with one of my single girlfriends.  How I fell for him in spite of myself.  How he pursued me and put all of my fears to shame.  How we dated long distance for two years.  How he proposed and made me a prewife.

I will try fix youFor now, I just want to introduce myself.  I’m a sap.  I’m a story-teller (not always a good one, but I love stories).  I’m a prewife who’s getting married to the man of her dreams in just a few months.  And I’m new at this.  All of this– being engaged, planning a wedding, preparing for marriage.  It’s exhilarating and overwhelming, heart-warming and batshit crazy at times.  But this will be the place where I whisper all the crazy (and not-so-crazy) into the void.

So, welcome!  Nice to meet you.  And here we go!