13Apr
One time when he was in grad school, Chris was working on this show that was designed by Maurice Sendak (author of Where the Wild Things Are). This show had a woman dressed in a giant chicken costume who was flying over the stage. Chris was the one who was controlling her from backstage and he was supposed to land her on certain parts of the set throughout the show. There was a video camera set up out front with a monitor that he could see backstage and so he guided her around the stage using that camera. About 10 minutes into the show, one of the curtains knocked the camera down, leaving Chris blind backstage with a flying chicken in his hands. Having no other option because he couldn’t see anything, the giant chicken couldn’t land so instead she just hung over the stage for the first act, swinging back and forth in the breeze of the theater.
****
Our first year of marriage, Chris and I were living in New Haven, Connecticut while he attended grad school. Being from Florida, we had never experienced a real winter before and weren’t prepared when it hit us all of a sudden. In October. One night, we went out drinking at a bar with friends. While we were in the bar, the snow started coming down and the sidewalks froze over. It was after midnight when we finally decided to head home and we were…well…we’d been over served. As we were inexperienced in the ways of walking (drunk) on ice, we took one step out of the bar and instantly I fell, bringing Chris down with me. We proceeded to walk the 20 minute walk home while falling all over the sidewalks, laughing hysterically the whole time. When we woke up the next morning, we were both covered in bruises, but neither of us could remember how we’d gotten them.
****
One time when we were in high school, Chris and I were out on a jetski one Saturday afternoon and we got into a fight about something. I can’t remember what. So, we’re fighting while sitting on a jetski together in the middle of the bay and Chris gets this brilliant idea. Throwing me off the jetski will DEFINITELY make the situation better. So, without warning, in the middle of the fight, he revs up the jetski and takes off, sending me flying off the back and into the water. When he pulled the jetski around to pick me up, he was actually shocked to find me even angrier.
****
For our first Valentine’s Day as a married couple, Chris gave me Tupperware. And then I cried. He hasn’t given me a Valentine’s present since. It’s been six years.
****
When Chris was in college, he lived with two other guys. Tray, who was a big black guy about twice Chris’s size, and Joe. Chris and Tray were big party people. They liked to drink, to throw parties, and to make sure everyone around them had as much fun as they did. Which was usually a lot. Joe, on the other hand, was not a party guy. Joe was in school on a full National Merit scholarship. He studied for fun. He could tell you anything about the American legal system. He hid chocolate under his bed. And yet, somehow, the three of them became incredibly good friends. In fact, both Tray and Joe were groomsmen years later in our wedding. One night, Joe came to Chris and Tray and told them that he needed to tell them something. He was gay. (Years later, he told us that he worried Chris and Tray would ask him to move out and that just broke my heart.) Chris and Tray listened, told Joe that that didn’t change their friendship, and Joe felt instant relief. Later that night, Joe went out for something and when he came home, he found that Chris and Tray had painted his bedroom door hot pink. Like, bubble gum pink. Barbie pink. HOT PINK. Joe came to visit us last month and we laughed about this story over dinner. “You know,” Joe said. “When I saw my door, I knew that Chris and Tray really were okay with me just how I was. It was their way of showing their support. Of lightening the situation. That’s friendship.”
****
Chris grew up with a group of four best guy friends from back home – Justin, Robert, Gary, and Brett. The first year we were married, Chris got a call from Robert’s sister. Robert had died unexpectedly in the night. I sat with Chris while he called the other boys and told them the news. It was the hardest, saddest thing I’ve ever seen in my whole life. I hurt for him. For Robert. For all of them. A few months later, we all went home for Christmas. Normally, this would have been when all the boys got together but this year, one was missing. One afternoon before their annual guy’s Christmas party, we all loaded up in cars and drove out to the military base where Robert had been buried. They wanted to kick off the night with their friend. But when we got to the cemetery, it became very clear that no one knew where Robert had actually been buried. They’d all been to the funeral, of course, but they hadn’t focused on where they were at the time and looking around now, everything looked the same. Rows and rows of burial plots with simple white crosses. Where, oh, where was Robert? We started out the search in a somber, sober, quiet way, each of us reflecting on Robert’s life. But half an hour later, we were yelling to each other across the cemetery, “IS HE OVER THERE? HE’S NOT OVER HERE!” “NOPE, HE’S NOT OVER HERE, EITHER!” We were laughing and cursing and actually having a good time. By the time we found Robert’s site, we were happy and smiling. It felt strange, but it also felt appropriate. Robert would have hated the serious. That one trip set the tone for all our next visits to Robert. We all go every year together at Christmas and it’s such a happy, joyful time together as we stand there with Robert, talking not about his death, but about his life. And I think Robert would love that.
****
Last week, Gracie was having a little bit of a rough night. She woke up and had a bottle, but couldn’t get back to sleep. I thought maybe it was gas bubbles, but that didn’t seem to be it. Chris was awake with me, trying to figure out what was bothering her. After swaddling her, rocking her, burping her, and everything else I could think of, I laid her in her bassinet and threw my hands up in defeat. Chris kissed my cheek and got up to take over for a while. When he looked into the bassinet, this look of complete horror filled his face. “IS THIS YOUR SWADDLE???” he bellowed. “IS THAT THE BEST YOU CAN SWADDLE???” And with that, he picked up Gracie and swaddled her until she was like a little mummy. Instantly, she fell right asleep. As we laid in the quiet dark next to each other, I started giggling. “Did you just ask me if that was the best I can swaddle?” I laughed. And then he laughed. And then we fell asleep.
Thanks to Bean sharing his germs from school with me, I have a head cold. Right in time for the holidays. Lovely! Being pregnant, head colds present a bit of a challenge. Don’t get me wrong – I am a medication person. I don’t believe in suffering unnecessarily, so I loves me some medicines. But when I’ve got a sensitive little bun in my oven, I’m a lot more aware of what I’m taking and I really try to avoid all medications as much as possible. I take Tylenol occasionally for my back and hips (both of which feel like they belong to an 80 year old woman at the moment), but I try to limit it to that.
This morning I woke up after a particularly hard night of no sleep were I sat upright all night long so that I could breathe and I thought to myself, “Okay. It’s time to do something out this. It’s time to get serious. It’s time to get some pho.”
Pho is Vietnamese noodle and beef soup. It’s like the Vietnamese version of chicken noodle soup. Only way more powerful because it’s spicy. I first had pho in Connecticut with Chris. The Yale University theater is right across the street from York Street Noodle, a small, cheap, cozy, Vietnamese noodle house. When we moved to New Haven, neither Chris or I had ever had Vietnamese food before. But the restaurant was right across from the theater and so during weeks when Chris was working full days and nights on a set, it was the only place he could spare some time to meet me for a quick bite. York Street Noodle was where I first discovered pho. And I fell in love. It’s warm and cozy and makes you feel like you’re at your mom’s kitchen table…in Vietnam.
Then I discovered that a few of my co-workers had a place close to our office where they went for Vietnamese food on their lunch break and so I forced my way into the lunch bunch. On cold, snowy winter days, nothing is better than a big, steaming bowl of pho.
Admittedly, pho is a little scary. Actually, Vietnamese restaurants can be a little scary. But it’s only because they are so authentic that I think they can intimidate Americans who are unfamiliar with that kind of food.
BUT DON’T FEAR THE PHO!
Vietnamese is my favorite ethnic food and I think it is highly underrated. So, my friends, today I am going to explain The Pho to you so that you will no longer be scared and you might possibly venture into one of those cozy, tiny Vietnamese restaurants all on your own. Actually, I would suggest going the first time with someone who knows what they are ordering so that you have a little help. But if you find yourself staring at a Vietnamese menu, go with the pho. You can’t go wrong with pho.
So. What is it and what do you do with it? Here’s what it looks like when you order it:
Now, it does vary slightly from restaurant to restaurant. For instance, the restaurants in New Haven served it in a bowl with one type of beef and you just added your toppings. But the restaurant I tried this afternoon in Orlando served it with a lot more options for toppings and several different types of beef that you could add.
Don’t be grossed out. You don’t have to use it all. In fact, I didn’t use any meat. But see that white pile of noodles? Those are the key ingredient. Also key? Sprouts and basil.
And the magic part is the broth. This broth came with meatballs, but I threw those out. I only want the broth. The wonderful, ginger-scented, rich broth. Ahhhh….
Okay. Now that we have all our parts, let’s assemble the greatest cold remedy ever made. First, put the noodles in a big ol’ bowl.
Then pour the broth over them, stirring so that they loosen up and quit clinging to each other for dear life.
Now, at this point you can add the meat of your choice. I chose no meat today because I wasn’t feeling so hot, but the flank steak beef is my favorite when I have meat. It’s cut really thin and cooked perfectly. But I was feeling meatless today.
Next come the toppings. Traditionally, you get sprouts, basil, lime wedges, and sometimes ginger. The place I went today also had jalapenos, but that really weirded me out so I ignored those. Today I went a little bland because of my cold.
First, I added sprouts. They are raw and add a nice little crunch to the soup, especially if you let them sit in the bowl and soften a bit at first.
Then I added some basil. Just the leaves. When they hit that hot broth, the infuse the soup with the most delicious taste and smell. Heaven!
Then comes the cold remedy part. It’s the Vietnamese hot sauce. It’s hot. Incredibly hot. But when you have a cold, you must not skip this step. Pour as much as you can handle without crying into the soup bowl. Then mix it around in the broth until it turns a rosy pink color from the spice.
To eat this mother load of a decongestant, you need a few tools.
First, you need an Asian soup spoon. Actually, you should have these at your house whether you’re eating pho or not. They’re great spoons. I use them for dips and things when I put out appetizers when company comes over. They make cute little serving spoons. But for pho, they are especially perfect. You use the spoon to drink the hot, spicy broth.
Then, you use chopsticks to eat the noodles, sprouts, and whatever other toppings you choose.
Do you like my chopsticks? One of my pho-eating former co-workers, Dana, brought me a set of eight beautiful chopsticks from China. They are lovely and I adore them.
The last tool you will need when you eat a bowl of pho is a box of tissues. If you have a cold, pho is the perfect decongestant. The combination of heat from the broth and the spice from the hot sauce and the smooth texture of the noodles is perfect for loosening up your sinuses. Trust me.
So, now you know how to eat pho. Which means if you find a little Vietnamese restaurant that you really want to try, but you have no idea what to order or how to eat it, now you have no excuse for not going in! And that also means if you have a cold, you’ve got a hearty, healthy, warm remedy to loosen those sinuses!
YOU’RE WELCOME!
I think one of the most universal feelings mothers have is guilt. Most of us feel guilty as parents at some point. I feel guilty for the shortcuts I take when I’m too tired to be 100% on the job with Bean. I feel guilty that he’s in daycare. I feel guilty that I can’t afford to buy him new toys all the time. I feel guilty that sometimes I just need a little break. There’s always something to feel guilty for as a mother. It’s just part of the ride. I think the best we can hope for in that department is that the good we do each day outweighs the things we feel guilty for.
But that’s such a low standard to have.
And now I feel guilty again.
SEE WHAT I MEAN?!?!?
I am officially twelve weeks pregnant now. The New Guy barely has all his fingers and toes yet and I’m already feeling the guilt increase exponentially by child. The problem with feeling guilty about an unborn wee one though is that I can’t really do too much to compensate for the guilt. I can’t spend more time with him (umm…hello? He’s INSIDE of me…Can’t spend much more time than that together). I can’t make his favorite meal (because he’ll just make me throw it up…party pooper…). I can’t rock him extra long before bed or give him extra kisses (no offense, New Guy…you’re kind of gooey and sticky right now and those ain’t ripe kissin’ conditions…). So, it seems to be getting a leeeetle bit harder to shake this guilty conscious.
The biggest guilt factor for me right now is the care I’m giving my little fetus betus.
My little fetal deetal.
My little fetal beatle.
When I found out I was pregnant, the biggest gray cloud hanging over the whole dang situation was that I didn’t have health insurance. How’s that for irresponsible? Chris was insured through his company, but their family coverage was outrageously expensive and we couldn’t afford it. So, Bean and I were covered through a private plan with a major health insurance provider. That way, we could go to the doctor if we needed, get prescriptions, and visit the hospital (God forbid there was ever a reason). What our coverage did not include was maternity, which we didn’t think was a problem since WE DIDN’T PLAN ON BEING IN THE FAMILY WAY ANYTIME SOON… Turns out, most private insurance plans didn’t offer maternity coverage which left me in a bit of a pickle. So, my first few visits to the doctor have been through the health department in our city.
And there ain’t nothing wrong with that.
If you should find yourself in that scary, uninsured place with a fetal beatle of your own on the way, don’t you worry a speck about the coverage offered by your local health department. I’ve received the same testing, the same treatments, the same ultrasounds, the same prescriptions, the same everything that I had when I had private insurance with Bean. That little baby in there in doing just fine medically and I feel 100% certain about that. So don’t you worry your pretty little head over it if you’re in the same boat.
What I feel guilty about is the stark difference between my pregnancy coverage NOW versus my pregnancy coverage with Bean. With Bean, I was covered through Yale University. I saw Yale University doctors. I delivered in Yale University’s hospital. And I can’t help but feel a smidge guilty that the New Guy is going to a health clinic while his big brother was rollin’ in the Ivy League health care system.
It’s the snob in me.
I can’t help it.
The good news is that with my new job (thank the Good Lord), I am back to regular coverage through a great HMO again and I can start going to a private doctor’s office. My pregnancy is covered and so that guilt is lessening a bit. But it’s still there in the irrational corner of my mind that holds ridiculously high standards for things. Now, it’s just leftover guilt.
Reheats beeeeutifully. (Name that movie…)
Another major source of guilt right now is that I’m so darn sick I worry all the time about the nutrients I’m getting – or, rather, not getting – to the New Guy. With Bean, no matter how sick I got (and it was nowhere as sick as this), I didn’t worry too much with nutrients because I had my prenatal vitamin to cover me. Anything I couldn’t keep down, I knew he got through that vitamin. But now, my prenatal vitamins make me sick as a dog. I take one and about ten minutes later I am violently ill. I think it’s cause there’s already nothing on my stomach and so all those nutrients just churn around in there…and they churn…and they churn…
Oh, man. Gotta talk about something else. Here comes the queasy.
Anyway, I have a doctors appointment next week and I’m going to talk to them about getting on a prescription prenatal vitamin because I’ve heard those are gentler on your system and I’m also going to talk to them about a prescription for being sick all the time.
But then I feel guilty about taking medications while I’m pregnant.
It’s a vicious cycle, ya’ll.
I think what I feel the most guilty about right now though is that I’m having a hard time getting excited about this pregnancy. It’s not that I’m not so happy to have another baby. The baby part makes me giggle and glow and gush like a little girl.
Baby? Yes, please!
But I’m having a problem staying excited right now. With Bean, I just walked around happy and excited. I bought every baby item I found in newborn size.
(And can we just pause and talk about how newborn sized clothing is the most adorable thing ever? I’m not going to lie. I’ve thought about buying it before for Lucy and dressing her up in little ducky feety pajamas. But I think she’s really more of a 6-9 month size…)
(I digress…)
With this pregnancy, there is just so much going on around me that I can’t seem to focus on it enough to get excited. I’ve got a new job, a new house, and – most importantly – BEAN! And that kid doesn’t slow down for anyone. Especially a little fetal deetal. So it’s hard for me to spend the hours I spent with my first pregnancy, laying on my couch after work just rubbing my belly and talking to the baby.
We also are just now getting back on our feet financially and there’s just not a lot of extra cash flow at the end of the day for me to go baby shopping (which always got me excited when I was pregnant with Bean). I haven’t bought one thing yet for this New Guy and I feel a little guilty that I’m not making more of a big deal about it.
Is that natural?
Am I normal?
Wait, let me rephrase that last question before you answer…
Well, that’s about it. My guilty conscious all laid out in Cyber Land. And you might think I would feel better after airing out these things. Journaling and talking through my problems and all that psycho mumbo jumbo…but I don’t really.
Actually, I feel guilty that I’ve admitted these things. What if the New Guy reads my blog? I mean, it’s not like he’s got much to do in there for the next six months. He might surf the web to keep himself busy. And now I’ve just admitted these awful things to him.
Guilt, guilt, guilt…
03Mar
This is my last week of work and so I thought in honor of that bittersweet ending, I would take you on a tour of my little office. Its a pretty small office so the tour won’t take long. Please keep your arms and legs inside the tour bus at all times. Thank you for your cooperation.
This is my desk.
See those keys sitting there? Those are the keys that I lock in my office at least once a week. And then I have to call the one other person who has the master for my office to come let me in. And sometimes, she’s not on campus and so I have to sit in the lobby and read the newspaper until she gets to work. Seriously. Once a week.
And that lamp on the corner? The cord hangs off the back of my desk and I always catch the cord and knock the lamp on the floor. And every time the lampshade pops off and the light bulb breaks. I kept thinking that I should move that lamp, but its been three years and there it sits.
This is my pen holder. It is actually a big candle holder from Halloween. But it holds a LOT of pens and supplies and so I put it on my desk and turned it into a pen holder. Voila!
This is my computer. Where all the magic happens. And those are my post-it notes where I keep important things such as the phone number to the deli up the street. See that little pink box?  That is a cute little going away gift from one of our faculty. Inside are cake bites. I haven’t unwrapped them yet to find out what cake bites actually are because they are wrapped in beautiful gold paper and I don’t want to open them.
And underneath that expense report on my computer screen is a picture of Bean Man in a diaper, fat and giggly. Sometimes in the middle of a particularly busy workday, I’ll minimize everything on my computer screen and just take a peek at Bean’s belly. It makes me smile.
This is the other corner of my desk. That’s my inbox on the top. Its where I kept anything I was working on. Most of the time, my desk is fairly clean. I don’t work well surrounded by paper and so I like my space to be as clear as possible. That means that sometimes it looks like I have nothing going on. But in reality, there were a lot of things happening, they were just all piled in that inbox until I could get to them.
And see that notepad under that memo sitting there? That is my brain. Seriously. Anywhere I go during my workday, I have that notepad with me. Its where I write EVERYTHING. Between you and me, I have a really bad memory. Really, really bad. If I don’t write it on that notepad, chances are I’m not going to remember it.
This is the top drawer in my desk. It holds anything I use on a daily basis. Mostly, that’s post-it notes of all sizes. I love them. I couldn’t live without them. I need them. Also, that staple remover? I use that quite often because I like to staple things and my boss likes to paper clip things. So, I staple things until I have to give them to him and then I pull the staples out and throw a paper clip on them. Weird? Sure. But it worked and we were both happy.
And see that gray calculator? I use it to do simple math. Math that I really should be able to do myself. Math like if I have an invoice for $190 and $20 of that is deductible, how much is the balance?
(crickets, crickets, crickets)
Hang on, let me get my calculator.
This is the drawer below that other drawer and its where I hoard office supplies. And keys. I have a ton of keys that I have inherited over the past three years. Some of them – most of them – I don’t even know what they go to. I also randomly hoard highlighters. Which is weird because I don’t really use a lot of highlighters. And note cards. I bet I’ve used four note cards in my entire time in this job and yet I have, like, twelve packs of them in this drawer.
But this drawer is the mother load. This is my junk drawer with personal stuff in it.
Like these Life Saver mints, which I always forget that I have. But boy does it make my day when I remember they are in there!
And these instant oatmeal packets. Just add a little hot water from the water cooler and on a cold morning, you’re suddenly warm and toasty!
And these are my cough drops. Without them, I would sit in meetings and cough until I had properly infected every person in the room. Thanks to Bean Bean, I have become much more prone to sickness this year (that’s what you get when you birth a carrier monkey) and so I have just accepted my fate as one of those people who always smell like menthol.
And, of course, there are the sanitizing wipes. (See the previously reference carrier monkey)
This is my family wall under my window. I have two pictures of Bean Man. See that taller picture of him in the back? That’s his fall school picture. Isn’t that funny??? They took school pictures in his daycare. If you look closely, you can see the red rim around his lips where they yanked the binky out of his mouth right before they took the picture. I love that. And there’s a picture of me and Chris, a picture of Lucy Goosey on a beach, feeling the wind in her ears. And then there is this…
My BFF Emily made this for me a year or two ago. Its a salt shaker for happy thoughts. You just sprinkle them all over when you’re having a bad day. She got all crafty one Saturday and made this for me and I just love it. Who knew a little salt shaker, a little ribbon, and a couple sequins could brighten your day? Thanks, Em!
This is the art that I picked for my office in the first month or two. I work at a music school and I know NOTHING about music, so I was really intimidated about picking art for my walls. When I found these prints, I thought they were perfect. My abstract style, but in the right area. And I loved that they had jazz instruments because I am a big fan of jazz. But – guess what! WE DON’T HAVE A JAZZ PROGRAM AT OUR SCHOOL. So, here I am with jazz art on my walls and that is the one area we don’t instruct in. Perfect.
Along those same lines, one time in the first few months in my job, I was working with a group of staff on a concert that we were planning. Someone had the music selections listed on a piece of paper. Next to one of the sheets of music was the name of the composer, “Anon.” So, I snickered and said to the group, “Anon? What? Is that person too good for a first and last name? Like Madonna? Or Meatloaf?”
“No,” said one of my co-workers. “That stands for Anonymous.”
Sometimes I really wonder how I got this job and then how I survived in it!
This is probably my favorite part of my office. This is the poster from Yale’s 300th anniversary. It is a photograph taken of the bell tower on Yale’s campus. Students managed to hang a handmade flag of a smiley face on the tower. And it just so happened that streamers from the celebration drifted up to the bell tower this clear, fall afternoon and blew in the breeze just as the picture was taken. I think it is such a wonderful dichotomy: the old and the young, the traditional and the spontaneous. I love this picture.
So, that’s my office. That is my office. That was my office. That will be my office until Friday. And then I will box it all up and have it to take with me to my next professional home. And when I unpack these little trinkets and doodads, I’ll think about this office and the people who came and went through my office door every day and I’ll smile and remember how truly lucky I was to work at such a wonderful institution.
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