1. My adorabo flower girl dresses.
2. Eating cupcakes with my guy (wedding cake samples).
3. Getting a much awaited email stating that my article will soon be published in an edited volume! (Published articles are the stars in an academician's crown. Especially one who wants a job on down the road.)
4. Getting honeymoon arrangements all set. Eeeeeeeeee!
5. Finally getting pre-marital counseling underway.
6. Using this recipe to make beef and broccoli stir fry that is ridiculous. I mean, crazy good. I think it's the ginger that does it.
7. Lemon turmeric tea.
8. Looking into my guy's eyes (greenish brown, long-lashed) and feeling awash in pure adoration of him. The other day he told me that he was amazed by me. It was the simplest, purest declaration of affection anyone has ever expressed to me. And the moment he told me this was under the most mundane of circumstances. It wasn't in some romantic Hollywood moment while we were under a starlit sky. It was while he was clearing the table. This is what I'm thankful for, and what I never realized I needed until him: Someone who effortlessly reminds me of the magic in the ordinary.
Cliches are cliches because there's something universal about them. Trite as they are, at heart, they contain something recognizable, something nominally true. And the cliched advice that I used to bristle against with every fiber of my allegedly self-possessed being was "Don't settle for less." Ugh. To me, it was framed in this desire for (usually well-meaning) people to not see my long-single self make any choices regarding my future mate outside of their ideal. You have no fraction of an idea of what being me even means, I would think. What is ideal for you for me may very well not be what is ideal for me for me. Furthermore, what is ideal for you for me does not necessarily equal what is ideal for God for me. And lastly, if whatever path I take is not your ideal for me, it most certainly does not equal "settling for less." That's what I would think. And truth be told, at the end of the day, it's what I still think.
But here's the kicker: I would now give the same advice to someone else like me. Don't settle for less. Don't accept less because you're afraid that if you reject less, more will never come your way. It's a lie. And one that I believed at one time. And while I believed it, it actually took me that much further from being in a position where I was ready to receive more.
Tuesday, January 27, 2015
Sunday, January 18, 2015
Cakes and Ring Bearer Epiphany
We on this wedding train and we gonna ride it out. It's just a full-on wedding fest up in here.
So, we got our designs and prices all decided upon for our cakes. I'm going to have a sunflower cake. (Surprise, surprise), and the groom's cake is going to be a drum cake. He's so excited about it. Yes, I'm marrying the adult version of the impossible middle school crush of my dreams. A former skater dude (hacky sack, et al.) who played drums and guitar in a bunch of punky bands growing up. He says he plays the drums better than he does the guitar, but I still haven't heard him play. I told him that I can't marry him until I've heard him play the drums. How can I say I know him if I've never heard him play the instrument that's even nearer and dearer to him than the guitar?
Here's what I'm excited about, though. My sunflower cake is going to be on a tree stump. Yup. I can't tell you how excited I am about this tree stump, y'all. It's going to be something similar to this. (But better.) Don't hate. Appreciate. It's going to be all rustic and sunflowery. The excitement is starting to creep into my bones.
And not cake related, but I've been trying to envision what I want my flower girls and ring bearer to look like. And I just had an epiphany. I totally want a little suspendered, bowtied, pageboy hat-wearing little nephew-to-be bearing those rings! Something like this, but grey/iris. And he is devastatingly cute. Gives me lots of hope for the attractiveness of my future offspring.
I'm so glad that there are so many church people who are professionals (bakers, florists, photographers, wedding planners, etc.) who are willing to help us and give us deals. It's really made things easier (and much less expensive than it could be) for us.
So, we got our designs and prices all decided upon for our cakes. I'm going to have a sunflower cake. (Surprise, surprise), and the groom's cake is going to be a drum cake. He's so excited about it. Yes, I'm marrying the adult version of the impossible middle school crush of my dreams. A former skater dude (hacky sack, et al.) who played drums and guitar in a bunch of punky bands growing up. He says he plays the drums better than he does the guitar, but I still haven't heard him play. I told him that I can't marry him until I've heard him play the drums. How can I say I know him if I've never heard him play the instrument that's even nearer and dearer to him than the guitar?
Here's what I'm excited about, though. My sunflower cake is going to be on a tree stump. Yup. I can't tell you how excited I am about this tree stump, y'all. It's going to be something similar to this. (But better.) Don't hate. Appreciate. It's going to be all rustic and sunflowery. The excitement is starting to creep into my bones.
And not cake related, but I've been trying to envision what I want my flower girls and ring bearer to look like. And I just had an epiphany. I totally want a little suspendered, bowtied, pageboy hat-wearing little nephew-to-be bearing those rings! Something like this, but grey/iris. And he is devastatingly cute. Gives me lots of hope for the attractiveness of my future offspring.
I'm so glad that there are so many church people who are professionals (bakers, florists, photographers, wedding planners, etc.) who are willing to help us and give us deals. It's really made things easier (and much less expensive than it could be) for us.
Saturday, January 17, 2015
Wedding Bands
Yep. It's all wedding, all day, all the time around this neck of the blog woods.
So we went to pick out wedding bands today. The same place he went to get my engagement ring.
He told me that when he first went to look for engagement rings, he intended just to start looking around. He didn't really have an idea in mind. But at the first store he went to, he saw a ring that he just felt was the one, so he walked out that day with a ring in hand. We figured we'd have a similar experience going to get wedding bands.
We're not flashy people. Nah, we both just wanted something simple. I saw one I liked, he saw one he liked, we both liked what each other liked, they both fit out budget, and voilà. Wedding bands, check.
Picking them out was pretty easy. We're not picky people. But then it was like, omg, the rings we're picking out right now are rings we're going to wear for the rest of our lives. Like, I'm going to have this same ring on my finger when I'm like 50. (Which, scarily, is not as far off as it used to be.) It was kind of a sobering moment.
The saleslady was expecting and she said that she just had to get her rings enlarged because her fingers had swollen during the pregnancy. I said aloud, half to myself, "Oh, wow...that's true. I didn't even think about that." My fiancé looked at me and said, "We still have a little bit of time before we need to worry about that."
Calm down, honey. Let's let the ink dry on the marriage certificate, let's get that dissertation written and let's get that job before we start fretting about pregnancy-swollen fingers. Yes, ma'am.
So we went to pick out wedding bands today. The same place he went to get my engagement ring.
He told me that when he first went to look for engagement rings, he intended just to start looking around. He didn't really have an idea in mind. But at the first store he went to, he saw a ring that he just felt was the one, so he walked out that day with a ring in hand. We figured we'd have a similar experience going to get wedding bands.
We're not flashy people. Nah, we both just wanted something simple. I saw one I liked, he saw one he liked, we both liked what each other liked, they both fit out budget, and voilà. Wedding bands, check.
Picking them out was pretty easy. We're not picky people. But then it was like, omg, the rings we're picking out right now are rings we're going to wear for the rest of our lives. Like, I'm going to have this same ring on my finger when I'm like 50. (Which, scarily, is not as far off as it used to be.) It was kind of a sobering moment.
The saleslady was expecting and she said that she just had to get her rings enlarged because her fingers had swollen during the pregnancy. I said aloud, half to myself, "Oh, wow...that's true. I didn't even think about that." My fiancé looked at me and said, "We still have a little bit of time before we need to worry about that."
Calm down, honey. Let's let the ink dry on the marriage certificate, let's get that dissertation written and let's get that job before we start fretting about pregnancy-swollen fingers. Yes, ma'am.
Tuesday, January 13, 2015
Weddington McMarriage
I am on a non-stop, high-speed train to Weddington McMarriage.
This thing is going down. We ordered our invitations this weekend, and when we hit "submit order" to purchase 150 invitations/envelopes/address labels, I had a "no turning back" moment. You ain't playin' no games. Dis yo' man fo' real.
Right? Like, there was a date and a time on there.
Breathe. Not like I'm thinking of "turning back" or that I've ever thought of it since he slipped that ring on my finger. Nawl. All I'm saying is like, it's really happening. I mean, when we first got engaged, I was all like, we have time to decide this and that and we'll think about it later, and now that January is all like, "I'm heeeeeree!" it's been like, BAM! Wedding red alert. Wedding date has been like, "Ey! You know I'm comin' up, right? You hear me, girl?" I mean, seriously, when we got engaged in June, we had literally a year to get it together. Now we have four months. Like, whaaaattt??
Why is it still so difficult for me to conceive of myself as married? This is something I've wanted for the longest, and now that it's no joke, T-minus four months till marriage launch, my brain is still like, "Yeah, so, I'm getting married soon, and....WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN???"
Snickery McSarcasm: It means you're going to be sharing a minuscule apartment and a single bathroom with a dude.
Idealista McSwooney: It means you're going to wake up next to the love of your life every morning.
Obsessy McHyper: It means you're going to have arguments and money problems and have to balance career and school and family and church and you're going to have to get used to a bunch of stuff you're not used to because you've lived on your own for so long and omigawd how is it all going to come together?
Realizzy McStraightup: It means you're going to be married. Please, like you're the first person in the world to ever tie the knot. People have always done it, people are doing it now, and they will continue to do so till kingdom come. Welcome to life.
Can I be a meanie and rant about things that annoy me?
Meanie Me: Is it mean that when people ask me "How's the wedding planning going?" it slightly bothers me? I know that it is a benign question just meant to make small talk and convey interest and perhaps even well-wishes, so I just smile and give a perky, vague update. But the little wave of irritation that flows through me when people ask that is akin to the slight wave of irritation that would flow through me when after spending several months abroad people would ask, "So, how was France?" Like, ugh. Like, in both cases, whatever I tell you is just a surface answer because that's all you really want to hear. Akin to how I feel when people ask, "So, what do you plan to do with a PhD?" Like, why do you care? You don't even have a concept of what getting a PhD even means, so when I say, "Be a professor," you still don't get it. Ugh, I'm so mean! And please don't say anything about being/not being a Bridezilla. It's so trite and played out and unclever and takes no imagination whatsoever to come up with. "Are you feeling like a Bridezilla yet?" Oh, har, har, har. Gosh, I'm such a meanie.
Anyway. Here's something that I kinda want. It's not a Bridezilla want, since we're on the topic. I want a horse and carriage exit. It can so be done, and if it's a little pricier than what we have room for in our budget, I think I have a little ace in the hole to make it happen. I mean, with my whole medieval/Renaissance dress thing going on, it being kind of a rustic, outdoor deal, and besides, it's unique and sweet and fairy tale-like. Sigh. We'll see.
This thing is going down. We ordered our invitations this weekend, and when we hit "submit order" to purchase 150 invitations/envelopes/address labels, I had a "no turning back" moment. You ain't playin' no games. Dis yo' man fo' real.
Right? Like, there was a date and a time on there.
Breathe. Not like I'm thinking of "turning back" or that I've ever thought of it since he slipped that ring on my finger. Nawl. All I'm saying is like, it's really happening. I mean, when we first got engaged, I was all like, we have time to decide this and that and we'll think about it later, and now that January is all like, "I'm heeeeeree!" it's been like, BAM! Wedding red alert. Wedding date has been like, "Ey! You know I'm comin' up, right? You hear me, girl?" I mean, seriously, when we got engaged in June, we had literally a year to get it together. Now we have four months. Like, whaaaattt??
Why is it still so difficult for me to conceive of myself as married? This is something I've wanted for the longest, and now that it's no joke, T-minus four months till marriage launch, my brain is still like, "Yeah, so, I'm getting married soon, and....WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN???"
Snickery McSarcasm: It means you're going to be sharing a minuscule apartment and a single bathroom with a dude.
Idealista McSwooney: It means you're going to wake up next to the love of your life every morning.
Obsessy McHyper: It means you're going to have arguments and money problems and have to balance career and school and family and church and you're going to have to get used to a bunch of stuff you're not used to because you've lived on your own for so long and omigawd how is it all going to come together?
Realizzy McStraightup: It means you're going to be married. Please, like you're the first person in the world to ever tie the knot. People have always done it, people are doing it now, and they will continue to do so till kingdom come. Welcome to life.
Can I be a meanie and rant about things that annoy me?
Meanie Me: Is it mean that when people ask me "How's the wedding planning going?" it slightly bothers me? I know that it is a benign question just meant to make small talk and convey interest and perhaps even well-wishes, so I just smile and give a perky, vague update. But the little wave of irritation that flows through me when people ask that is akin to the slight wave of irritation that would flow through me when after spending several months abroad people would ask, "So, how was France?" Like, ugh. Like, in both cases, whatever I tell you is just a surface answer because that's all you really want to hear. Akin to how I feel when people ask, "So, what do you plan to do with a PhD?" Like, why do you care? You don't even have a concept of what getting a PhD even means, so when I say, "Be a professor," you still don't get it. Ugh, I'm so mean! And please don't say anything about being/not being a Bridezilla. It's so trite and played out and unclever and takes no imagination whatsoever to come up with. "Are you feeling like a Bridezilla yet?" Oh, har, har, har. Gosh, I'm such a meanie.
Anyway. Here's something that I kinda want. It's not a Bridezilla want, since we're on the topic. I want a horse and carriage exit. It can so be done, and if it's a little pricier than what we have room for in our budget, I think I have a little ace in the hole to make it happen. I mean, with my whole medieval/Renaissance dress thing going on, it being kind of a rustic, outdoor deal, and besides, it's unique and sweet and fairy tale-like. Sigh. We'll see.
Monday, January 05, 2015
New Year's Post or Better Late Than Never
Well, hello.
It's been a while, I know. But so many things have/have been/are happened/happening, that it's just been a task to find the time and presence of mind to sit down and write.
If I don't do it now, at the dawn of the new semester, who knows when I will?
At least I'm teaching two sections of a course that I taught last semester, so no freak-outs to be had. The only bummer is that I'm teaching on the opposite side of campus from my office and I'm teaching in some funky buildings I've never heard of before. Forestry? Who teaches Spanish in the School of Forestry building?
So. I'm starting out this new year as an engaged woman. And in four months, I'll be a married woman. That is off the chain. Now that 2015 is here, our wedding day seems like it's hurtling towards us. If I went to France right now for as long as I did in 2010, I would be married before I got back. I finally got to try on my wedding dress. There's something about it all that still seems so surreal. There's flower girl dresses to figure out. We have to meet with our day-of coordinator. We need to order our invitations. Who's going to do what during the ceremony? Wedding favors? How is everyone going to find their way driving out in the deep down country roads to arrive at our rustic venue? What are the little details going to look like? I wish there were a wedding genie who could just POOF! and all the details would be magically worked out. It'll be here before you know it.
I just got rid of a boatload of hoarder/sentimental junk junkie stuff and bagged up a bunch of clothes that I haven't worn in eons. There's still so much more to do, to get rid of, to rearrange. There's a grown man who's moving into my little one bedroom apartment with me in a matter of months and I've got to make space for him. (We're trying to save money, I say!) What is living with a grown man going to look like? The last time I had a roommate, I was a sophomore in college. While I'm thrilled about being able to be together 24/7, I'm also a little afraid of the unknown.
By the time we get married, we will have been engaged for longer than we dated.
When we got back to Georgia after the winter break, we found a few gifts that our friends and family ordered for us from Bed, Bath and Beyond waiting for us. It was so exciting to see things from the registry! (Especially the Fiesta dinnerware.)
This year I will make more progress on my dissertation than I have up to this point. I absolutely must. This year, I will work consistently on my dissertation.
This year, I will have my little veggie garden again.
This year, I will finally learn to knit.
This year, my theme is to wait upon the Lord. For so long, I've associated "waiting on the Lord" with finding a husband. Can I just be for real? I would venture to say that many long-single church girls out there have and probably do associate the idea of "waiting on the Lord" and "God's timing" with finding a husband. And I'm not saying there's anything wrong with that or making fun of it or anything now that I finally have a man. (Insert sarcasm here.) All I'm saying is that I feel like I'm in the position to wait on Him even more now because I have more balls in the air. How is this academic career thing going to work out for me and for him? What about our future, unconceived (albeit conceived of) children? How are they going to fit into the mix? Let's keep it a hundred: Ya girl is not a spring chicken anymore, and if any babies are going to happen, they need to at least start happening within the next two years after I'm married. This is where "waiting" comes in again. This is where "God's timing" needs to be acknowledged again.
2015 will be a year of new beginnings. 2015 will be a year of adjusting, trusting, learning, growing and patience.
It's been a while, I know. But so many things have/have been/are happened/happening, that it's just been a task to find the time and presence of mind to sit down and write.
If I don't do it now, at the dawn of the new semester, who knows when I will?
At least I'm teaching two sections of a course that I taught last semester, so no freak-outs to be had. The only bummer is that I'm teaching on the opposite side of campus from my office and I'm teaching in some funky buildings I've never heard of before. Forestry? Who teaches Spanish in the School of Forestry building?
So. I'm starting out this new year as an engaged woman. And in four months, I'll be a married woman. That is off the chain. Now that 2015 is here, our wedding day seems like it's hurtling towards us. If I went to France right now for as long as I did in 2010, I would be married before I got back. I finally got to try on my wedding dress. There's something about it all that still seems so surreal. There's flower girl dresses to figure out. We have to meet with our day-of coordinator. We need to order our invitations. Who's going to do what during the ceremony? Wedding favors? How is everyone going to find their way driving out in the deep down country roads to arrive at our rustic venue? What are the little details going to look like? I wish there were a wedding genie who could just POOF! and all the details would be magically worked out. It'll be here before you know it.
I just got rid of a boatload of hoarder/sentimental junk junkie stuff and bagged up a bunch of clothes that I haven't worn in eons. There's still so much more to do, to get rid of, to rearrange. There's a grown man who's moving into my little one bedroom apartment with me in a matter of months and I've got to make space for him. (We're trying to save money, I say!) What is living with a grown man going to look like? The last time I had a roommate, I was a sophomore in college. While I'm thrilled about being able to be together 24/7, I'm also a little afraid of the unknown.
By the time we get married, we will have been engaged for longer than we dated.
When we got back to Georgia after the winter break, we found a few gifts that our friends and family ordered for us from Bed, Bath and Beyond waiting for us. It was so exciting to see things from the registry! (Especially the Fiesta dinnerware.)
This year I will make more progress on my dissertation than I have up to this point. I absolutely must. This year, I will work consistently on my dissertation.
This year, I will have my little veggie garden again.
This year, I will finally learn to knit.
This year, my theme is to wait upon the Lord. For so long, I've associated "waiting on the Lord" with finding a husband. Can I just be for real? I would venture to say that many long-single church girls out there have and probably do associate the idea of "waiting on the Lord" and "God's timing" with finding a husband. And I'm not saying there's anything wrong with that or making fun of it or anything now that I finally have a man. (Insert sarcasm here.) All I'm saying is that I feel like I'm in the position to wait on Him even more now because I have more balls in the air. How is this academic career thing going to work out for me and for him? What about our future, unconceived (albeit conceived of) children? How are they going to fit into the mix? Let's keep it a hundred: Ya girl is not a spring chicken anymore, and if any babies are going to happen, they need to at least start happening within the next two years after I'm married. This is where "waiting" comes in again. This is where "God's timing" needs to be acknowledged again.
2015 will be a year of new beginnings. 2015 will be a year of adjusting, trusting, learning, growing and patience.
Wednesday, December 17, 2014
Finished...sort of
When does updating my blog not involve some form of procrastination?
The semester is over, so I should be breathing a sigh of relief, right?
So, my Spanish class exams and grades are done, submitted, etc. Yay.
My Latino Literature grades are not yet. Still need to grade those finals. And silly me forgot to bring the list of students who did the Cesar Chavez extra credit. Blast. So, I sent out a sheepish mass email asking those students who did it to kindly respond to my message that they did. As meticulous as I am about some things...others never cease to elude me.
Dropped my fiancé off at the airport yesterday afternoon. He flew out to be with his folks, and I'm going to join him and his family on Friday. I'm going to be with him and his family for a little over a week. It will be the first Christmas I've spent away from my family. But what I have to realize is that his family is going to be my family and my family is going to be his family.
When he doesn't shave, I call him "furry." What does he call me? His sunshine. The bright, yellow sunflower in his life. When I'm not with him, all I can think about is being with him. There are so many unknowns. So many things are never guaranteed. I could sit and make myself sick worrying about the unknowns, the things I'll never be sure of. But I can say that some days, all I know is that I love him. Some days the one thing I wrap around myself and take comfort in is the knowledge that he's going to be there. For me and with me.
Dissertation chapter one. (Technically chapter 2.) Oh, I came so close to finishing the chapter. I have one section left. I had a great meeting with my major professor before I left, though, and I can finally say that I'm pleased at the progress I've made. I submitted an abstract to a conference to hopefully present part of this chapter (the part I'm currently working on), so if it's accepted, that will give me even more incentive to wrap this puppy up. I feel like I've finally hit my writing stride. At least with this chapter. It's a great feeling. Especially after feeling like I was inching along like a measly little slug for so long.
So, finish up with my Latino Lit grades, (keeping my fingers crossed that my extra credit students email me in a timely manner), get my favorite boots re-heeled (I've worn those suckers OUT), pack up and fly out to a much colder place for Christmas. Here's another reason me and my guy were meant to be: He just happens to be from the same state my parents are from.
The semester is over, so I should be breathing a sigh of relief, right?
So, my Spanish class exams and grades are done, submitted, etc. Yay.
My Latino Literature grades are not yet. Still need to grade those finals. And silly me forgot to bring the list of students who did the Cesar Chavez extra credit. Blast. So, I sent out a sheepish mass email asking those students who did it to kindly respond to my message that they did. As meticulous as I am about some things...others never cease to elude me.
Dropped my fiancé off at the airport yesterday afternoon. He flew out to be with his folks, and I'm going to join him and his family on Friday. I'm going to be with him and his family for a little over a week. It will be the first Christmas I've spent away from my family. But what I have to realize is that his family is going to be my family and my family is going to be his family.
When he doesn't shave, I call him "furry." What does he call me? His sunshine. The bright, yellow sunflower in his life. When I'm not with him, all I can think about is being with him. There are so many unknowns. So many things are never guaranteed. I could sit and make myself sick worrying about the unknowns, the things I'll never be sure of. But I can say that some days, all I know is that I love him. Some days the one thing I wrap around myself and take comfort in is the knowledge that he's going to be there. For me and with me.
Dissertation chapter one. (Technically chapter 2.) Oh, I came so close to finishing the chapter. I have one section left. I had a great meeting with my major professor before I left, though, and I can finally say that I'm pleased at the progress I've made. I submitted an abstract to a conference to hopefully present part of this chapter (the part I'm currently working on), so if it's accepted, that will give me even more incentive to wrap this puppy up. I feel like I've finally hit my writing stride. At least with this chapter. It's a great feeling. Especially after feeling like I was inching along like a measly little slug for so long.
So, finish up with my Latino Lit grades, (keeping my fingers crossed that my extra credit students email me in a timely manner), get my favorite boots re-heeled (I've worn those suckers OUT), pack up and fly out to a much colder place for Christmas. Here's another reason me and my guy were meant to be: He just happens to be from the same state my parents are from.
Saturday, November 29, 2014
Thankful
I know, Thanksgiving is over. A girl can still be thankful, though, can't she?
My future husband and I left Sunday afternoon for a friends-and-family-visiting road trip. We made a stop to visit some family friends in another Georgian city Sunday evening, got up the next morning and left to visit my friend of friends and her family in their nice new house in an Alabamian city, and then left Tuesday afternoon to spend the rest of the week with my family in my Alabamian not-quite hometown. We've had a lovely time so far. Some highlights yet to come: Tomorrow afternoon I try on my wedding dress and tomorrow night the whole family is going to see the play A Christmas Carol at the theater!
I just want to take a few minutes to reflect on what I'm truly thankful for this year. So much has happened. So much has changed. God has been very good to me and now is as good a time as any to express my gratitude. I'm thankful for:
1. My family. I have been very blessed to have such a supportive, loving family. My mom, dad and two brothers have been there for me my entire life.
2. My soon-to-be husband. I love this man so much. God brought him into my life and orchestrated things in both of our lives in a way that only He could. Finding a life partner is the fulfillment of something I have desired for a very long time. What a wonderful thing to see it come to pass in such a beautiful, unexpected way.
3. My church/church family. It's such a relief and a joy to be a part of an assembly that works for us. We've been able to grow spiritually, we've been able to get involved and we've been able to minister to others.
4. My education. I complain about this stage in my program a lot, but I want to see it as a blessing. It's a wonderful opportunity and privilege to reach this level of education, and I thank God for giving me the strength to finish.
5. My friends. I have friends that are like family to me, and I don't know where I would be without them. I just thank God for allowing me to form positive, healthy relationships with people who love and care about me and who want the best for me.
6. My health. It's something that has been very easy for me to take for granted, but I know that it is a gift. It's a blessing to be able to wake up every day with my health and strength and a sound mind.
7. My talents. I'm thankful for the ability to speak several languages and to play instruments like the piano and guitar. They are things I value and things that I can and do use to minister to others.
8. Nutella. Does this really need any explanation?
9. Sunflowers. They're beautiful and bright and having them in my presence makes me happy.
10. My rainbow maker. It makes my mornings dance with color and light.
My future husband and I left Sunday afternoon for a friends-and-family-visiting road trip. We made a stop to visit some family friends in another Georgian city Sunday evening, got up the next morning and left to visit my friend of friends and her family in their nice new house in an Alabamian city, and then left Tuesday afternoon to spend the rest of the week with my family in my Alabamian not-quite hometown. We've had a lovely time so far. Some highlights yet to come: Tomorrow afternoon I try on my wedding dress and tomorrow night the whole family is going to see the play A Christmas Carol at the theater!
I just want to take a few minutes to reflect on what I'm truly thankful for this year. So much has happened. So much has changed. God has been very good to me and now is as good a time as any to express my gratitude. I'm thankful for:
1. My family. I have been very blessed to have such a supportive, loving family. My mom, dad and two brothers have been there for me my entire life.
2. My soon-to-be husband. I love this man so much. God brought him into my life and orchestrated things in both of our lives in a way that only He could. Finding a life partner is the fulfillment of something I have desired for a very long time. What a wonderful thing to see it come to pass in such a beautiful, unexpected way.
3. My church/church family. It's such a relief and a joy to be a part of an assembly that works for us. We've been able to grow spiritually, we've been able to get involved and we've been able to minister to others.
4. My education. I complain about this stage in my program a lot, but I want to see it as a blessing. It's a wonderful opportunity and privilege to reach this level of education, and I thank God for giving me the strength to finish.
5. My friends. I have friends that are like family to me, and I don't know where I would be without them. I just thank God for allowing me to form positive, healthy relationships with people who love and care about me and who want the best for me.
6. My health. It's something that has been very easy for me to take for granted, but I know that it is a gift. It's a blessing to be able to wake up every day with my health and strength and a sound mind.
7. My talents. I'm thankful for the ability to speak several languages and to play instruments like the piano and guitar. They are things I value and things that I can and do use to minister to others.
8. Nutella. Does this really need any explanation?
9. Sunflowers. They're beautiful and bright and having them in my presence makes me happy.
10. My rainbow maker. It makes my mornings dance with color and light.
Wednesday, November 19, 2014
On Productivity
I wish I could be this unfettered while writing my dissertation.
One thing I can say, though, is that I think I've conquered my Facebook compulsion. I used to let it distract me in a terrible way. Like, if I started writing and I hit a thought block, instead of digging down a little deeper into my gray matter and pulling out a plug to reopen the thought flow, I would unhesistatingly skip over to Facebook. Suddenly, my brother's Herculean workout sessions or retellings of adorable children's antics or academic outrage at the oppression-du-jour or Scandal previews became more important than the most important work I have staring me in the face with every breath I take. Write. Write. Write. Write. I would especially get suckered into reading those "numbered" articles (you know the kind. 5 Things that Every...., 10 Tips for...., 17 Ideas to Make Your...., 22 Habits that Every....). Particularly the kind that had to do with relationships and marriage and making it work and what the predictors of success are and how to know you're with the right one and yadda, yadda, yadda.
I deactivated it for a few weeks. I'm technically back on, but now I've limited myself to one checking a day. And no posting. No posting unless I win the lottery or something. Which I wouldn't because I'm not a gambling kinda gal. No interaction of any sort until I make some significant strides toward finishing the seemingly unfinishable.
If you stare at the word 'write' too long, it starts to look strange. It starts to look like it describes some type of extraterrestrian bodily function rather than what it is. And what it is is my ticket out of this extended adolescence. It's the key to escape this transitory state. It's the last step out of this chronically broke student state and into the productive, money-making citizen of society state.
Productive. If you are this, you are the best possible you you could ever be, and if you're not this, you're the worst possible you you could ever be. In our society, productivity is doing. Productivity is producing. Productivity is working. Productivity is progressing. Productivity is validation for existing. And if you aren't doing, producing, working or progressing, you are taking up unearned space. You are breathing in air of which productive people have priority to breathe. I don't really believe that, but that's how I feel as an oft-unproducing person. If you aren't productive, you are a sad, lazy sack of bones.
The fear of existing as a sad, lazy sack of bones prompts me to do something. Eke out a few words. Read a few post-colonial theory-riddled paragraphs. But then the slow going prompts me to have some pretty interesting conversations with myself:
Me: Hey, self, wassup?
Myself: Yo.
Me: So, how's that writing thing going?
Myself: (gives Me major side eye) Really?
Me: (snickering) I know, I know. Makes you want to put it on the "Do not ask" list along with "Where are you going on your honeymoon?" right? Heh, heh.
Myself: Um, can I help you with something? You're distracting me from writing.
Me: C'mon. You call that "writing"? Do you really want to be doing this from here on out? Writing about the hegemony of the patriarchal, racist, sexist nation? Talking about unsettling dominant ideologies and resisting oppression? Girl, stop.
Myself: Um, do you have a problem with what I've chosen to write about? This is my topic. No one's forcing me to write about this. And stop trying to make it sound like overblown academic claptrap. You're so annoying. I know that I have a very relevant, interesting project, and when I'm finished, it's going to be something I'm proud of.
Me: (sighs) Please. We all know what you really want to do.
Myself: Okay, know-it-all. What do I really want to do?
Me: (rolls eyes) Don't act like you don't know. You know good and well you wanna be knocked up and sedentary somewhere with a big fat jar of Nutella at your disposal and a big fat spoon with which to shove it into your mouth. You know you wanna be employing whatever vegetable grater you managed to snag from your little fantasy Williams-Sonoma registry grating up some zucchini to bake loaf after loaf of zucchini bread. You want to join a knitting circle so you can finally learn to knit and decide that your first project will be some ill-made booties for the baby. You want to --
Myself: Shut. Up. You are the worst, you know that? You are like, the incarnation of the phrase "You are your own worst enemy." Geez. So what if I'd like to do some version of those things you so snidely characterized my wanting to do? Wanting to learn to knit or have a baby one day does not preclude my finishing a dissertation. Good Lord. Working in academia as well as having a family and baking zucchini bread and learning to knit are not mutually exclusive. Sit yo' ol' limited mindset, negative, snide, sarcastic, jaded behind down somewhere. Here you are talking all this smack about what I "really want to do" when you're actually preventing me from getting into the position of being able to do anything I actually "really want to do" because I'm sitting here listening to you when I should be writing. Finishing my dissertation and graduating are also things I "really want to do." So, please. You need to go somewhere with all that.
Me: (trying to act unfazed) Yeah, okay.
So...productivity. Yeah. It eludes me at times. And it makes me question my goals, motivations and desires. But here we are. I'd venture to say that "productive" is relative. If productivity were measured by sheer words which translate into sheer page numbers...I'm not the most productive gal on the block. But if productivity were judged by the quality of what I have produced thus far...maybe I'd be a little higher up on the productivity totem pole. At least according to my adviser. My goal is to have a complete chapter submitted before I leave for Christmas break. I'm already halfway there. ¡Sí, se puede!
One thing I can say, though, is that I think I've conquered my Facebook compulsion. I used to let it distract me in a terrible way. Like, if I started writing and I hit a thought block, instead of digging down a little deeper into my gray matter and pulling out a plug to reopen the thought flow, I would unhesistatingly skip over to Facebook. Suddenly, my brother's Herculean workout sessions or retellings of adorable children's antics or academic outrage at the oppression-du-jour or Scandal previews became more important than the most important work I have staring me in the face with every breath I take. Write. Write. Write. Write. I would especially get suckered into reading those "numbered" articles (you know the kind. 5 Things that Every...., 10 Tips for...., 17 Ideas to Make Your...., 22 Habits that Every....). Particularly the kind that had to do with relationships and marriage and making it work and what the predictors of success are and how to know you're with the right one and yadda, yadda, yadda.
I deactivated it for a few weeks. I'm technically back on, but now I've limited myself to one checking a day. And no posting. No posting unless I win the lottery or something. Which I wouldn't because I'm not a gambling kinda gal. No interaction of any sort until I make some significant strides toward finishing the seemingly unfinishable.
If you stare at the word 'write' too long, it starts to look strange. It starts to look like it describes some type of extraterrestrian bodily function rather than what it is. And what it is is my ticket out of this extended adolescence. It's the key to escape this transitory state. It's the last step out of this chronically broke student state and into the productive, money-making citizen of society state.
Productive. If you are this, you are the best possible you you could ever be, and if you're not this, you're the worst possible you you could ever be. In our society, productivity is doing. Productivity is producing. Productivity is working. Productivity is progressing. Productivity is validation for existing. And if you aren't doing, producing, working or progressing, you are taking up unearned space. You are breathing in air of which productive people have priority to breathe. I don't really believe that, but that's how I feel as an oft-unproducing person. If you aren't productive, you are a sad, lazy sack of bones.
The fear of existing as a sad, lazy sack of bones prompts me to do something. Eke out a few words. Read a few post-colonial theory-riddled paragraphs. But then the slow going prompts me to have some pretty interesting conversations with myself:
Me: Hey, self, wassup?
Myself: Yo.
Me: So, how's that writing thing going?
Myself: (gives Me major side eye) Really?
Me: (snickering) I know, I know. Makes you want to put it on the "Do not ask" list along with "Where are you going on your honeymoon?" right? Heh, heh.
Myself: Um, can I help you with something? You're distracting me from writing.
Me: C'mon. You call that "writing"? Do you really want to be doing this from here on out? Writing about the hegemony of the patriarchal, racist, sexist nation? Talking about unsettling dominant ideologies and resisting oppression? Girl, stop.
Myself: Um, do you have a problem with what I've chosen to write about? This is my topic. No one's forcing me to write about this. And stop trying to make it sound like overblown academic claptrap. You're so annoying. I know that I have a very relevant, interesting project, and when I'm finished, it's going to be something I'm proud of.
Me: (sighs) Please. We all know what you really want to do.
Myself: Okay, know-it-all. What do I really want to do?
Me: (rolls eyes) Don't act like you don't know. You know good and well you wanna be knocked up and sedentary somewhere with a big fat jar of Nutella at your disposal and a big fat spoon with which to shove it into your mouth. You know you wanna be employing whatever vegetable grater you managed to snag from your little fantasy Williams-Sonoma registry grating up some zucchini to bake loaf after loaf of zucchini bread. You want to join a knitting circle so you can finally learn to knit and decide that your first project will be some ill-made booties for the baby. You want to --
Myself: Shut. Up. You are the worst, you know that? You are like, the incarnation of the phrase "You are your own worst enemy." Geez. So what if I'd like to do some version of those things you so snidely characterized my wanting to do? Wanting to learn to knit or have a baby one day does not preclude my finishing a dissertation. Good Lord. Working in academia as well as having a family and baking zucchini bread and learning to knit are not mutually exclusive. Sit yo' ol' limited mindset, negative, snide, sarcastic, jaded behind down somewhere. Here you are talking all this smack about what I "really want to do" when you're actually preventing me from getting into the position of being able to do anything I actually "really want to do" because I'm sitting here listening to you when I should be writing. Finishing my dissertation and graduating are also things I "really want to do." So, please. You need to go somewhere with all that.
Me: (trying to act unfazed) Yeah, okay.
So...productivity. Yeah. It eludes me at times. And it makes me question my goals, motivations and desires. But here we are. I'd venture to say that "productive" is relative. If productivity were measured by sheer words which translate into sheer page numbers...I'm not the most productive gal on the block. But if productivity were judged by the quality of what I have produced thus far...maybe I'd be a little higher up on the productivity totem pole. At least according to my adviser. My goal is to have a complete chapter submitted before I leave for Christmas break. I'm already halfway there. ¡Sí, se puede!
Saturday, November 08, 2014
The Struggle Is Part of the Story
This semester, I'm teaching two classes I'd never taught before. One is the second semester of elementary Spanish, which I wasn't too freaked out about, but the other, Latino Literature and Culture, represents the first time I've taught a literature, content-based class at the university level. When I first realized I would be teaching it, I was freaking out.
Now, it has turned out to be my favorite class. My students are a diverse group of amazing kids and teaching this course reminds me that I'm doing what I've always wanted to do...teach literature.
A student in my class had problems with anxiety and depression and began missing a lot of days. I became concerned about her and reached out to her and she was upfront with me about what she had been experiencing and let me know that she'd taken steps to get help. She asked if she could stay enrolled in my class and asked if she could make up the work she missed and I let her know I was willing to work with her.
Yesterday, she totally surprised me with a beautiful, hand-decorated thank you card telling me how grateful she is that I gave her a second chance and a drawing featuring the quotation "The struggle is part of the story." It took everything in me not to just well up with tears right then and there.
Sometimes, many times, I question myself. What am I even doing? Why did I decide to start this PhD program? Hard work, very little pay, no guarantees...but I have to stop and realize that I was placed here for a reason. That this difficult time has a purpose, I have a goal in sight, and it will pay off. At the same time, I have to realize that neither is this time a mere means to an end. This is a season in my life, but I'm still living my life. This time is a part of my story.
My student said, "Miss Smith, you have no idea how much you've helped me and how much your understanding means to me." In reality, she has no idea how much she's reminded me of my purpose.
Writing a dissertation is one of the most difficult things I've ever undertaken. It can get very discouraging at times. But I have to remember that starting this program was the best decision I've ever made. Moving to Athens gave me a chance to start over, get grounded, further my education. I have supportive mentors in my committee. I found a loving church community to be a part of. I met the love of my life. All of these things are a part of my story, too, and I am grateful.
Now, it has turned out to be my favorite class. My students are a diverse group of amazing kids and teaching this course reminds me that I'm doing what I've always wanted to do...teach literature.
A student in my class had problems with anxiety and depression and began missing a lot of days. I became concerned about her and reached out to her and she was upfront with me about what she had been experiencing and let me know that she'd taken steps to get help. She asked if she could stay enrolled in my class and asked if she could make up the work she missed and I let her know I was willing to work with her.
Yesterday, she totally surprised me with a beautiful, hand-decorated thank you card telling me how grateful she is that I gave her a second chance and a drawing featuring the quotation "The struggle is part of the story." It took everything in me not to just well up with tears right then and there.
Sometimes, many times, I question myself. What am I even doing? Why did I decide to start this PhD program? Hard work, very little pay, no guarantees...but I have to stop and realize that I was placed here for a reason. That this difficult time has a purpose, I have a goal in sight, and it will pay off. At the same time, I have to realize that neither is this time a mere means to an end. This is a season in my life, but I'm still living my life. This time is a part of my story.
My student said, "Miss Smith, you have no idea how much you've helped me and how much your understanding means to me." In reality, she has no idea how much she's reminded me of my purpose.
Writing a dissertation is one of the most difficult things I've ever undertaken. It can get very discouraging at times. But I have to remember that starting this program was the best decision I've ever made. Moving to Athens gave me a chance to start over, get grounded, further my education. I have supportive mentors in my committee. I found a loving church community to be a part of. I met the love of my life. All of these things are a part of my story, too, and I am grateful.
Thursday, November 06, 2014
"It's going to be hard work." Nawl, really?
So, we opened up little registries at Bed Bath and Beyond and Target. (I might do a little Williams-Sonoma som'n som'n on the side, doe.)
There's just something about deciding upon vacuum cleaners and toasters and towels that make this thing more real. Like, this is actually going down. I'm seriously going to marry this guy.
I don't know why the idea of myself, this me that I've always been, getting married is still hard for me to completely grasp.
Like, there is this person, this completely separate entity, a grown man, who is going to be my husband. A person who, just a year ago, I was still getting to know. Just a year ago, he was just beginning to enter my world and I, just beginning to enter his. This same person is now going to be the one I wake up next to every morning. He's going to be a father to our children. There's still something about the whole thing that's amazing and unbelievable to me.
I was having a conversation with someone today, and they were like,"Enjoy this time now, because there's hard work ahead to keep it a happy marriage." I mean, I get that we're still in the so-called "honeymoon phase" or whatever. I get it. I'm trying to be realistic about things and keep in mind that we're going to have disagreements, that money is going to be tight, and that things are going to come up that neither of us are prepared for that we're just going to have to roll with. But can I be honest and say there's something about this "it's going to be hard work" reminder that slightly annoys me?
There's something about this need for "experienced" people to remind me that "it's not going to be all roses all the time" that is kind of patronizing. I think I'm mature enough to recognize that things aren't always going to be giddily exciting. Of course it's going to be hard work. Good Lord, anything that's worth anything usually is.
I realize that many people who say this are usually doing so with good intentions, but part of me is kind of like, okay, just because your honeymoon phase was short-lived doesn't mean that ours has to be. Just because you got jaded in your marriage because you or your partner stopped putting in the effort doesn't mean the same thing is going to happen to us. Some people make "reality setting in" out to be something negative, when it really doesn't have to be.
I get that we're less experienced in the institution of marriage compared to those who've been married 10+ years. But it's not like we're 18-year-olds without a clue to who we are as people, what matters the most to us, or what our goals are in life.
Speaking of the honeymoon phase...we just made reservations at a quaint little inn in a charming Southern town.
There's just something about deciding upon vacuum cleaners and toasters and towels that make this thing more real. Like, this is actually going down. I'm seriously going to marry this guy.
I don't know why the idea of myself, this me that I've always been, getting married is still hard for me to completely grasp.
Like, there is this person, this completely separate entity, a grown man, who is going to be my husband. A person who, just a year ago, I was still getting to know. Just a year ago, he was just beginning to enter my world and I, just beginning to enter his. This same person is now going to be the one I wake up next to every morning. He's going to be a father to our children. There's still something about the whole thing that's amazing and unbelievable to me.
I was having a conversation with someone today, and they were like,"Enjoy this time now, because there's hard work ahead to keep it a happy marriage." I mean, I get that we're still in the so-called "honeymoon phase" or whatever. I get it. I'm trying to be realistic about things and keep in mind that we're going to have disagreements, that money is going to be tight, and that things are going to come up that neither of us are prepared for that we're just going to have to roll with. But can I be honest and say there's something about this "it's going to be hard work" reminder that slightly annoys me?
There's something about this need for "experienced" people to remind me that "it's not going to be all roses all the time" that is kind of patronizing. I think I'm mature enough to recognize that things aren't always going to be giddily exciting. Of course it's going to be hard work. Good Lord, anything that's worth anything usually is.
I realize that many people who say this are usually doing so with good intentions, but part of me is kind of like, okay, just because your honeymoon phase was short-lived doesn't mean that ours has to be. Just because you got jaded in your marriage because you or your partner stopped putting in the effort doesn't mean the same thing is going to happen to us. Some people make "reality setting in" out to be something negative, when it really doesn't have to be.
I get that we're less experienced in the institution of marriage compared to those who've been married 10+ years. But it's not like we're 18-year-olds without a clue to who we are as people, what matters the most to us, or what our goals are in life.
Speaking of the honeymoon phase...we just made reservations at a quaint little inn in a charming Southern town.
Friday, October 31, 2014
Cherished
Yes, another one of those posts where I'm supposed to be working on my chapter, but I'm blogging instead. Yes, another one of those posts that's about him.
One of the reasons I am super in love and super excited about this guy is that I feel absolutely, positively cherished by him. Not a day goes by that he doesn't tell me he loves me. Not a day goes by that he doesn't tell me I'm beautiful. He loves my hair: straight, wavy, curly, with braids on the side, afroed out, pinned up. He's always grateful when I make dinner and he washes the dishes afterward. He tells me all the time how lucky he is to have me. He tells me all the time how happy I make him. He tells me that I'm perfect for him. He's written songs for me. Poetry for me. He's affectionate. His gestures are simple and sweet. A kiss on the hand, on the forehead. Sunflowers just because. He is expressive. He is creative. He is honest and forthright and consistent. He whispers, "I'm going to take care of you and keep you safe and warm." Stroking my cheek, he says, "I just keep falling more and more in love with you." With his fingers intertwined with mine, "I love to see you smile." This is not fanciful. This is real. This is flesh and blood.
I've always wanted this kind of love. It's a love that is sure, unafraid, unconditional. It's a love that isn't going anywhere. It's a love that makes itself known, no guessing, no wondering. It's honest and bare. No pretense. No need to maintain an image to hide insecurities. It's all in. It's as if I went out, frantically searching for something, and then, exhausted by my own efforts, realizing they were futile, I went back home. And that's when I found it. As if it had always been there, waiting for me.
One of the reasons I am super in love and super excited about this guy is that I feel absolutely, positively cherished by him. Not a day goes by that he doesn't tell me he loves me. Not a day goes by that he doesn't tell me I'm beautiful. He loves my hair: straight, wavy, curly, with braids on the side, afroed out, pinned up. He's always grateful when I make dinner and he washes the dishes afterward. He tells me all the time how lucky he is to have me. He tells me all the time how happy I make him. He tells me that I'm perfect for him. He's written songs for me. Poetry for me. He's affectionate. His gestures are simple and sweet. A kiss on the hand, on the forehead. Sunflowers just because. He is expressive. He is creative. He is honest and forthright and consistent. He whispers, "I'm going to take care of you and keep you safe and warm." Stroking my cheek, he says, "I just keep falling more and more in love with you." With his fingers intertwined with mine, "I love to see you smile." This is not fanciful. This is real. This is flesh and blood.
I've always wanted this kind of love. It's a love that is sure, unafraid, unconditional. It's a love that isn't going anywhere. It's a love that makes itself known, no guessing, no wondering. It's honest and bare. No pretense. No need to maintain an image to hide insecurities. It's all in. It's as if I went out, frantically searching for something, and then, exhausted by my own efforts, realizing they were futile, I went back home. And that's when I found it. As if it had always been there, waiting for me.
Sunday, October 26, 2014
The Evolution of a Wanna-Be Homemaker, Recipe List Addendum
Here's a slight continuation of this post a little earlier today. I wanted to think about and make a list of some of the things I've made for my guy that have gone over well. Some have become more or less regulars or favorites. Some of them are also my go-to's if I have people over for dinner.
Entrees (Word nerd side note: although we borrowed this word from the French and use it to mean the main meal, or main part of the meal, in France, it's actually what we would refer to as an appetizer or starter course.)
1. Chicken florentine over bowtie pasta
2. Chicken poppyseed casserole
3. Eggplant parmesan
4. Spinach/bacon/tomato quiche
5. Zucchini/squash quiche
6. Italian sausage/spinach quiche
7. Broccoli/cheddar quiche
8. Pasta carbonara
9. Red wine pot roast
10. Fajitas
11. Quesadillas
12. Yellow curry
13. Stir fry
14. Meatball stroganoff
15. Baked dijon salmon
16. Roast pork tenderloin
17. Chili
Sides
1. Roasted parmesan green beans
2. Garlic mashed potatoes
3. Stuffed tomatoes
4. Roasted rosemary red potatoes
5. Roasted asparagus
6. Spinach/goat cheese/cranberry/walnut salad
7. Spinach/pork tenderloin/pear/cranberry salad
8. Leftover mashed potato puffs
9. Cheddar cornbread muffins
10. Glazed carrots
11. Sauteed zucchini/squash
(Note to self: I still haven't made squash casserole or corn pudding for him...that should happen soon.)
Desserts
1. Pineapple cherry cobbler
2. Pound cake
3. Homemade vanilla ice cream
4. Pumpkin spice muffins
5. Zucchini bread
(I still need to bake some banana bread. It's been a while.)
When I look back on these culinary achievements, I'm kind of proud of myself. I mean, considering that I used to not know how to make anything. I still haven't made a homemade pizza for him or these little mozzarella-stuffed mini-meatloaves I made once upon a time...
Entrees (Word nerd side note: although we borrowed this word from the French and use it to mean the main meal, or main part of the meal, in France, it's actually what we would refer to as an appetizer or starter course.)
1. Chicken florentine over bowtie pasta
2. Chicken poppyseed casserole
3. Eggplant parmesan
4. Spinach/bacon/tomato quiche
5. Zucchini/squash quiche
6. Italian sausage/spinach quiche
7. Broccoli/cheddar quiche
8. Pasta carbonara
9. Red wine pot roast
10. Fajitas
11. Quesadillas
12. Yellow curry
13. Stir fry
14. Meatball stroganoff
15. Baked dijon salmon
16. Roast pork tenderloin
17. Chili
Sides
1. Roasted parmesan green beans
2. Garlic mashed potatoes
3. Stuffed tomatoes
4. Roasted rosemary red potatoes
5. Roasted asparagus
6. Spinach/goat cheese/cranberry/walnut salad
7. Spinach/pork tenderloin/pear/cranberry salad
8. Leftover mashed potato puffs
9. Cheddar cornbread muffins
10. Glazed carrots
11. Sauteed zucchini/squash
(Note to self: I still haven't made squash casserole or corn pudding for him...that should happen soon.)
Desserts
1. Pineapple cherry cobbler
2. Pound cake
3. Homemade vanilla ice cream
4. Pumpkin spice muffins
5. Zucchini bread
(I still need to bake some banana bread. It's been a while.)
When I look back on these culinary achievements, I'm kind of proud of myself. I mean, considering that I used to not know how to make anything. I still haven't made a homemade pizza for him or these little mozzarella-stuffed mini-meatloaves I made once upon a time...
The Evolution of a Wanna-Be Homemaker
If you would have told my high school/undergrad self that I would ever one day make Italian sausage and spinach quiches and bake zucchini bread (with cranberries) for some dude, I would have laughed at you.
Like, if he's a grown man, he can make his own food. Ugh.
I used to get slightly annoyed with my mom when she would act all accommodating with my dad regarding food. "Honey, are you hungry? Honey, do you want me to fix you x? I can make you a y. Are you sure you don't want z?" Woman, if the man really wanted something, he would get it. And he's an able-bodied human who doesn't need you to be hovering over him like he's a helpless baby bird. Please.
I ask myself, how did I go from that, totally turned off by the very idea of cooking for an able-bodied grown man, and not knowing how to make squat even if I wanted to, to salivating and having housewife fantasies in Williams-Sonoma?
I guess it started when I got my own place. I finally graduated, finally had a real job, finally had my own place, finally had bills to pay, etc. None of this eating out every night. That junk gets expensive. So I guess, it started out of financial expediency. And from getting a Crock Pot for Christmas. I started experimenting, and, Imma be for real, not all the experiments were good.
When my experiments started turning out a little better, I would have people over for dinner here and there. Nothing grand. The years went by and I slowly went accumulating casserole recipes and would eat whatever casserole for days since it was just little old me.
Stuff got real, though, when I had my little garden a couple of summers ago. I had mad veggies and I had to do something with those guys. Zucchini and squash and tomatoes. This time is known as the Era of the Quiche. In addition to quiche, I cooked casseroles and pizzas and soups and roasted and sauteed and stuffed and did anything you can do to vegetables. Oh, and I perfected the art of zucchini bread. I began to like cooking and baking for myself and other people. Sometimes I would bake bread and muffins or whatever to give away to people to help me beat the blues.
Ever since my special guy made his appearance, though, I've been 10 times worse than my mom. I'm always up in that poor guy's face trying to get him to eat stuff. He likes everything I make, though. He's always like, "Oh, this is wonderful." And I get a big fat toothy goofy smile across my face that won't go away.
I don't make stuff for my special guy because he expects me to. I don't do it because I feel obligated to. I don't do it because he's not an able-bodied grown man who can make his own food. (Although, if left to his own devices, "making his own food" amounts to sticking a Lean Cuisine in the microwave or taking a trip to Wendy's.) I do it because it's one of the ways I say "I love you."
Now, here I am, anticipating the return of my sweet fiancé (And, oh, I could nauseate you with the terms of endearment we have for each other. "Sweet fiancé" is nothing. But I'll spare you.) tonight with his favorite kind of quiche and a loaf of zucchini bread. Because I love him.
Like, if he's a grown man, he can make his own food. Ugh.
I used to get slightly annoyed with my mom when she would act all accommodating with my dad regarding food. "Honey, are you hungry? Honey, do you want me to fix you x? I can make you a y. Are you sure you don't want z?" Woman, if the man really wanted something, he would get it. And he's an able-bodied human who doesn't need you to be hovering over him like he's a helpless baby bird. Please.
I ask myself, how did I go from that, totally turned off by the very idea of cooking for an able-bodied grown man, and not knowing how to make squat even if I wanted to, to salivating and having housewife fantasies in Williams-Sonoma?
I guess it started when I got my own place. I finally graduated, finally had a real job, finally had my own place, finally had bills to pay, etc. None of this eating out every night. That junk gets expensive. So I guess, it started out of financial expediency. And from getting a Crock Pot for Christmas. I started experimenting, and, Imma be for real, not all the experiments were good.
When my experiments started turning out a little better, I would have people over for dinner here and there. Nothing grand. The years went by and I slowly went accumulating casserole recipes and would eat whatever casserole for days since it was just little old me.
Stuff got real, though, when I had my little garden a couple of summers ago. I had mad veggies and I had to do something with those guys. Zucchini and squash and tomatoes. This time is known as the Era of the Quiche. In addition to quiche, I cooked casseroles and pizzas and soups and roasted and sauteed and stuffed and did anything you can do to vegetables. Oh, and I perfected the art of zucchini bread. I began to like cooking and baking for myself and other people. Sometimes I would bake bread and muffins or whatever to give away to people to help me beat the blues.
Ever since my special guy made his appearance, though, I've been 10 times worse than my mom. I'm always up in that poor guy's face trying to get him to eat stuff. He likes everything I make, though. He's always like, "Oh, this is wonderful." And I get a big fat toothy goofy smile across my face that won't go away.
I don't make stuff for my special guy because he expects me to. I don't do it because I feel obligated to. I don't do it because he's not an able-bodied grown man who can make his own food. (Although, if left to his own devices, "making his own food" amounts to sticking a Lean Cuisine in the microwave or taking a trip to Wendy's.) I do it because it's one of the ways I say "I love you."
Now, here I am, anticipating the return of my sweet fiancé (And, oh, I could nauseate you with the terms of endearment we have for each other. "Sweet fiancé" is nothing. But I'll spare you.) tonight with his favorite kind of quiche and a loaf of zucchini bread. Because I love him.
Thursday, October 23, 2014
Gone Guy
So...my guy left today to present at a conference in Chicago and will be there for the rest of the weekend.
Sad face.
I guess that means I have no excuse for not being extra productive, right?
What I really want to do is get a greasy Popeye's chicken dinner combo and catch up on Scandal. I don't watch Scandal with him because the one-and-a-half times we tried to watch it together, he was like, "This is ridiculous." And you know what? I ain't even mad at him. Because it is. It totally is.
The show we do watch together is Chopped. When the host is going over the rules as he always does at the beginning of the show, fiancé always says this with him: "...also available to you, our pantry and fridge." I laugh every single time. I have a crush on one of the judges, Scott Conant. It's not that he's so overwhelmingly handsome (although he is, in a slightly rugged way), it's that he has this swagger that's super attractive. And he has dark hair but red facial hair. Just like my fiancé.
I think our little girl has the possibility of having red hair, but he doesn't believe me. He's like, "Two dark-haired people are unlikely to have a red-haired child." But see, I'm trying to tell him that even though neither of us actually has red hair, we both have red-hair potential. Like, the gene exists in us. Him, with the red facial hair, and me with the oh-so-slightly reddish tint of the hair on my head. I'm not talking about straight up fire-engine Irish red. I'm talking about coppery brownish-red. Like this little girl's hair. He won't believe me. I'm telling him that if he doesn't believe it, it will be even less likely to happen. He has to believe it.
Aaargh! I'm not getting anything done! I have to get something done so that when he gets back I will be able to honestly say that I got stuff done. That I was industrious while he was away. Not that I devolved into a greasy food-eating, trashy show-watching leech. I want him to come back to a new me, a me who has transformed into a noble, hard-working, confident scholar. Who has completed a chapter draft so profound that it would move my entire committee to tears. A draft so inviolate that my major professor would have no choice other than to quote Marc Antony's elegy of Brutus in Shakespeare's Julius Caesar to describe my academic prowess.
Double click on "Chapter 2 A Mercy." Look at it for a few minutes. Type out a few words. Feel like they're the most inane thoughts ever conceived of. Stare at it a little more. Try to scrape together a few more brain cells to squeeze out maybe two or three more words. Lather, rinse, repeat. Meanwhile, my guy, if he were here, would be sitting inches away from me, ensconced in a linguistically inspired academic force field, impenetrable by every iota of distraction. He's a machine. An academic work horse. Focused as laser light.
I'm standing on the tracks, waiting for an inspiration train to hit me. In the meantime, I will eke out 3 words an hour as I fight the urge to hit up Popeye's and drown my uninspired dissertation-writing existence in grease and the lives of fictional Washington fixers as I miss my bespectacled, freckled, dimpled, wonderful, hard-working, conference-presenting guy.
Sad face.
I guess that means I have no excuse for not being extra productive, right?
What I really want to do is get a greasy Popeye's chicken dinner combo and catch up on Scandal. I don't watch Scandal with him because the one-and-a-half times we tried to watch it together, he was like, "This is ridiculous." And you know what? I ain't even mad at him. Because it is. It totally is.
The show we do watch together is Chopped. When the host is going over the rules as he always does at the beginning of the show, fiancé always says this with him: "...also available to you, our pantry and fridge." I laugh every single time. I have a crush on one of the judges, Scott Conant. It's not that he's so overwhelmingly handsome (although he is, in a slightly rugged way), it's that he has this swagger that's super attractive. And he has dark hair but red facial hair. Just like my fiancé.
I think our little girl has the possibility of having red hair, but he doesn't believe me. He's like, "Two dark-haired people are unlikely to have a red-haired child." But see, I'm trying to tell him that even though neither of us actually has red hair, we both have red-hair potential. Like, the gene exists in us. Him, with the red facial hair, and me with the oh-so-slightly reddish tint of the hair on my head. I'm not talking about straight up fire-engine Irish red. I'm talking about coppery brownish-red. Like this little girl's hair. He won't believe me. I'm telling him that if he doesn't believe it, it will be even less likely to happen. He has to believe it.
Aaargh! I'm not getting anything done! I have to get something done so that when he gets back I will be able to honestly say that I got stuff done. That I was industrious while he was away. Not that I devolved into a greasy food-eating, trashy show-watching leech. I want him to come back to a new me, a me who has transformed into a noble, hard-working, confident scholar. Who has completed a chapter draft so profound that it would move my entire committee to tears. A draft so inviolate that my major professor would have no choice other than to quote Marc Antony's elegy of Brutus in Shakespeare's Julius Caesar to describe my academic prowess.
Double click on "Chapter 2 A Mercy." Look at it for a few minutes. Type out a few words. Feel like they're the most inane thoughts ever conceived of. Stare at it a little more. Try to scrape together a few more brain cells to squeeze out maybe two or three more words. Lather, rinse, repeat. Meanwhile, my guy, if he were here, would be sitting inches away from me, ensconced in a linguistically inspired academic force field, impenetrable by every iota of distraction. He's a machine. An academic work horse. Focused as laser light.
I'm standing on the tracks, waiting for an inspiration train to hit me. In the meantime, I will eke out 3 words an hour as I fight the urge to hit up Popeye's and drown my uninspired dissertation-writing existence in grease and the lives of fictional Washington fixers as I miss my bespectacled, freckled, dimpled, wonderful, hard-working, conference-presenting guy.
Saturday, October 18, 2014
I need to be grading midterms and working on my chapter,
but instead, I'm letting my mind wander.
I'm sitting across from my fiancé at a coffee shop we frequent quite often and am taking furtive looks at him as he works consistently, steadily. He's reading an article called "The Syllable in Phonological Theory." I have a stack of Latino Literature and Culture midterms looking up at me expectantly. I tried to start grading them, but the first one I attempted to grade is by a student who obviously didn't study and attempts to compensate for that fact by providing vague, poorly-contextualized answers. A total de-motivator. I use a blue pen. It's much more calming. Red ones make me feel like I'm bleeding out my rage upon answers like this.
We're starting marriage counseling soon. In preparation for it, we've been reading a book given to us by our pastor. Like, taking turns reading the (very short) chapters out loud and then discussing them. All I can say is that we've had some much-needed conversations and it's been good for us. Both of us are kind of non-confrontational people, and we both have a tendency to sort of let things go and not address them if nothing manifests as an obvious problem. Reading the book together has pushed us to talk about things that maybe we haven't had occasion to before. It's brought us together in ways I didn't expect and makes me feel that we're establishing a precedent for how we should and will communicate with each other in our marriage.
Things are slowly coming together for the wedding...my fiancé has taken care of the tux situations; what he's wearing, what the groomsmen will wear, and I've finally gotten things together for the bridesmaids. Fun fact: there are twice as many groomsmen as bridesmaids. We had a tasting with the caterer. We've secured a photographer and baker for the cake(s). We've since sent out our save-the-dates and we've designed our invitations. Things are starting to look like this is actually happening.
Our "anniversary" is coming up. October 21, 2013 is the day we first went to coffee together. (See the "Intra-departmental coffee chats" section in a post that very day.) I could never have fathomed that in less than a year from that day we'd be in love, involved in ministry together, engaged, planning our wedding. When I stop to think about it, it truly seems unbelievable. We're going to celebrate by going back to that same coffee shop this coming Tuesday.
Sigh. I can't believe we're already smack in the middle of October. I need to be further along on my dissertation. I really do. But there are only 210 days left until we get married. 'Only' is relative, I suppose.
I'm sitting across from my fiancé at a coffee shop we frequent quite often and am taking furtive looks at him as he works consistently, steadily. He's reading an article called "The Syllable in Phonological Theory." I have a stack of Latino Literature and Culture midterms looking up at me expectantly. I tried to start grading them, but the first one I attempted to grade is by a student who obviously didn't study and attempts to compensate for that fact by providing vague, poorly-contextualized answers. A total de-motivator. I use a blue pen. It's much more calming. Red ones make me feel like I'm bleeding out my rage upon answers like this.
We're starting marriage counseling soon. In preparation for it, we've been reading a book given to us by our pastor. Like, taking turns reading the (very short) chapters out loud and then discussing them. All I can say is that we've had some much-needed conversations and it's been good for us. Both of us are kind of non-confrontational people, and we both have a tendency to sort of let things go and not address them if nothing manifests as an obvious problem. Reading the book together has pushed us to talk about things that maybe we haven't had occasion to before. It's brought us together in ways I didn't expect and makes me feel that we're establishing a precedent for how we should and will communicate with each other in our marriage.
Things are slowly coming together for the wedding...my fiancé has taken care of the tux situations; what he's wearing, what the groomsmen will wear, and I've finally gotten things together for the bridesmaids. Fun fact: there are twice as many groomsmen as bridesmaids. We had a tasting with the caterer. We've secured a photographer and baker for the cake(s). We've since sent out our save-the-dates and we've designed our invitations. Things are starting to look like this is actually happening.
Our "anniversary" is coming up. October 21, 2013 is the day we first went to coffee together. (See the "Intra-departmental coffee chats" section in a post that very day.) I could never have fathomed that in less than a year from that day we'd be in love, involved in ministry together, engaged, planning our wedding. When I stop to think about it, it truly seems unbelievable. We're going to celebrate by going back to that same coffee shop this coming Tuesday.
Sigh. I can't believe we're already smack in the middle of October. I need to be further along on my dissertation. I really do. But there are only 210 days left until we get married. 'Only' is relative, I suppose.
Tuesday, October 07, 2014
It's Really Not My Day, But That's Okay
It's YOUR day. Things should be the way YOU want them to be. You only get married once!
The last statement is usually followed by a qualifier (cuz in these last and evil days...), but these are common things said to the bride-to-be. It's about YOU. What matters is that YOU'RE happy, that you get what YOU want.
But let's be real, shall we? It's so not about me. It just isn't.
There's something slightly meta about my complaint that "my day" is really not about me, and it's this: The very idea of my wedding day being "mine" and the idea that "my happiness" with everything is paramount being foisted onto me is itself what I don't want.
Do you see what I'm saying? People wanting me to "be happy" with all the choices that are made concerning my wedding and wanting me to own "my big day" and wanting me to want "what I want" is itself a type of pressure that masks itself as not-pressure because it's supposedly simply about my desires for something I've always dreamed of.
Rather, something I'm supposed to have always dreamed of.
I'm not saying that I haven't always wanted to get married. There were times in my life that it wasn't a frantic priority, but I'll be honest enough to say that as I got older, it did become more of a priority. It is something that I've always wanted—to be a wife and, one day, a mother. And I am thrilled that I'm marrying a man who has a relationship with God, who absolutely adores me and who also wants to have a family. Marriage and family are things I've always dreamed of, for sure.
But THE DAY. The fanfare of THE DAY is not something I've always dreamed of. Sure, there are things that I've wanted when and if THE DAY ever came for me. I wanted a medieval/Renaissance-style dress with draping Queen Guinevere sleeves. I wanted sunflowers to be involved. I wanted the color lavender to be involved. I wanted it to be outside. These are the specific things I've wanted and, so far, all of those things are going to be a part of THE DAY. Give me my sleeves, my sunflowers and my lavender outside. That is all I ask.
But I haven't had little pink princess cupcakes with frosting and sprinkles dreams of my wedding ever since I was a little girl. I haven't had this rapturous vision of how everything must be for my happiness to be ensured. And sometimes, because I don't have this rapturous vision, because I don't insist on creating this rapturous vision, I feel not-pressured into wanting what I'm not even sure I want.
To be fair, I am a person who is reluctant to speak up about something if I don't really want it or like it. Most people who say these things to me truly want me to be happy and not be afraid to voice what I want. But even the most benign, "Aren't you excited?" or reminder that "it's only one day, so make it count" can make me feel slightly pressured and paranoid. Like, of course I'm excited, but if I'm not the kind of excited people expect to see (after having been single for sooooooo long, oh, Lord I thought you'd never find someone, you should be screaming from the rooftops and flashing your engagement ring in everyone's face because the Lord finally had mercy on your poor single soul), have I exhibited bride-to-be excitement failure? If my one day doesn't blind you with exquisiteness, have I failed to make it count?
My mom said, "If you really don't want to have a ceremony, you don't have to have one." Yeah, right. So many people would call for my public guillotining if I said that for real. But it's not even about my not wanting to have a ceremony. I think it would be nice to have one. There are so many people who have loved and cared for and supported me and who are important to me and I think celebrating this day with them is a nice idea. It's also probably the only day that our families will all be together. It's a day that I'll want to remember. But all of the reasons that I want to have a ceremony have nothing to do with my wedding as MY day. If I have a ceremony (which I will), it will be precisely because it isn't my day. It's also everyone else's day because I'm choosing to share it with them by having a ceremony in the first place. And that's okay.
The last statement is usually followed by a qualifier (cuz in these last and evil days...), but these are common things said to the bride-to-be. It's about YOU. What matters is that YOU'RE happy, that you get what YOU want.
But let's be real, shall we? It's so not about me. It just isn't.
There's something slightly meta about my complaint that "my day" is really not about me, and it's this: The very idea of my wedding day being "mine" and the idea that "my happiness" with everything is paramount being foisted onto me is itself what I don't want.
Do you see what I'm saying? People wanting me to "be happy" with all the choices that are made concerning my wedding and wanting me to own "my big day" and wanting me to want "what I want" is itself a type of pressure that masks itself as not-pressure because it's supposedly simply about my desires for something I've always dreamed of.
Rather, something I'm supposed to have always dreamed of.
I'm not saying that I haven't always wanted to get married. There were times in my life that it wasn't a frantic priority, but I'll be honest enough to say that as I got older, it did become more of a priority. It is something that I've always wanted—to be a wife and, one day, a mother. And I am thrilled that I'm marrying a man who has a relationship with God, who absolutely adores me and who also wants to have a family. Marriage and family are things I've always dreamed of, for sure.
But THE DAY. The fanfare of THE DAY is not something I've always dreamed of. Sure, there are things that I've wanted when and if THE DAY ever came for me. I wanted a medieval/Renaissance-style dress with draping Queen Guinevere sleeves. I wanted sunflowers to be involved. I wanted the color lavender to be involved. I wanted it to be outside. These are the specific things I've wanted and, so far, all of those things are going to be a part of THE DAY. Give me my sleeves, my sunflowers and my lavender outside. That is all I ask.
But I haven't had little pink princess cupcakes with frosting and sprinkles dreams of my wedding ever since I was a little girl. I haven't had this rapturous vision of how everything must be for my happiness to be ensured. And sometimes, because I don't have this rapturous vision, because I don't insist on creating this rapturous vision, I feel not-pressured into wanting what I'm not even sure I want.
To be fair, I am a person who is reluctant to speak up about something if I don't really want it or like it. Most people who say these things to me truly want me to be happy and not be afraid to voice what I want. But even the most benign, "Aren't you excited?" or reminder that "it's only one day, so make it count" can make me feel slightly pressured and paranoid. Like, of course I'm excited, but if I'm not the kind of excited people expect to see (after having been single for sooooooo long, oh, Lord I thought you'd never find someone, you should be screaming from the rooftops and flashing your engagement ring in everyone's face because the Lord finally had mercy on your poor single soul), have I exhibited bride-to-be excitement failure? If my one day doesn't blind you with exquisiteness, have I failed to make it count?
My mom said, "If you really don't want to have a ceremony, you don't have to have one." Yeah, right. So many people would call for my public guillotining if I said that for real. But it's not even about my not wanting to have a ceremony. I think it would be nice to have one. There are so many people who have loved and cared for and supported me and who are important to me and I think celebrating this day with them is a nice idea. It's also probably the only day that our families will all be together. It's a day that I'll want to remember. But all of the reasons that I want to have a ceremony have nothing to do with my wedding as MY day. If I have a ceremony (which I will), it will be precisely because it isn't my day. It's also everyone else's day because I'm choosing to share it with them by having a ceremony in the first place. And that's okay.
Thursday, September 25, 2014
You Aren't Invited
I'm learning that one of the awkwardest things to deal with as an almost-wed is not inviting people to your wedding.
I mean, we'd like to invite a lot of people, but we just can't invite everyone. (Even though we practically have. Good Lord. I'm hoping like 40% of the people we're sending save-the-dates to don't show so we don't have to fork out more dough for extra food from the caterer and extra tables and chairs.)
I guess I'm particularly thinking about people we interact with regularly: departmental people and church folks.
I was putting a couple of save-the-dates in the boxes of some invited colleagues when an uninvited colleague walked in and checked his box. I immediately went into awkward mode. Mind you, he had no idea what I had in my hand, what I was doing and probably wouldn't have cared even if he did, but one overwhelming thought alarm went off in my head: You didn't invite him! You didn't invite him!
I don't know why I'm so worried about it. Most reasonable people realize that two broke grad students aren't going to have lavish nuptials and can't invite the world. But I have had church folk text me informing me that they were coming whether or not they were invited (in a "joking" way, but still) and certain other people have established a precedent of saying bold things to my fiancé and me, so I guess I'm not exactly paranoid.
In order to cut down on church awkwardness, we're just sending save-the-dates to the people closest to us by mail and will decide whether we want to have a "general invite" situation later. I'm not terribly concerned about awkwardness with my home church folks. Though I am sending them to particular families, what will probably end up happening is a bulletin board post of the save-the-date or later invitation and since the wedding will be a nice 3 1/2 hour drive away (actually longer, since the property where we're marrying is nearly 30 minutes from the city where my fiancé and I live) from my hometown, only the diehard will make it.
But departmental awkwardness is another story to me. I don't think anyone will say anything. It's not like people who've gotten save-the-dates are going to be waving them around asking everybody else if they've gotten one too, as if they're free plane tickets to Hawaii or something. But it would be much easier to decipher who got one and who didn't, if someone were into finding out that kind of thing.
There's a part of me that is extremely non-confrontational, but there's another part of me that would dare someone to have the audacity to ask why they weren't invited. Like, part of me feels like, if someone would be audacious enough to ask that, I should be audacious to enough to tell them why, straight up. We can't invite everyone and we didn't consider you to be close enough to us to want to invite you. Or Since when did exes get invited to weddings? You're practically an ex and you know it. Nawl, son. Or Hell would have to freeze over before I'd consider having your drama-laden presence at one of the most important events of my life. No ma'am. Or You wanna be a weirdo towards me for weirdo reasons and then be like, "Girl, I better get an invite," Um, naaa.
Ahem.
I guess invitation awkwardness is one of those soon-to-be-married folks' rites of passage. That and fielding questions about where we're going to live. Um, are you going to be shifting around an academic's collection of heavy books? Are you going to be de-cluttering my hoarder's walk-in closet? Are you going to be lifting and transporting any furniture? No? Oh, okay.
I mean, we'd like to invite a lot of people, but we just can't invite everyone. (Even though we practically have. Good Lord. I'm hoping like 40% of the people we're sending save-the-dates to don't show so we don't have to fork out more dough for extra food from the caterer and extra tables and chairs.)
I guess I'm particularly thinking about people we interact with regularly: departmental people and church folks.
I was putting a couple of save-the-dates in the boxes of some invited colleagues when an uninvited colleague walked in and checked his box. I immediately went into awkward mode. Mind you, he had no idea what I had in my hand, what I was doing and probably wouldn't have cared even if he did, but one overwhelming thought alarm went off in my head: You didn't invite him! You didn't invite him!
I don't know why I'm so worried about it. Most reasonable people realize that two broke grad students aren't going to have lavish nuptials and can't invite the world. But I have had church folk text me informing me that they were coming whether or not they were invited (in a "joking" way, but still) and certain other people have established a precedent of saying bold things to my fiancé and me, so I guess I'm not exactly paranoid.
In order to cut down on church awkwardness, we're just sending save-the-dates to the people closest to us by mail and will decide whether we want to have a "general invite" situation later. I'm not terribly concerned about awkwardness with my home church folks. Though I am sending them to particular families, what will probably end up happening is a bulletin board post of the save-the-date or later invitation and since the wedding will be a nice 3 1/2 hour drive away (actually longer, since the property where we're marrying is nearly 30 minutes from the city where my fiancé and I live) from my hometown, only the diehard will make it.
But departmental awkwardness is another story to me. I don't think anyone will say anything. It's not like people who've gotten save-the-dates are going to be waving them around asking everybody else if they've gotten one too, as if they're free plane tickets to Hawaii or something. But it would be much easier to decipher who got one and who didn't, if someone were into finding out that kind of thing.
There's a part of me that is extremely non-confrontational, but there's another part of me that would dare someone to have the audacity to ask why they weren't invited. Like, part of me feels like, if someone would be audacious enough to ask that, I should be audacious to enough to tell them why, straight up. We can't invite everyone and we didn't consider you to be close enough to us to want to invite you. Or Since when did exes get invited to weddings? You're practically an ex and you know it. Nawl, son. Or Hell would have to freeze over before I'd consider having your drama-laden presence at one of the most important events of my life. No ma'am. Or You wanna be a weirdo towards me for weirdo reasons and then be like, "Girl, I better get an invite," Um, naaa.
Ahem.
I guess invitation awkwardness is one of those soon-to-be-married folks' rites of passage. That and fielding questions about where we're going to live. Um, are you going to be shifting around an academic's collection of heavy books? Are you going to be de-cluttering my hoarder's walk-in closet? Are you going to be lifting and transporting any furniture? No? Oh, okay.
Tuesday, September 16, 2014
Did I Think I'd Ever...?
I always pester my fiancé with questions which begin with "did you think you'd ever" which have something to do with me and/or his life after having met me.
Did you think anyone would ever refer to you as "my baby daddy"? Did you think you'd ever sing gospel music in a church choir? Did you think you'd ever marry a girl whose hair could transform into an afro?
There's a certain way I say "mmhmm." Like it's a faux disbelieving "mmhmm" that supposedly suspects something. For example, if I'm with my fiancé and he waves at some girl I don't know and he turns to me and says, "She's in my class," I might playfully say, "Mmhmm." Today he did it to me. We were at the library and I saw this Brazilian guy who's been accompanying one of my students to class and I saw him and waved and said, "I keep seeing that guy everywhere." And he was like, "Mmhmm." It was SO funny. (He still can't say it like me, though.)
But that was just an aside.
There are things I never thought I'd ever be or do. That's for sure. Did I think I'd ever...
1. Get married in grad school? No, I seriously never thought I would. I hoped I would eventually get married at some point, but still, I was a hard core cynic. I figured maybe I'd meet someone after I finished this program and got a job somewhere and started paying back my student loans. I didn't think I'd meet anyone at my church (I ain't gonna say nothin, but I really didn't) and I definitely didn't think I'd meet anyone in my department. Who knew that I'd meet someone in the department and bring him to church?
2. Become one of those people who let other relationships suffer because of a significant other? Definitely not. I never meant to be that person and I hope I'm not being that person now, but I know that I have been at certain points since I started spending time with my fiancé. I used to think people who would allow long standing friendships and family relationships to fall by the wayside because of a hot new guy were the epitome of shallow and selfish. How could someone do that? How could friends and family who have always been there for you be so easily cast off? I saw first hand how. I experienced how easy it was to slide into a singular special world that consists of only you and that other person at the expense of others. I try to be more aware of not doing that and make an effort to stay connected to other people I truly care about and who care about me.
3. Get picky and emotional over wedding stuff? Nope. I totally envisioned myself as being go-with-the-flow. I've always been horrified at bridezilla stories of women being off the chain over ridiculous stuff. I like to think of myself as easy going, not having strong preferences for things one way or the other. But now I'm seeing myself devolve into a picky little whiner over certain things. Ugh. Girl, stop.
4. Become less motivated in school? Nawl. I have always prided myself on being a driven ubernerd who made academic things happen. Yeah, I've always been a procrastinator of sorts, but I never thought I would languish in laziness as I feel like I have been doing concerning this dissertation. I can't say I'm not making ANY progress, but I need to be making a lot more progress than I'm making now if I plan to graduate and get a job when I say I'm going to. When I need to. I never thought finally getting a man would suck the drive out of me. And frankly, it's kind of embarrassing. Even if it is "normal."
I have a feeling I'm going to be having a whole lot more of these "did I think I'd ever" moments...
Did you think anyone would ever refer to you as "my baby daddy"? Did you think you'd ever sing gospel music in a church choir? Did you think you'd ever marry a girl whose hair could transform into an afro?
There's a certain way I say "mmhmm." Like it's a faux disbelieving "mmhmm" that supposedly suspects something. For example, if I'm with my fiancé and he waves at some girl I don't know and he turns to me and says, "She's in my class," I might playfully say, "Mmhmm." Today he did it to me. We were at the library and I saw this Brazilian guy who's been accompanying one of my students to class and I saw him and waved and said, "I keep seeing that guy everywhere." And he was like, "Mmhmm." It was SO funny. (He still can't say it like me, though.)
But that was just an aside.
There are things I never thought I'd ever be or do. That's for sure. Did I think I'd ever...
1. Get married in grad school? No, I seriously never thought I would. I hoped I would eventually get married at some point, but still, I was a hard core cynic. I figured maybe I'd meet someone after I finished this program and got a job somewhere and started paying back my student loans. I didn't think I'd meet anyone at my church (I ain't gonna say nothin, but I really didn't) and I definitely didn't think I'd meet anyone in my department. Who knew that I'd meet someone in the department and bring him to church?
2. Become one of those people who let other relationships suffer because of a significant other? Definitely not. I never meant to be that person and I hope I'm not being that person now, but I know that I have been at certain points since I started spending time with my fiancé. I used to think people who would allow long standing friendships and family relationships to fall by the wayside because of a hot new guy were the epitome of shallow and selfish. How could someone do that? How could friends and family who have always been there for you be so easily cast off? I saw first hand how. I experienced how easy it was to slide into a singular special world that consists of only you and that other person at the expense of others. I try to be more aware of not doing that and make an effort to stay connected to other people I truly care about and who care about me.
3. Get picky and emotional over wedding stuff? Nope. I totally envisioned myself as being go-with-the-flow. I've always been horrified at bridezilla stories of women being off the chain over ridiculous stuff. I like to think of myself as easy going, not having strong preferences for things one way or the other. But now I'm seeing myself devolve into a picky little whiner over certain things. Ugh. Girl, stop.
4. Become less motivated in school? Nawl. I have always prided myself on being a driven ubernerd who made academic things happen. Yeah, I've always been a procrastinator of sorts, but I never thought I would languish in laziness as I feel like I have been doing concerning this dissertation. I can't say I'm not making ANY progress, but I need to be making a lot more progress than I'm making now if I plan to graduate and get a job when I say I'm going to. When I need to. I never thought finally getting a man would suck the drive out of me. And frankly, it's kind of embarrassing. Even if it is "normal."
I have a feeling I'm going to be having a whole lot more of these "did I think I'd ever" moments...
Monday, September 15, 2014
So Cute
Ahem.
I used to rant back in the day when people tried to set me up with some black dude due to the simple fact that he was a black dude. And church people were the worst, ugh! Like, black dude, wears pants, has the Holy Ghost, there's your soulmate, let's go. Uh, naa.
Don't get it twisted, tho. The desire of my little 18-year-old heart back in the day was a Holy Ghost-filled black dude. Dark chocolate brotha, too. He took me out for my 18th birthday, he accompanied me to my senior prom...(sigh)...but that was back in the day.
Other brothas have made appearances here and there in subsequent years, but fast forward to now. The one who liked it enough to put a ring on it is the opposite of a dark chocolate brotha. In fact, I was told (by loving members of his family) that he consistently wins the "whitest feet" contest every year at the beach. My poor man stays spraying on 100 SPF when out in the sun so he doesn't end up a baked lobster. I chalk it up to ye olde Irishman in 'im.
Anyway, my rant has transformed from "stop assuming me and some random black dude would be magically compatible soulmates" to "stop squealing about how 'cute' me and my white fiancé are when you see us together."
Omigawd, y'all are SO CUTE!
Really?
I know people mean well, honestly. I mean, I'd rather somebody think we're "cute" than make other assumptions. For real. But, still, can we cut it with the "cute"?
I get it. You're expressing your approval. You want us to know that you're not one of the ones who thinks we should "stick to our own kind." Got it. Thanks. I guess.
What I'm saying is when you emphasize how "cute" we are, especially when you most likely don't say that about other couples you're in contact with, what you're doing, even though it's in a "positive" way, is emphasizing our difference. In a way, you're marking us as something foreign, exotic and other, albeit "cute." Do you see what I'm saying?
There's a difference between a normal compliment and an overexaggerated, oft-repeated panegyric. The latter is what I'm ranting against.
Calm down. We're not wide-eyed extraterrestrials with glowing fingertips. We're just a girl and a guy in love.
I used to rant back in the day when people tried to set me up with some black dude due to the simple fact that he was a black dude. And church people were the worst, ugh! Like, black dude, wears pants, has the Holy Ghost, there's your soulmate, let's go. Uh, naa.
Don't get it twisted, tho. The desire of my little 18-year-old heart back in the day was a Holy Ghost-filled black dude. Dark chocolate brotha, too. He took me out for my 18th birthday, he accompanied me to my senior prom...(sigh)...but that was back in the day.
Other brothas have made appearances here and there in subsequent years, but fast forward to now. The one who liked it enough to put a ring on it is the opposite of a dark chocolate brotha. In fact, I was told (by loving members of his family) that he consistently wins the "whitest feet" contest every year at the beach. My poor man stays spraying on 100 SPF when out in the sun so he doesn't end up a baked lobster. I chalk it up to ye olde Irishman in 'im.
Anyway, my rant has transformed from "stop assuming me and some random black dude would be magically compatible soulmates" to "stop squealing about how 'cute' me and my white fiancé are when you see us together."
Omigawd, y'all are SO CUTE!
Really?
I know people mean well, honestly. I mean, I'd rather somebody think we're "cute" than make other assumptions. For real. But, still, can we cut it with the "cute"?
I get it. You're expressing your approval. You want us to know that you're not one of the ones who thinks we should "stick to our own kind." Got it. Thanks. I guess.
What I'm saying is when you emphasize how "cute" we are, especially when you most likely don't say that about other couples you're in contact with, what you're doing, even though it's in a "positive" way, is emphasizing our difference. In a way, you're marking us as something foreign, exotic and other, albeit "cute." Do you see what I'm saying?
There's a difference between a normal compliment and an overexaggerated, oft-repeated panegyric. The latter is what I'm ranting against.
Calm down. We're not wide-eyed extraterrestrials with glowing fingertips. We're just a girl and a guy in love.
Monday, September 01, 2014
Expressions of Ambivalence and Contradiction
I have a confession to make.
Well, it's not a true confession, it's more of an expression of ambivalence and perhaps even contradiction.
I miss the voice I used to have on my blog when I was still single.
This is so crazy, but my blog persona has become kind of one note now. All I talk about is school and my fiancé. Not only that, but I also post a whole lot less than I used to.
But to be fair, school and my fiancé are what my life is about now, so what else am I supposed to talk about? And naturally, I'm going to post less because my priorities have shifted.
I don't want things to be different. I don't want things to be the way they were. I am 100% happy with the way things are now. And I'm 100% looking forward to how things are going to be in the future: after I get married, after I finish school, after I get a job and start a new chapter in a new place...
There is nothing in me that wants anything to retrogress. I like being in this place. For now. Not just this engaged place, but this place in my career, in my schooling, this place in my life as a whole. It's still a transitional place. It's a place that's taken (and is still taking) some getting used to. But overall, there's nothing about it that makes me truly want to return to another time.
I'm still in wonder about the fact that I'm in love. The very real fact that I am now inextricably linked to someone else. That I depend on someone else and that someone else depends on me. The very real fact that I have chosen and I have been chosen and that this choosing is for life. I'm still in wonder at this dizzying turn my life has taken. I'm still in wonder at the idea of someone taking up so much space, and wanting them to take up that space, offering them that space. I'm in wonder at how I got to the point that all I want is to be with him all the time.
But still...how did that become me? How did independent, quirky me end up another moony, swoony, distracted girl in love?
I'm not saying I don't want to be that girl in love. I love being in love. I'm ecstatic over the fact that I've found the person I'm going to spend the rest of my life with. How can you explain just wanting to smell someone? How can you explain the fact that even if he's sweaty he never smells like sweat? How can you explain the pure feeling of contentment I feel as a result of just looking at his profile while he's driving? How can you explain loving to watch him eat because there's something endearing about seeing him enjoy what he's eating? These are inexplicable things.
But do you see how, in spite of the uniqueness of our bond, in spite of the singularity of how I love, of how we love each other, I've somehow been reduced to something ordinary and well-worn? I have joined the ranks of Girls in Love with Guys. Tale as old as time, song as old as rhyme. The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be; and that which is done is that which shall be done: and there is no new thing under the sun.
Do you see what I'm saying? That spunky, defensive, creative me who would launch manifestos and write sternly-worded letters to gross guys who tried to holler at me or even to inanimate objects and craft intriguing pieces of creative non-fiction on my blog is now just like, I love him. Omg, I just love him so much. Omg, and I'm supposed to be writing my dissertation. But I'm so distracted, omg. Do you see what I mean?
Here's something else I haven't been able to figure out: I know when my hair looks to' up. Let's be real. I have moments when my hair is in need of washing, looking like an unattractive haystack. I have moments when my inner 15-year-old bursts out onto my skin and I become the poster child for the "before" picture of a Clearasil ad. I know these things because they are a part of my reality. But still, he says, "You are so beautiful." Can you not see me? But he's telling me that he does.
This is what I will sporadically write about for now. It's just where I am right now, this is my life right now. I might miss my former voice in some ways. But I'm still me.
But to be fair, school and my fiancé are what my life is about now, so what else am I supposed to talk about? And naturally, I'm going to post less because my priorities have shifted.
I don't want things to be different. I don't want things to be the way they were. I am 100% happy with the way things are now. And I'm 100% looking forward to how things are going to be in the future: after I get married, after I finish school, after I get a job and start a new chapter in a new place...
There is nothing in me that wants anything to retrogress. I like being in this place. For now. Not just this engaged place, but this place in my career, in my schooling, this place in my life as a whole. It's still a transitional place. It's a place that's taken (and is still taking) some getting used to. But overall, there's nothing about it that makes me truly want to return to another time.
I'm still in wonder about the fact that I'm in love. The very real fact that I am now inextricably linked to someone else. That I depend on someone else and that someone else depends on me. The very real fact that I have chosen and I have been chosen and that this choosing is for life. I'm still in wonder at this dizzying turn my life has taken. I'm still in wonder at the idea of someone taking up so much space, and wanting them to take up that space, offering them that space. I'm in wonder at how I got to the point that all I want is to be with him all the time.
But still...how did that become me? How did independent, quirky me end up another moony, swoony, distracted girl in love?
I'm not saying I don't want to be that girl in love. I love being in love. I'm ecstatic over the fact that I've found the person I'm going to spend the rest of my life with. How can you explain just wanting to smell someone? How can you explain the fact that even if he's sweaty he never smells like sweat? How can you explain the pure feeling of contentment I feel as a result of just looking at his profile while he's driving? How can you explain loving to watch him eat because there's something endearing about seeing him enjoy what he's eating? These are inexplicable things.
But do you see how, in spite of the uniqueness of our bond, in spite of the singularity of how I love, of how we love each other, I've somehow been reduced to something ordinary and well-worn? I have joined the ranks of Girls in Love with Guys. Tale as old as time, song as old as rhyme. The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be; and that which is done is that which shall be done: and there is no new thing under the sun.
Do you see what I'm saying? That spunky, defensive, creative me who would launch manifestos and write sternly-worded letters to gross guys who tried to holler at me or even to inanimate objects and craft intriguing pieces of creative non-fiction on my blog is now just like, I love him. Omg, I just love him so much. Omg, and I'm supposed to be writing my dissertation. But I'm so distracted, omg. Do you see what I mean?
Here's something else I haven't been able to figure out: I know when my hair looks to' up. Let's be real. I have moments when my hair is in need of washing, looking like an unattractive haystack. I have moments when my inner 15-year-old bursts out onto my skin and I become the poster child for the "before" picture of a Clearasil ad. I know these things because they are a part of my reality. But still, he says, "You are so beautiful." Can you not see me? But he's telling me that he does.
This is what I will sporadically write about for now. It's just where I am right now, this is my life right now. I might miss my former voice in some ways. But I'm still me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)