So we're in month 3? 4? of our organic veggie coop (Community-Supported Agriculture program, to be precise). We get a box of organic, locally-grown veggies (and a few fruits) each week. And the warm, superior feelings that do-gooding produces.
In general, it has been fabulous. We've tried a bunch of new veggies (turnips! Mizuna! Kale!) and greatly increased our veggie eating (which was pretty high). I know that our impact on the environment has gone down, and it feels good to support a local farm. It's nice not having to think about what veggies I want at the grocery store. And it's kind of a fun cooking challenge.
Now for the down side. For a while, I thought beets were going to be the Achilles heel of the whole arrangement. I like beets okay. Dyami hates (hates!) them. I would make them and eat more than I really wanted, and he would eat some and grimace. And when you're paying for the box o' veggies, it's a bit expensive, and is a shame to waste the perfectly good food.
But then Dyami tried juicing the beets! Which uses them efficiently and he likes them fine, and I like it okay, and I don't have to roast them anymore! And he's even using a few carrots to boot!
So now that that's solved, my only problem is lettuce.
Lots and lots (and lots) of lettuce. God. The lettuce.
When we first joined, we were getting about three heads of lettuce each week. Big heads. We were having a lot of salads, but I was kind of proud, because we were getting through the lettuce and not wasting it!
Then my newbie enthusiasm waned. Luckily, so did the number of lettuce heads. It went to two. This was fortuitous. We still ate a lot of salad, but not quite as much.
The problem with lettuce is that you can't juice, stew, roast, or stir-fry it. (Well, you can stir fry, it's just not very good. I know because I tried. It tastes like stir-fried salad. I imagine juiced lettuce tastes like juiced salad.) So if we don't finish the salads, we have an increasing lettuce problem.
The problem has come to a loggerheads.
It got this bad because my birthday/mother's day/our 5th anniversary/father's day/Dyami's dad's 60th birthday all happened within a little more than a month. We went out to dinner a lot, and left town for 2 days. The lettuce apparently had babies while we are gone, because we are in the middle of a lettuce glut. I just can't eat any more salads than I'm doing.
I realized how big the problem was when it started causing marital problems. Usually I dutifully eat salad along with lunch, and get a big plate o' greens along with dinner.
Dyami gets a small bowl, when he remembers. (Keep in mind that we usually have other vegetables with each meal, as well).
Last night I realized I was resenting him because he wasn't a big lettuce eater. Damn you! I thought. You always stick me with the lettuce!
I decided it was time to get rid of some lettuce. Before it started affecting our sex life.
So this morning I took a big bundle of lettuce to a friends house, and told her to have it. Well, actually, I told her I was bringing it, and then just left it on the table. I had intended to divvy it up, but forgot. When I was walking to my car, I remembered the lettuce.
And smiled. A big smile. Because I had just unloaded two heads, leaving me only a head and a half at home! Which we might actually manage to consume in the next week.
My warm, superior feelings should be coming back sometime soon.
Showing posts with label marital bliss. Show all posts
Showing posts with label marital bliss. Show all posts
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Friday, June 8, 2007
righteous anger
So Lucy woke up this morning at five.
Five!
That was after two other wakeups and a normal bedtime. No particular reason why she should have woken early. (I know, I know, besides the fact that she's a baby).
After 40 minutes of nursing/bathroom breaks where she screamed/random tickling (read: super-annoying) with her flailing arms/her pausing during sucking and gumming my nipple (ouch!) I got up in a very foul mood.
I went into the prone position on the bed and prayed. Because I was in a very foul mood and I was blaming all the wakeups on Dyami.
I know, I know, this makes little sense. But see, he had the audacity to sleep while I was getting up. And not move when I was traipsing back and forth from the bathroom to the bed. And to ask if I needed anything when I got up the last time (to which I said, very severely, No.)
So I prayed, because I knew my anger was tiredness-induced and not necessarily justified (possibly, but not necessarily). Then he made things a little better by rolling over and getting up with us.
So I announced, "I'm in a REALLY BAD MOOD."
He nodded, and took care of Lucy while I went into the kitchen and made some eggs to calm my grumbling tummy. And just my grumbling.
When he came in a few minutes later, I was in a slightly better mood. I told him I had been praying that I wouldn't be quite so pissed off at him for Lucy waking up. Because I realized it maybe wasn't completely rational anger.
He laughed and thanked me for realizing that (this time). "Maybe we should give you the water bottle so you can squirt me every time Lucy wakes up. Then we can all suffer together."
I brightened up considerably and went to fetch the water bottle. He thinks he was kidding. Hahahahaha.
Five!
That was after two other wakeups and a normal bedtime. No particular reason why she should have woken early. (I know, I know, besides the fact that she's a baby).
After 40 minutes of nursing/bathroom breaks where she screamed/random tickling (read: super-annoying) with her flailing arms/her pausing during sucking and gumming my nipple (ouch!) I got up in a very foul mood.
I went into the prone position on the bed and prayed. Because I was in a very foul mood and I was blaming all the wakeups on Dyami.
I know, I know, this makes little sense. But see, he had the audacity to sleep while I was getting up. And not move when I was traipsing back and forth from the bathroom to the bed. And to ask if I needed anything when I got up the last time (to which I said, very severely, No.)
So I prayed, because I knew my anger was tiredness-induced and not necessarily justified (possibly, but not necessarily). Then he made things a little better by rolling over and getting up with us.
So I announced, "I'm in a REALLY BAD MOOD."
He nodded, and took care of Lucy while I went into the kitchen and made some eggs to calm my grumbling tummy. And just my grumbling.
When he came in a few minutes later, I was in a slightly better mood. I told him I had been praying that I wouldn't be quite so pissed off at him for Lucy waking up. Because I realized it maybe wasn't completely rational anger.
He laughed and thanked me for realizing that (this time). "Maybe we should give you the water bottle so you can squirt me every time Lucy wakes up. Then we can all suffer together."
I brightened up considerably and went to fetch the water bottle. He thinks he was kidding. Hahahahaha.
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
nervousness
So I read The Price of Motherhood. Besides making me even more of a crazed, liberal, tree-hugging activist, the book also made me a touch nervous.
I'm really glad that I have confidence that my marriage is going to last past whatever troubles we run into, because I am a sitting duck if anything were to happen.
I've been skulking around the house lately, making sure Dyami doesn't start oppressing me. (He managed to diffuse my tension by cleaning the oven and kitchen counters on Monday, unprompted. I love this man!)
Things didn't go so well when he offered his usual incisive/devil's advocate critiques of the book when I read him quotes. Sometimes I don't think guys realize that for them it's a fun parlor game, offering critique, while for us (well, me) we're inserting our own last name for Mr. and Mrs. X, so it's a tad more personal. For example: when I mentioned some ideas regarding equitable divorce, which involved taking much of the guy's salary and giving it to his wife and kids, so that they all would be at the same crappy standard of living, here was his (joking) comment: "If that's the case, it would have been cheaper for the guy to make his wife go back to work, and pay someone else to watch the kids."
For the record, I know he was just playing devil's advocate, and he told me straight out that he agreed that the kids shouldn't be in poverty because Daddy decided he wanted a new girlfriend, but still! I resolved the argument by getting surly and weepy for a while, and then we made up.
But, nervousness. The book is supportive of the choices women make--but is very clear about the long-term consequences if you guess wrong about your marriage. Motherhood is a big factor in poverty, as is divorce; alimony is increasingly less common, and all the stay-home care you provide (or want to provide) your kids doesn't count in its calculation. People tell you you're doing "the most important job" but they don't want to pay you for it, and if you're poor, to get public assistance, you can't stay home with your kids, but must put them in daycare and take a job that pays less than the daycare costs. Social Security ignores your (very real) provision of productive, tax-paying members of society, jobs don't allow flexible time, and the women who have power (and seem to prove that feminism has changed our system) generally don't have kids. Not only that, but traditional family advocates (read: conservatives), feminists, and even regular moms often ignore or criticize or worse, fight against policies that might actually help the grand majority of us. And all these lousy policies are unlikely to change until moms get in power. Which is a bit hard to do when we're locked out by lousy policies.
All of this makes me need a large dose of wheat-free, gluten-free beer. Or a Moms Rising party. (It's happening! Whoop!)
I'm praying that my nervousness would not translate to anxiety, but to action. That Christ would help me not worry about what I can't control (the future, for example) and instead speak up for those that don't have the time or freedom to read hair-raising books.
I'm really glad that I have confidence that my marriage is going to last past whatever troubles we run into, because I am a sitting duck if anything were to happen.
I've been skulking around the house lately, making sure Dyami doesn't start oppressing me. (He managed to diffuse my tension by cleaning the oven and kitchen counters on Monday, unprompted. I love this man!)
Things didn't go so well when he offered his usual incisive/devil's advocate critiques of the book when I read him quotes. Sometimes I don't think guys realize that for them it's a fun parlor game, offering critique, while for us (well, me) we're inserting our own last name for Mr. and Mrs. X, so it's a tad more personal. For example: when I mentioned some ideas regarding equitable divorce, which involved taking much of the guy's salary and giving it to his wife and kids, so that they all would be at the same crappy standard of living, here was his (joking) comment: "If that's the case, it would have been cheaper for the guy to make his wife go back to work, and pay someone else to watch the kids."
For the record, I know he was just playing devil's advocate, and he told me straight out that he agreed that the kids shouldn't be in poverty because Daddy decided he wanted a new girlfriend, but still! I resolved the argument by getting surly and weepy for a while, and then we made up.
But, nervousness. The book is supportive of the choices women make--but is very clear about the long-term consequences if you guess wrong about your marriage. Motherhood is a big factor in poverty, as is divorce; alimony is increasingly less common, and all the stay-home care you provide (or want to provide) your kids doesn't count in its calculation. People tell you you're doing "the most important job" but they don't want to pay you for it, and if you're poor, to get public assistance, you can't stay home with your kids, but must put them in daycare and take a job that pays less than the daycare costs. Social Security ignores your (very real) provision of productive, tax-paying members of society, jobs don't allow flexible time, and the women who have power (and seem to prove that feminism has changed our system) generally don't have kids. Not only that, but traditional family advocates (read: conservatives), feminists, and even regular moms often ignore or criticize or worse, fight against policies that might actually help the grand majority of us. And all these lousy policies are unlikely to change until moms get in power. Which is a bit hard to do when we're locked out by lousy policies.
All of this makes me need a large dose of wheat-free, gluten-free beer. Or a Moms Rising party. (It's happening! Whoop!)
I'm praying that my nervousness would not translate to anxiety, but to action. That Christ would help me not worry about what I can't control (the future, for example) and instead speak up for those that don't have the time or freedom to read hair-raising books.
white noise
Dyami, last night, sitting in a quiet house with me, still recovering from cold-induced congestion:
D (looking around, confused): Is the radio on or something?
Me: No.
D: (Looking around) What's that noise, then?
Me: ?
D: (Looking at me) Oh, wait. It's your breathing.
Me: (Wheeze, snort, sigh.)
D (looking around, confused): Is the radio on or something?
Me: No.
D: (Looking around) What's that noise, then?
Me: ?
D: (Looking at me) Oh, wait. It's your breathing.
Me: (Wheeze, snort, sigh.)
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
general awesomeness
Dyami and I on the floor, entertaining Lucy:
Me: I want to go blog.
D: Okay.
Me: Except I have to think of a topic.
D: What about how awesome your husband is?
Me: Hmmm. Any specific ways is he awesome?
D: No, just general awesomeness.
Me: Hmmm. Okay. Take the baby.
D: What! No, wait. I was kidding! Sigh.
Ways Dyami is Awesome.
1) Okay, his name is Dyami Zed. 'Nuff said.
2) Last night, after a few too many wakeups, he said, "You should go in the other bedroom to sleep. I would hate to have you move her to her bed and have her wake up again. I'll sleep with her." She wiggled all night. I love this man.
3) He's a very good breakdancer. Ask him to moonwalk for you. Trust me, you won't be disappointed.
4) He taught me how to entertain little kids. Sample: when a child counts to five in Spanish, waiting for validation, you say, "Hmmm. Did you say apple, banana, cherry, pinapple, papaya? No? Oh! You must have said, Kangaroo, dog, goldfish, ox, rhino." Etcetera.
5) He rides his bike to work to save energy. And wanders our house saying, "What other things can we do to save energy and eliminate waste?"
6) He thinks the "Evil" level Sudoku puzzles he gets off the Internet are easy.
7) He once wrote an email to the CEO of his old company, cc-ing his boss, saying that he felt honor-bound to let the CEO know that their main product sucked, and that he had grave concerns about the direction of the company. Then he sat down in a meeting with the CEO/his boss and explained all those things. He was not fired. The CEO just explained why their company did, in fact, suck (hint: they wanted to get bought out in a massive IPO, five years after the dot-com bubble broke).
8) He likes helping people. He wrote custom software for his brother to help him shoot a stop-motion animated commercial. And re-wrote it again. And re-wrote it. He also wrote a program (taking a month of free time) for a friend of ours so our friend wouldn't have to get up at the crack of dawn every week to stare at a computer screen for an auction he needed to bid on for his job.
9) He's speedy! He plays soccer and darts around the field. He's so fast it looks like he's in two places at once!
10) He manages to acquire new skills easily. Need a closet installed? Dyami will draw up plans in Visio and figure out how to do it. New fireplace? No problem. He looks up how to take down a gigantic mirror adhered to the wall (it involved a lot of duct tape, then smashing the mirror and peeling off the jagged pieces), cuts the tile himself and refurbishes the rusted grating.
11) He has better grammar than I do. Like he knows actual grammatical rules. And when his company asks him to review web pages, promotional materials and such, he makes comments like, "What type of audience are you trying to aim this brochure at?" or, "This sentence is ambiguous as written." or "These navigation bars aren't clear. I don't know where I'll navigate when I click Healthcare or Business." People. This guy is a computer programmer.
12) Smart as he is, I still beat him in Scrabble. Well, okay, not last game.
Okay, enough embarrassing Dyami. Our baby is getting just a touch fussy.
Me: I want to go blog.
D: Okay.
Me: Except I have to think of a topic.
D: What about how awesome your husband is?
Me: Hmmm. Any specific ways is he awesome?
D: No, just general awesomeness.
Me: Hmmm. Okay. Take the baby.
D: What! No, wait. I was kidding! Sigh.
Ways Dyami is Awesome.
1) Okay, his name is Dyami Zed. 'Nuff said.
2) Last night, after a few too many wakeups, he said, "You should go in the other bedroom to sleep. I would hate to have you move her to her bed and have her wake up again. I'll sleep with her." She wiggled all night. I love this man.
3) He's a very good breakdancer. Ask him to moonwalk for you. Trust me, you won't be disappointed.
4) He taught me how to entertain little kids. Sample: when a child counts to five in Spanish, waiting for validation, you say, "Hmmm. Did you say apple, banana, cherry, pinapple, papaya? No? Oh! You must have said, Kangaroo, dog, goldfish, ox, rhino." Etcetera.
5) He rides his bike to work to save energy. And wanders our house saying, "What other things can we do to save energy and eliminate waste?"
6) He thinks the "Evil" level Sudoku puzzles he gets off the Internet are easy.
7) He once wrote an email to the CEO of his old company, cc-ing his boss, saying that he felt honor-bound to let the CEO know that their main product sucked, and that he had grave concerns about the direction of the company. Then he sat down in a meeting with the CEO/his boss and explained all those things. He was not fired. The CEO just explained why their company did, in fact, suck (hint: they wanted to get bought out in a massive IPO, five years after the dot-com bubble broke).
8) He likes helping people. He wrote custom software for his brother to help him shoot a stop-motion animated commercial. And re-wrote it again. And re-wrote it. He also wrote a program (taking a month of free time) for a friend of ours so our friend wouldn't have to get up at the crack of dawn every week to stare at a computer screen for an auction he needed to bid on for his job.
9) He's speedy! He plays soccer and darts around the field. He's so fast it looks like he's in two places at once!
10) He manages to acquire new skills easily. Need a closet installed? Dyami will draw up plans in Visio and figure out how to do it. New fireplace? No problem. He looks up how to take down a gigantic mirror adhered to the wall (it involved a lot of duct tape, then smashing the mirror and peeling off the jagged pieces), cuts the tile himself and refurbishes the rusted grating.
11) He has better grammar than I do. Like he knows actual grammatical rules. And when his company asks him to review web pages, promotional materials and such, he makes comments like, "What type of audience are you trying to aim this brochure at?" or, "This sentence is ambiguous as written." or "These navigation bars aren't clear. I don't know where I'll navigate when I click Healthcare or Business." People. This guy is a computer programmer.
12) Smart as he is, I still beat him in Scrabble. Well, okay, not last game.
Okay, enough embarrassing Dyami. Our baby is getting just a touch fussy.
Thursday, May 3, 2007
surviving
So on Monday night and Tuesday night, Dyami woke to hear me cussing. I hesitate to tell you which word, because you'll realize I'm a bad person, completely unsuited for motherhood. Sigh. Okay, I'll give you a hint: it rhymed with duck.
Anyway, I said it a lot. As I was trying to get Lucy to fall asleep after a few hours of trying (5.5 hours on Monday. Fewer hours, but later, on Tuesday).
I don't know about you, but the mental image I have of myself is spouting bad cuss words in the middle of the night. Not the image I want Dyami carrying around, either.
Thankfully, there was no cussing last night. However, I did rant for a while. I'm not sure how long. (Doesn't ranting just make the time fly?) When Dyami pointed out that I was ranting, I got really pissed, and then about ten minutes later (after crying), found it really funny. Makes sense, right?
I felt a little better after meeting with some moms this morning. Turns out three of the four of us had some sort of meltdown last night. So I'm doing about average. Whoopee!
I have realized that one does not emerge from the first year of mommyhood unscathed. One would desire to approach the experience with boldness, grace, and emerge stronger for it. Get our hair mussed, perhaps, but not feel like Valium was called for. Not for our sanity so much, but for the sanity of those that have to live with us.
Question: Why am I using the royal "we"?
I joke about my midnight f-bombs, but in reality, I'm ashamed. Why do I have such anxiety? Why do I let my fear get so ugly? Where is my peace, my joy, my unshakable foundation in the Spirit?
Scary thought: I'm doing much better than I was a few months ago! And these past few nights have been tough, but they have been by no means the worst I've been through! So why cussing now?
This ugliness was right below the surface, pre-Lucy. I'm just more raw, which is why all this stuff comes out now.
Also: I don't want the ugliness to get worse, when she's actually able to understand me better.
I have been praying more than usual, lately, which is possibly why I didn't get out the steak knives along with the f-bombs. But I would like to be doing better. To be better.
So how do I find grace and quiet strength in the middle of the night?
I don't have any answers for myself. (I tend to talk to myself a lot. When I'm not using the royal "we").
On the prayer site I've been trying to use, this was the reading this noon:
"O God, you will keep in perfect peace those whose minds are fixed on you; for in returning and rest we shall be saved; in quietness and trust shall be our strength. " Isaiah 26:3; 30:15
I don't know what I'm returning to, but I want to turn that way. Badly. But my spirit is like balky stroller.
Oh, Lord, may I turn your way. And keep fixed on you. May I be strong, in the middle of the night. May you be Lord of my nights, as well as my days.
May my mouth be filled with your praise, and not--well, all those other things.
May it be filled with silence, if nothing else.
Anyway, I said it a lot. As I was trying to get Lucy to fall asleep after a few hours of trying (5.5 hours on Monday. Fewer hours, but later, on Tuesday).
I don't know about you, but the mental image I have of myself is spouting bad cuss words in the middle of the night. Not the image I want Dyami carrying around, either.
Thankfully, there was no cussing last night. However, I did rant for a while. I'm not sure how long. (Doesn't ranting just make the time fly?) When Dyami pointed out that I was ranting, I got really pissed, and then about ten minutes later (after crying), found it really funny. Makes sense, right?
I felt a little better after meeting with some moms this morning. Turns out three of the four of us had some sort of meltdown last night. So I'm doing about average. Whoopee!
I have realized that one does not emerge from the first year of mommyhood unscathed. One would desire to approach the experience with boldness, grace, and emerge stronger for it. Get our hair mussed, perhaps, but not feel like Valium was called for. Not for our sanity so much, but for the sanity of those that have to live with us.
Question: Why am I using the royal "we"?
I joke about my midnight f-bombs, but in reality, I'm ashamed. Why do I have such anxiety? Why do I let my fear get so ugly? Where is my peace, my joy, my unshakable foundation in the Spirit?
Scary thought: I'm doing much better than I was a few months ago! And these past few nights have been tough, but they have been by no means the worst I've been through! So why cussing now?
This ugliness was right below the surface, pre-Lucy. I'm just more raw, which is why all this stuff comes out now.
Also: I don't want the ugliness to get worse, when she's actually able to understand me better.
I have been praying more than usual, lately, which is possibly why I didn't get out the steak knives along with the f-bombs. But I would like to be doing better. To be better.
So how do I find grace and quiet strength in the middle of the night?
I don't have any answers for myself. (I tend to talk to myself a lot. When I'm not using the royal "we").
On the prayer site I've been trying to use, this was the reading this noon:
"O God, you will keep in perfect peace those whose minds are fixed on you; for in returning and rest we shall be saved; in quietness and trust shall be our strength. " Isaiah 26:3; 30:15
I don't know what I'm returning to, but I want to turn that way. Badly. But my spirit is like balky stroller.
Oh, Lord, may I turn your way. And keep fixed on you. May I be strong, in the middle of the night. May you be Lord of my nights, as well as my days.
May my mouth be filled with your praise, and not--well, all those other things.
May it be filled with silence, if nothing else.
Friday, April 13, 2007
the wrestler
So I don't really like seeing God in a different, scary way. I would kind of prefer to go back to the easy comfortable, "God is my BarcaLounger*"
Today I went to hang out with some cool women to pray, and I asked for prayer about how I've been thinking about God. I'm pretty good friends with some of these women, and I still couldn't come out and directly say, "So I called God She the other day. Still want to pray with me?"
They seemed pretty unfazed by my honest, if not completely all-inclusive description of what I've been thinking. I think I said something about "considering the feminine aspects of God".
To make things worse, Dyami isn't super excited about my (admittedly) unorthodox thinking. We've agreed to disagree for now, but we're both pretty bummed out to not be on the same page about something we both care about. And I respect this guy's opinion more than practically anyone's in the world, so it hurts my brain not to be able to come to agreement.
Two thoughts comfort me.
1) God is big enough that even if I'm calling him or her the wrong thing, he will forgive me. I'm truly seeking His will, His image here. Her image. Whatever. I'm sick of second guessing pronouns, people!
2) God honors a wrestling match. Jacob (hardly the poster child for the goody two-shoes set) wrestled with Him and received His blessing. I'm allowed to think unconventional thoughts in a sincere desire to know God better. I'm allowed to wrestle with who I think God is.
I made some apple crisp. Apple crisp helps everything, including existential wrestling matches with the divine. Excuse me while I go try to make weight.
*What the heck is a BarcaLounger, anyway? Look here. Motto: "Because you're comfortable with the best."
Today I went to hang out with some cool women to pray, and I asked for prayer about how I've been thinking about God. I'm pretty good friends with some of these women, and I still couldn't come out and directly say, "So I called God She the other day. Still want to pray with me?"
They seemed pretty unfazed by my honest, if not completely all-inclusive description of what I've been thinking. I think I said something about "considering the feminine aspects of God".
To make things worse, Dyami isn't super excited about my (admittedly) unorthodox thinking. We've agreed to disagree for now, but we're both pretty bummed out to not be on the same page about something we both care about. And I respect this guy's opinion more than practically anyone's in the world, so it hurts my brain not to be able to come to agreement.
Two thoughts comfort me.
1) God is big enough that even if I'm calling him or her the wrong thing, he will forgive me. I'm truly seeking His will, His image here. Her image. Whatever. I'm sick of second guessing pronouns, people!
2) God honors a wrestling match. Jacob (hardly the poster child for the goody two-shoes set) wrestled with Him and received His blessing. I'm allowed to think unconventional thoughts in a sincere desire to know God better. I'm allowed to wrestle with who I think God is.
I made some apple crisp. Apple crisp helps everything, including existential wrestling matches with the divine. Excuse me while I go try to make weight.
*What the heck is a BarcaLounger, anyway? Look here. Motto: "Because you're comfortable with the best."
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