ProudMary

Vegan in a Former Life

This afternoon the Cap'n, Poopies and I packed up and headed over to the local farm animal sanctuary for their annual Thanks"Living" Dinner.  Which of course means that there was no meat served, in fact it was a totally vegan meal, and a pretty tasty one at that.  Poopies had a great time, and wore himself out trying to touch the real, live, and very impressive turkeys that were ambling about the place, and gawking at the goats, pigs and cows outside in the pastures.

I'll admit I was sort of hoping that after spending $40 per person that we might be spared the slide shows of sad animal faces and heightened emotions with shrill voices raised about factory farming and unethical farming practices.  It's not that I don't know, in fact that's why I was there.  But I do get upset about these things, and I just sort of wanted to enjoy my meal and not get all sentimental and angry about the injustices of the world. 

See, we are vegetarians who used to be vegan.  The Cap'n and I met as vegetarians and quickly converted to veganism, where we remained for eight years.  I can't really defend why we stopped, but I know that I was the catalyst.  I got a stress fracture in my hip, and got scared that my bones were weak.  Sure, I could have just taken a supplement, but that cheese sandwich looked so much better!  Then I got pregnant, and that was it.  I had to have the dairy, there was no way I could get by it.  And I brought the Cap'n down with me.  We only ate organic eggs and dairy, for what it's worth.  Which apparently isn't much according to those who know better.

And I learned something new tonight, something that I actually really didn't want to know.  That the dairy and veal industries are undeniably linked.  In fact, veal is simply the concept they devised to market all the male-born dairy cows that they can't use in the dairy industry.  And that's really bad.  I'm not quite sure of what I'll do with that information.  I want to lead an ethical life, but honestly, eight years of veganism taught me that the whole enterprise, while being very respectable and worthwhile, is kind of a giant pain in the ass.  And I'm also undecided about how it would affect Poopies and our little babybud, and children's constant quest to fit in and participate.  Vegetarianism is socially accepted, but veganism is seen as radical.  So there it is.  Mary is not so Proud today.  Today, Mary is feeling pretty shamed and hypocritical.

Continental Divide

Sometimes I love my life here.  It feels right.  It feels like the best life I could be leading.  I glow with the satisfaction of finally finding my groove in the world and being surrounded by the people I love.

And sometimes I loathe it (betcha knew that was coming.)  Sometimes I want to throttle people, including my sweet and well-intentioned husband, quite specifically, for bringing attention to the fact that I'm not currently feeling the love.  So what.  Let it alone.  Set course for the calmer waters ahead and stay out of my rocky lagoon.  That much should be clear.

Lately I've been feeling these bi-polar extremes very, painfully, close together.  It's like putting heated glass into icewater.  I'm straining to keep from shattering under all the required expansion.  I know I'm obscenely hormonal these days.  I can feel its inner workings.  I know that when I feel the irritation and despair coming on, that there is no sensible reason for it, that I cannot explain it to anyone because how do you defend an emotion other than to say that it's simply there and there's not much you can do about it other than various methods of distraction and probably some necessary but unavailable isolation.

I admit that I'm having some worrisome feelings about all the changes underfoot.  As much as I look forward to another little person in the house, we don't have room for another baby.  We're already all crammed into a single bedroom.  And we don't have money for a larger house.  I am realizing that being a business owner/operator and a mother/wife is not enough.  I need to be just simply "me" somewhere, and I'm realizing, particularly in light of a new baby, that that will be sacrificed for at least another few years.  Years in which we will likely be risking financial ruin...again...to get a house that fits our lives.  God.  The idea of everyone having their own bedroom makes me weep with hypothetical joy.

That's it, no happy, clean wrap-up.  Carry on.  Make it work.

Changing Shells

One of the major concessions we made when we moved to the mountains was in the size of our living space at this lodge.  Which seems to be a disturbing running trend.  We first lived in a 2,300 sf loft, then to a little townhouse with probably 1,800 sf, and now we're scrunched into about 850 sf.  That's two adults, one toddler, three dogs and two cats.  It is sheer madness.  We sneeze and the place is a wreck.  Nothing has a proper place, because that would mean we had storage, which would imply that we had space to organize.  And we so don't. You just can't squeeze blood from a turnip, as they say.  So, we've always said it was temporary until we figured something better out, maybe a few years from now.

Well, now that babybud #2 is on the way, a few years from now seems an impossibly long time to wait.  Even though the idea of taking on another mortgage makes my morning sickness feel like a summer's day, the idea of sharing our bedroom with two small people with erratic sleeping schedules and keeping everyone happy whilst living like pilgrims makes my left eye twitch.  It really won't work.  We really won't be happy.  We know this.  And this is why we have talked of little else since last week.  The Cap'n now has a fully completed computer model of our little house that we can virtually tour and arrange furniture in.  It's like playing dolls!  He can even strip away half of it so it actually looks like a doll house!  And even though it's fun to imagine, I'm worried we're getting a bit too excited for something that probably can't happen for at least another year and a half.  Seriously,  we talk about it ALL THE TIME. 

When we bought our last house in Queens in 2002, we had similar high hopes.  There were computer models and sweet dreams that were dreamt.  And it finally got there.  And then we promptly moved.  I loved how the house turned out and it was such a bitter pill to swallow that we couldn't have it, this lovely space that we designed and renovated, that I'm having a hard time falling in love with the idea of this new house.  Because I feel like if we save and sacrifice to get it, we won't get to enjoy it either.  In fact, even in the loft we had just completed renovations just to get tossed on our cans.  It just keeps happening!  And it makes me feel powerless because one of the only things I've ever wanted, and worked hard to get, is a nice place to live.  And I've never had that as an adult.  And I'm 32.  That really sucks.

In any event, if we can piece together the finances, we will do what needs to be done to make it happen.  Our lives will be in chaos for a few more years while it's in progress.  Frankly, after the last six years, I now embrace chaos.  At least it means you're getting somewhere, right?

Next time:  Starting to feel like a new mama again

The More the Merrier

About a month or two ago, I turned to the Cap'n and said, "You know, if we wanted to have another kid, we should probably start talking about doing it soon.  My eggs aren't getting any fresher and I wouldn't want them to be too far apart."

Well, careful what you even dare to mention, because it appears that's all it sometimes takes!  Yes, I'm pregnant again.  And it appears that our fertility is stupefying.  Seriously.  We had sex twice that month. TWICE.  But, despite the fact that that, or any, conversation didn't end with a rollicking round of "let's do it!!!", we're really happy and excited to be heading into Parenthood:  Round Two.

Assuming everything goes ok, of course.  I'm only 6 weeks along, which I know is astonishingly early to be spreading the news, particularly if you've had bad luck in the past.  And the truth is that we haven't told most people we know, only family at this point.  But hey, you're the internet.  And if I've learned anything, it's that it's not only ok, but encouraged to be imprudent in the face of the internet.  (By the way, here's my boobs.)  And, if I have to tell you that things didn't work out, well, there's really no harm done.  But let's all just cross our fingers anyway, m' k?

Being the 6th week, the symptoms are starting to kick in.  For me, that's total fatigue, my bowels taking an entire moon cycle to move, extreme pickiness in regard to eating, often unfortunately resulting in a need to change course in mid-meal (course! get it? of course you do!), and apparently making awful successive puns.  But, it's actually comforting to have a few symptoms.  Last week I didn't and had such a hard time believing it was true, I consulted many too many packages of pregnancy tests.  And they are expensive.

Stay tuned for next time:  What an uninsured woman does when she learns she's pregnant.

Back to Nermal

Ended up, we survived the in-law visit.  I was even (!) a bit sad to see them go.  Well, until about an hour later when the Cap'n told me that according to those more perfect than we, it has been evaluated that we live in utter chaos and our little boy needs to be on a set eating schedule.  Well, you try to spend 12 hours a day painting the outside of the motel and see how often you get to do the laundry, dishes, or to check in on the highly experienced woman who is tending to your child, and whom you assume will procure the necessary nourishment at the appropriate time.  What-freakin-ever.  The Cap'n did score serious points by sticking up for me and our chaotic family unit on multiple occaisions, and for that I thank him.

The good news is that we got the place painted and the difference is simply astounding.  Pride!  I feel pride when I see it shine!  People's first impressions have clearly made a marked improvement.  Which isn't surprising.  The owners of the place from 1956-1992 stopped by to roll their eyes at the previous owners' neglect and tell us that the last time it was painted was probably 20 years ago, and it really did show.

Oh, and in the process we got a power washer.  And now the Cap'n is threatening to power wash everything from the car, to the dogs, cats, and even me.  They are damned impressive things.  The power!  The washing!  It seriously just blasts away all the bad.  I wish that it either didn't cost $300, or we hadn't bought it now, at the beginning of the Autumn slump, but I was frankly outnumbered.  And then given lists upon lists by no fewer than three people of items on the property that could and downright should be washed on a regular basis. 

In other news, it seems that I've agreed to attempt to post every day for the month of November, and although I know the blog police won't hunt me down if I fail, I'm honestly going to make a sincere effort.  I miss the days when my mind was actively constructing stories and perspectives, and I know it's just a matter of practice to get it going again.  My further hope is that it will force me to carve out some time each day to do something creative for myself, which will naturally evolve into me making artwork once again.  And perhaps put some happy life into this thing again.  Because, man, I re-read this thing lately and holy kamoly, I sound pretty freakin depressed, no?

Thank God that's Over

The summer, the busy, hot, unflinching, unyielding summer is finally freaking over.  I used to look forward to summer, a time of relaxed schedules and endless sunshine, but now it's just a treadmill of people and work.  Oh, yeah, and money.  That part's more ok.

It actually wasn't a bad summer.  Mostly really nice people, and we did twice (TWICE!) the sales of last year.  We're actually pretty pleased.  You might surmise, then, that we had packed away at least a few thousand in anticipation of the Autumn slump, but you would be sadly, sorely wrong.  We just barely caught up on bills from the Winter and Spring, and since now I have a resident TreeFreak, anything we had left got planted with a nice thick mulch complete with a charming ring of collected rocks all patted to perfection and lovingly watered daily.  The landscaping is coming along nicely, but aside from the money thing, if I have to stand outside and engage in yet another hour-long "But where should it go???" conversation that honestly only serves to elongate the Cap'n's tree-related orgasm I'm gunna hurl me up some pinecones to throw at him.

Poopies has finally seen fit to produce some verbage from his sweet baby lips, and is absolutely into absolutely everything.  I guess this is the "terrible twos?"  Seriously, he's like a manic depressive monkey.  One minute happy and silly and totally amazing and hilarious, and then his evil half takes over and it is the-end-of-all-happiness-everything-is-horrible-and-hurts-and-you did-it-to-me-why.  And then he disassembles the kitchen.  But seriously, he's a fantastic little guy.  It's like 95% joy, funny and silly, and 5% creature from the depths.  Which is far better than my happy/grumpy ratio, actually, so who am I to complain.  And the love I have for this kid, it's honestly ocean-sized.  Which is wonderful and scary too.

The Cap'n and I had our four-year anniversary yesterday.  We hadn't had a day off since mid-July, and both totally forgot until the day before, when I turned to him and said "Oh my god, tomorrow's our anniversary.  You...didn't...get me...anything, right?"  To which he thankfully breathed a sigh of relief and said no.  Which sounds kind of pathetic, but it was actually very sweet.  True, some romantic indulgence would have been nice if we had some time and weren't exhausted, but after ten years, I've learned that achieving harmony can be the sweetest place to be.  And it has been a fucking crazy four years, and just weathering them together has been solidifyng enough.  Since we had accidently taken the day before off and eaten out for the last 5 meals, and since the Cap'n had caught a cold (which I plan to catch in 2-3 days), we celebrated by working and doing business shopping all day, and then heating up some soup and watching the 100 Most Shocking Moments of Rock.

One on One

While I was a senior in college, and still living on campus (my parents' noble attempt to keep me safe in a pretty sketchy part of Brooklyn), I scored a sweet apartment with my own bathroom and balcony.  I also got an awesome apartment mate, Aubri.  At a willowy six feet tall, she's disarmingly beautiful, simply a goddess.  She's also one of the most kind, genuine and sensitive people that I've ever known.  She only lived in my apartment for a few months, until it was time to move onto her sixth college in three years, but we made such an impression on each other that we've been close ever since.  She visits when she can since I am almost always immobile with responsibility, and the rest of the time I miss her terribly and intend to call her more than I do.  She's my best friend even though she now lives in San Francisco, which seems to be the coolest place to go if I like you a lot and yet you still need to leave.  Seriously, it's happened like four times now. 

Aubri came to visit me last week.  We went inner tubing, horseback riding, we ate at an Indian Restaurant where the manager tried to pick her up (which of course happens all the time) and had multiple therapy sessions, which is what happens when we sit and talk.  Like every time.  It's a bit exhausting.  It seems like it's been something of a catalyst for taking a good hard look at things and reassessing, and at three months into our reuniting, it's about time.  The Cap'n and I have undeniably slipped into some of our old undesirable behaviors, and I've been pretending that the year apart didn't really happen (would that it were so!), and all that has to stop. 

The other thing her visit underlined is that I have got to find some good friends around here.  Or hey, just one.  I wish it came easily.  Oh how I wish.  But as I sat in that Indian restaurant, and found that there were tears streaming down my cheeks as I thought about how much I love and miss my friend, I realized that I miss having a wonderful woman in my life. 

So, I'm going to make an honest effort.  I'm going to enroll in some yoga classes, I'm going to make time to hang out in coffee shops, I may even start acupuncture sessions so that I can get to know this one woman who seems like she could be a good lead...though now that I write it that seems a tad too desperate and pretty icky.  And expensive.  Yeah.

Back on Schedule

Being our own bosses as we are, we've had a very free-flowing schedule since the Cap'n returned in early May.  In fact, our schedule has been to have no schedule.  We'd juggle jobs, trade hats as was necessary, and it has been nice and organic.  But then one day last week we woke up under a pile of chores that threatened to strangle us if we didn't sort things out.  We were tired of playing musical parents, tired of negotiating time to get things done, every day, and especially tired of always feeling like we were just barely keeping up.

I hated to admit it, but we needed a schedule.  We needed to know what our day was going to be like when we woke up.  We are creatures of habit!  It is true!  Schedules are important and useful things!  (This statement took 32 years to say.)

So, now we are Person A and Person B.  It's all very Dr. Seuss.  Person A wakes up, makes coffee and opens up the lobby for "breakfast," then cares for Poopies until his nap at noon.  Person B, walks the dogs and is free to work on whatever they want until Poopies gets up from his nap at 2 pm, when we switch and Person B is the inside guy and has Poopies detail until quittin time, and Person A can get things done.  It all goes pretty well, but tends to fall apart in the evenings, which have been pretty much a freeforall, but whatever.  Rome, in a day, etc. 

And, I've been working a two-mile run into things when I'm Person A and have to open up early.  Which is great.  I love that I live somewhere that I can have a morning run without battling traffic or the homeless.

I'm for some reason ashamed that it is working so well, that we require structure to be happy, and how we seem to thrive on having even the simpilist of schedules, particularly the Cap'n.  I have a friend visiting this week for several days, and plan to spend a lot of time with her.  When I told the Cap'n this, his immediate concern was what this might do to the schedule.  As if the schedule would be offended.  We must respect the schedule or it will stop working for us!  Da Comrade!

The Stuff Which is Up

Ok, so this thing is clearly floundering. 

It's not that I wanted it that way. 

Transitions are unpredictable!  Anything can happen! 

The Cap'n returned and that changed my world in every way.

He keeps me plenty busy on the human interaction front.  My god he is a talker.

And, suddenly I can't stand anything I write.

And, I'm kind of tired of talking and thinking about the past year and the hell it was.

And, I'm really not finding fascination in every little thing these days.

But for many reasons I truly want to continue this thing, and not just as a monthly essay about why I want to keep it up.  So, I suppose I best hop on the horse and get to work.

Don't Listen to Me

What was I thinking.  Here I am, at the start line of yet another major life transition, and what, I'm going to put the pipe down?  Walk away from my only (pathetic, yet still valid) form of personal therapy?  I think I'm just taking inventory again.  Because that's what we do.  Things change and we run about reevaluating everything's importance.  Or, at least that's what I do.  I'm frankly a bit tired of feverishly re-tabulating my life and satisfaction levels at every turn, but as long as the transitions keep coming, I suppose I'll keep running amok with my clipboard and calculator.

Things are going really well.  Actually, for the first time in a long time, I feel like I'm at least one step ahead of my emotions, and can restrain myself from saying the Worst Thing Possible at all times.  It does feel like a bit of a tightrope act, keeping everyone happy and harmonious, but I just keep thinking that if I can keep it going for like, a month, maybe the plaster will set and it will be easy.  I don't mean to paint a bad picture here.  We're good.  We're happy.  But, after ten years, sometimes people get into bad habits and triggers develop and everyone gets unbearably sensitive to everything, and even innocent phrases and facial expressions get misconstrued and it all piles up to look daunting, even though it's just a big stack of nothing. 

Meanwhile, the Cap'n has spent the last two days plotting the destruction of every caterpillar on our property.  Last year they really went too far, almost completely decimating every leaf on our two largest trees.  They couldn't give a rats ass for the others, but those two are DELICIOUS.  They hatched the other day and there were thousands of the most adorable little itty bitty caterpillars everywhere.  The Cap'n called me in a panic while I was at the store.  I should purchase anything that claims to kill caterpillars!  They're everywhere!  He's tied a toilet brush to an extension pole and has spent all morning mushing their little bodies against the branches!  We got some stuff, he spent all yesterday climbing way too high to get it everywhere, and my god, this morning.  We went outside and found millions of tiny caterpillar bodies, all hanging from the branches by their final silk strands like sad, dead, miniature marionettes.  The Cap'n practically did a bell kick he was so happy to see so much larval death.

The Cap'n and Poopies left this afternoon to go hang out with some friends of ours on their land nearby.  I would have loved to have gone, but we had people checking in, and it's pretty dumb to have a lodge and leave it on a Saturday.  I can't remember if I've ever been here ALONE.  I keep patting myself down trying to remember what I've forgotten.  Is Poopies sleeping and will awaken momentarily and I'll have to tend to him?  No.  Rooms to clean?  No.  Is the Cap'n going to emerge momentarily with another scheme to rid the world of caterpillars and need a spectator?  No.  It's just me.  Gardening, cleaning, blogging.  It's nice, but I can't wait until they're back, which is also nice.