Where Whine Meets Wine

Live To Love Another Day

I opened this tab and sat here and stared at the blank screen, willing thoughts and words to come. I stared at the screen some more. I opened another tab. I checked my facebook notifications. Nothing terribly interesting there. Although, it turns out, I am not alone in my enjoyment of the combination of red wine and snickerdoodles. But maybe that’s because they didn’t know that was my dinner. Whoops. (I don’t care.) It turns out, that the emotions I’m feeling, that I’ve been feeling, they’re not fleeting. Apparently I have to deal with them or something lame like that. I spent the majority of the day in tears.

Now I know that I talk of my love of wine and it’s powerful healing and relaxing properties, but the truth is… I’m not a big drinker. I don’t need a glass a day; I don’t even want a glass a day. I certainly enjoy a good glass of wine (my father in law just made a new batch of plum port, and wow, is that good!), but it’s just more of a eh, if it’s here I’d have some, maybe. Unless I have an already cold can of Pepsi, because more likely that yells my name a little louder. And I kind of have a “rule” that I don’t drink before hubbyman gets home. It’s not really a rule, and truthfully, hubbyman wouldn’t care. I just don’t feel like it (I’m still pumping myself full of caffeine to survive until he gets home, I don’t need anything that makes me more tired!), plus I feel like it can be a slippery slope once you go there. However, there have been days when things have happened or bad moods have occured and I’ve texted the hubbyman to say Is it too early to start drinking? To which he always responds, Nope. And then he gets home and finds that I never even poured myself a glass of anything. Or if I did, it just sat there on the counter. Well, yesterday, I poured myself a glass of wine. And while I only had a couple of sips by the time hubby came home, he took one look at the wine on the counter, and immediately looked at me, and asked what was wrong. I shrugged and shook my head. He immediately came over and gave me a hug, and said, last night you cried and today you’re drinking wine… what’s going on? And I couldn’t even respond. The emotions were too fresh, the pain too real. And then he quietly said, You want another baby. And I just cried. I know, we have three children and our oldest is only 5. We are crazy, busy. But I love it. And I love them. And I am not saying that we would actually have another baby, but I would love another one. But that is not an option. And it’s not a choice I get to make.

While I was terribly disappointed that hubbyman had to drop the kids back off after Tae Kwon Do to head back in to work, I was very surprised to see him return with roses, for me. For the second time in a week! (This is unheard of in our household! Truly, unheard of! I asked if this was his way of getting out of paying the higher prices for flowers when it’s Valentine’s Day. He claims he didn’t think about that until after he bought them. I think I believe him.) I’m sure at some point, we’ll probably talk, with words. But for now, the support of him just holding me, of just acknowledging why I’m sad, and showing his love and concern. That’s pretty powerful. The truth is, I don’t know that I’m ready to talk about it. It’s one thing to type it out, but it’s another thing completely to use my own voice, to have to hear those words. I woke up today, and felt…exhausted. Emotionally spent. I’m hoping it’s a step in the right direction, at least.

In the midst of all my grey skies, I am still surrounded by the humor and excitement that is my children. I wish I could have gotten it on video, but I forgot my camera at home… during Madonna’s halftime performance, my MissE (who loves all things dance and singing) was glued to the TV. When the cheerleading part came on, she stood directly in front of the TV, mimicking their moves and even singing along. (And I promise she has never heard that song before.) It was hilarious and amazing all at once. And further proof that we need to get her tiny little behind in a dance class.

And my oldest just informed that I am making him freak out due to how much annoying I’m being… on that note, I think I have some children to annoy, I mean play with.

my dinner... Red Wine and Snickerdoodles


The Ways of The (My) Man

My hubbyman is one of those “man’s man” kinda guys. You know, the kind that will invent a huge project filled with lumber and tools just to avoid any kind of mall or store. Now, I’m not really complaining about that, I prefer the mall without my husband, usually. I’m a wanderer, and he’s a complainer. Those things just don’t mix. And I thoroughly appreciate the fact that he can take care of pretty much any need that should arise in the home, be it plumbing, painting, or any form of carpentry. (Remember the Thomas bed? sidenote: I thought I had a post with the kids in it, in all it’s finished glory…but I couldn’t seem to find it. Hmm. Although I do think I have it in an album on facebook- go ahead, “like” me on facebook and see!) Anyhow, he’s more than a jack of all trades, he’s one of those people who is just good at everything. Or at least anything that you can turn into a project.

I joined my hubbyman for a happy hour with his coworkers last night and they joked about when the last time they saw him smile was. The last time I’d joined them for happy hour, they joked about how one of their goals is to get hubbyman to show more than one emotion in a day. If this isn’t starting to paint a picture, let me tell you about a joke that we have shared for most of our marriage. When apologizing, I tell him that I am sorry I hurt his feeling. Feeling. Singular. As in he only has one. While this is, of course, in jest. And he really is a kind-hearted, loving man, and father… he is just a very focused one. A very focused, man’s man, kind of one. The kind of man who’s always thinking about the big picture, so he’s always working harder, finding another project, and doing something. He is always thinking about and trying to make our lives better.  He is a hard worker and an excellent provider, but (admittedly) not the greatest of communicators. He’s not the kind of guy who does big romantic gestures, or gives romantic speeches in prose. And if I’m needing to hear something, I generally have to tell him. But when he does do (or say) something without my prodding, it is always heartfelt and better than anything I could have come up with on my own. He knows I am a card person (I love giving and receiving them, always have.), and my favorites are when he has made me very elaborate cards, and due to his artistic capabilities (Truly!), they are always works of art. I don’t mean he took a blank piece of paper, folded it in half and wrote I love you on the inside and called it good. I mean he spent more than an hour on it, and it really is a work of art.

I recently was reading a post from the lovely Karyl, at ilovethishusbandandwifestuff. She was talking about how her hubby tells her she’s beautiful and how hard it is to receive that compliment sometimes, and I commented on the post and have been thinking about it ever since. Even though my hubbyman may not be the most sensitive of men, when he does go there, it’s always memorable. Here is part of my comment in response to her post. (And what gets me through in between all the manly man stuff to remind me that even when he’s wrapped up in a project, I am what he loves.)

I’ve known my husband since I was 14 and sometimes I wonder what he thinks as he watches me growing older. But even in our early 20s he told me he had a dream where he saw us sitting on our porch together, little old grandparents watching over the lives we’d built. And he saw me with grey hair. And he always smiles when he talks of this dream and tells me he can’t wait to see me at that age, and that he thinks that’s the most beautiful I’ll ever be. Where the lines on my face and the grey of my hair are symbols of the life and the time we’ve lived together.There’s just something so sweet about a man who sees his spouse through eyes of life. Where even though you’re so tired or you’re in your sweatpants, or you’ll never look like Heidi Klum, it doesn’t matter because when he looks at you he doesn’t just see the beauty in your face, he sees your heart, and your lives, and all that you’ve put into it. And that’s always the best compliment. 

And really, could it get any better than that? When it comes down to all his man’s man projects, and thinking, and feeling… I’d take his random, heart-felt, and heart-melting words, cards, and moments over weekly flowers any day.  (But I’d still accept and love the flowers.)