Great Escapes

Thursday was a hard day, emotionally. I came home, put the baby who screamed (for 45 minutes the entire way home, through his bath and pj's, and for a good 10 minutes in his crib) to bed, and went to my own bed. No dinner, because my husband decided to work late, and he had planned on cooking. He came home a little later, ready to be pissy at my poor attitude re: dinner, but successfully redirected his feelings once he heard about our day.

Part of what was so hard was something I remembered, very randomly, that day.

Approximately 2 years ago, I took a road trip with my two aunts. We piled into Aunt Helen's car and took off for DC, where my husband was attending a conference and my cousins now lived, and we were going to have a weekend together. En route we stopped at a rest stop and had a picnic lunch. It was a beautiful day, warm and sunny, great for driving. Aunt Karen sat in the back the entire trip, reading and snoozing, and chatting with us. They had recently returned from a trip to NYC together with our other aunt, and had a great time. One of the highlights for Aunt Helen was a picture she had snapped of Aunt Karen sleeping in their hotel room. Aunt Helen found this photo to be particularly hilarious, because Karen was propped up on a pillow, with a curler in her hair.

"Doesn't she look like she could be in a casket?" she said with a little glee. I laughed. She did.

We went on to drive through Breezewood and stopped at Starbucks and got ready for the final hour of driving. I snapped a picture of Aunt Helen behind the wheel, sunglasses on, singing along to something.

We ended up having a really good weekend, visits with family and friends, eating goat, and then of course, the car ride home, this time with my husband along. It was, by all accounts, a successful and fun trip.

Of course, I had no way of knowing what we would know just two years later. And when the memory of my car trip with my two aunts came back to me, on the heels of an already emotionally difficult day, I just kind of lost it. And needed to make an escape. So I called in reinforcements (husband--who has every other Friday afternoon off) and left for 2 and 1/2 hours of pure escape in the form of an air-conditioned movie theater and Sex and the City part 2. It was great!

Of course, just doing that brought up another slew of memories, because I watched the first SATC movie with Aunt Helen, our neighbor Katrina, and one of the RR board members. A theater full of women, with the requisite two gay men, and Aunt Helen's comments throughout the movie made it hilarious. So yesterday's escape from reality allowed me to remember one of my aunts in a fun way, with the luxury of being alone and not responsible for anyone but myself for a few hours. That, in and of itself, was the true gift. And gives me some strength to face what the coming weeks will surely bring.

Random May Musings

Unfortunately, there really has not been much to blog about, here at the blogalicious. Sure, there have been some funny random encounters w/ Toddling Bruce (including one where I walked up with the baby and he whipped out a camping chair from his trunk and encouraged us to sit and visit on his 'plot' of land).

There has been the requisite family drama, complete with the "emergency" medical needs of a family member who, in my opinion and diagnosis, always needs to have the attention of his spouse and when her attention is diverted, he manifests something to bring it back. There's some psycho-babble and universe-messaging for you.

There is also the anxiety producing trip to the Old Country coming up. If we survive the plane ride, I'm sure we'll be able to survive 10 days in Italy; at least, that is what I'm telling myself. I feel like I've just gotten the baby in a good schedule, he naps regularly, he's happy and content, things are going well. So I'm sure this trip will completely fuck things up. And we'll never find this happy little routine again. Which if you know anything about me, you know that I love my routines.

Today we were up very early, so we took an early walk through the neighborhood. Its my favorite time of day to walk, apart from being tired, as it allows me to gaze at the gardens and homes of others and daydream about our next step in life. We're spending the rest of the day running errands (hello, Target, we're here for our daily visit) and then probably a low key evening at home...my favorite kind.

So you see, not too much going on. These are some of the long days (at time very lonely) of being a mom. My next door neighbor had to return to work yesterday, after six months of maternity leave, and I feel so bad for her. Because honestly, the one thing that would really, really suck would be to have to go work all day and then come home to take care of the baby. It would just be exhausting.

On that happy note (ha!) peace out fellow bloggers!

Guess Whose Coming To Spend The Weekend...a.k.a. Under Pressure

On Monday, Taj had a surprise for me. He was very excited about it. "I have something to tell you," he teased over the phone, "and you'll have to wait until I get home to find out what!" Well, I could guess what it wouldn't be: the chance to sleep in, just once, in the next 5 months or so; a beach vacation in the next 3 months or so; a limitless supply of ice cream that wouldn't make me fat, etc. I digress. And I must admit, I wasn't too excited about it, because I had the sneaking suspicion it involved a houseguest. I do not live in a house that avails itself to guests. I also do not maintain a standard of cleanliness or neatness that makes me feel comfortable having guests (especially when those guests come from a different country where servants are the norm for a particular socio-economic group. but now, i'm giving too much away). Anyway, the biggest reason I don't really care for guests at this point is because my beautiful baby gets up very early and requires attention and so forth, and I do not like or have the energy or desire to do anything other than tend to his needs and stay in my pajamas until at least 10:00 a.m. Its the best I can do knowing that I won't get to sleep past 6:30 a.m. until at least September 14, 2010. But whose counting?
On with my story. Husband comes home and shares his surprise: a visitor from India who happens to be a very good friend of husband from high school, they have remained close ever since. This friend is very kind, nice, polite, and fun. He is interesting, he has a lovely wife and a sweet daughter. He is also a millionaire who lives in a mansion outside of Hyderabad and has more servants than I have immediate family. The few times I've visited his house I've been in awe. It literally sparkles. And shines. And glows. And, of course, is immaculate.
I'm sure you see where I'm going with this. My anxiety kicks into high gear. First of all, H's wife probably doesn't even own sweat pants, much less lounges in them late into the morning. Not to mention, our house is (to put it mildly and nicely) cluttered. And dusty. And our guest bedroom is in our basement. With more clutter. And the washer and dryer. I could go on.
What to do? Well, I've made some attempts at cleaning and organizing, but really there is only so much space to work with. And knowing my husband, he'll go into a fury of his own tonight, shoving stuff into closets and drawers, to give the appearance of neatness. And he'll have an attitude about it, which he normally does not. So on to the real point of my post today. The real reason I have anxiety about H's visit (and one of the reason's I dread the visits of my in-laws) is because I feel that when these people come, I have to somehow prove myself to them, that I am a good enough wife for my husband (who is adored by all of these people). That even though I'm not Indian, I am acceptable, and even though we were not matched together through some archane parental-controlled scheme, we are a good pair, we have a good marriage, and I am a good wife. Never mind that my husband picked me! Never mind that he is very happy in our life together! (Really, he is. He tells me. Repeatedly. There is a reason, he says, that he lives here and not there. There are many reasons, actually.) Nonetheless, I feel threatened by the perceived judgement from these people (and not so perceived. There is also the judgement expressed by his family. For example, his father told me that everyone in India thinks I am wonderful; in so many ways I am just like a good Indian wife (I'm paraphrasing here, obviously) with one exception--I don't speak their language. If I only made an effort to speak telugu, I would be perfect. I was 9 months pregnant when he told me this. In August. When they had moved in for 2 months. Uninvited. Again, I digress).
I feel the need to convince everyone in my husband's Indian world that I am not just a good wife, or mother, or person, but the right person, the best wife, the best person. And why? Its exhausting. And probably unnecessary.
As far as his friends are concerned, that is my husband's burden. This is his house too, and if he is concerned with their judgement, well, he probably isn't. Because he wouldn't be friends with them if he did. And, this is how we live. There are no servants in America. There are cleaning people, but they cost money, and they come once every 6-8 weeks. That's how it goes. At least for us.
Regarding his family, well, I have a feeling that no matter what I do or try, it really never will be enough, because no matter who their son married, or how they met, or how they live, none of it can overcome the stereotype they choose to accept for in-law relationships. And they have decided to buy into the typical relationship portrayed in every bollywood film, that the parents-in-law and the daughter-in-law will never get along and will never really have a good relationship, because it just isn't possible. Plus, the son always sides with his wife (if only they knew!! I mean, they did come live in my house for 2 months at a very inconvienent time. not my preference, for sure.), and because they believe this dynamic to be the rule, I can never win.
On that note, there is (as always) more to say. But I have to go kiss my baby and take him for a walk, and finish puttering around the house as we wait for the arrival of H.

I've developed a wicked crush on Jon Hamm

I had to tell someone.