March Madness

It’s no secret that we are big college hoops fans in this house.

I cheer for Carolina & Doug cheers for Kansas & Roy Williams is a particularly sore subject in our marriage.  But after almost six years of marriage, we are both coming around to co-cheering each other’s teams – Doug wears Carolina shorts & I have a KU tshirt.

basketballwreath March Madness

This is on our front door.  Team spirit, baby.

But if the Heels & Jayhawks end up facing off this coming weekend, one of us is going to have to leave the house.  So who has a couch I can crash on?

HeirtoBlair500x150 v41 March Madness

For my Valentine.

I can hear the sound of our day winding down – laundry rolling behind closed doors & Doug pouring a beer after work & Harrison running his school bus over the wood floors.  I know these sounds, so dear to my heart, this rhythm our family has found.

Harrison opens the bedroom door & cracks a smile, finding me in the dark because it’s been ten hours since I settled in when the daylight was enough.  I’ve been working eight hours, ten hours, & it’s looking like I will hit twelve before my presentation is complete with an 8pm deadline.

I wonder if Doug is disappointed that I have no Valentine for him.  I wonder if he knows that like every year, I had the best of intentions but they slipped right through my fingers.  That I adore the pink roses he brought me on Sunday & I regret that I have nothing to give him in return.   I wonder if he minds that I’ll wear yoga pants to dinner, where I’ll serve up a frozen lasagna with an apologetic smile.

At least there will be wine.

Because love doesn’t know dates & red heart candy, as delicious as it is.  Love knows & gives with the hard days & sweatpants & the pulled up half-smile that says, “I’m sorry, but this is the best I can do right now.”  Love relaxes into that unpredictable life rhythm & messy hair by candlelight becomes romance.

valentines2012 For my Valentine.

I love you, Douglas.  Thank you for loving me.

I probably should pull out the old baby monitor & start using it as a walkie-talkie.

901a8c6c456611e1a87612313804ec91 7 300x300 I probably should pull out the old baby monitor & start using it as a walkie talkie.I try to be all badass Super Nanny but this crazy thing happened once I got all healed & whole & less twisty inside – I cannot bear to hear my child cry.  & not in the way that sent me screaming for the shower every night at six months postpartum, but that it feels like my gut has been ripped out & flipped over my head & I’m wading knee-deep in my uterus.  THAT is what it feels like when my child cries for me.

So when Harrison starts screaming at bedtime & I’ve told him firmly to get back in bed three separate times, he stares up at me with tears falling & says, “Up!!”  oh, my heart.

I find myself all sternly inner-dialoguing how I’m setting us up for failure when he’s three as I make my way to the rocking chair.  But then I remember how I’m knee-deep in my uterus & how soon, Harry will be going to sleepovers where he will be embarrassed to ever admit he was rocked to sleep & I can’t help myself.  I sit & I rock & tell him stories about the man on the moon until he’s calm.  His heartbeat slows & his breathing steadies & I know he’s asleep because that’s the kind of thing that mother’s just know.

He’s drooling on my shoulder.  It’s time to put the kiddo to bed, but in his earlier rage, all blankets & pillows ended in a pile on the floor.  Which means that I have to get up from the chair & put the bedding back together with 30 lbs of live ammunition on my shoulder.  Doug to the nursery, I think into the universe.  I wait a few minutes.  Hey, buddy.  To the nursery for pillow recon.

I contemplate the length of my legs, wondering if I can grab the pillow corner with my toes & toss it into the bed.  If I can do that, then I’ll have a legit excuse to run away with the circus.  I feel the drool seeping through my jammies.  The kid stirs & I freeze & send imaginary red flares into the sky. & I’m all WHY IS HE NOT READING MY ESP?!  DOUG TO THE NURSERY!  DOUG TO THE NURSERY!

What good is being married almost six years if he can’t read my mind?

Decade.

This week ten years ago, I walked into English class & met a boy with reddish curls & sandals.

21birthday2 Decade.

This is us, over two years after we first met. Our first picture together on my 21st birthday in 2004.

He makes my life a love story.

What Mary Tyler Moore really meant to say.

scream What Mary Tyler Moore really meant to say.It’s been a hard few months & I haven’t been able to do the “full disclosure” thing on my blog in awhile.  Which is leading the biggest writer’s block I’ve had since…well, since I started this whole blogging gig.  Because I write something & them I’m all, “Well, that won’t make sense without the backstory” or “People are going to judge the hell out of that when they don’t know the reason behind it” & then I stay quiet.  It’s maddening.

So.

In October, Doug was laid off when the company he worked for closed with no warning.  There was lots of swearing on our parts for about 48 hours, then we buckled down hard.  I dropped out of my project management class to get a refund on the tuition. Doug filed for unemployment.  I picked up the gig at Babble & any sponsored post offered (remember that week in December where there were three in a row?) to help alleviate the dip into our emergency fund.  We put the house on the market, knowing that we’d be in deep water if Doug went jobless for more than a year.  & in this economy, that fear was entirely possible.

Doug & I have always been conservative with our finances, which means that in any environment of uncertainty, we treat it like a crisis.

In the middle of November, we discovered that Doug & Harry were no longer covered by insurance, nor was COBRA an option.  This was after we attended Harrison’s two-year check-up, complete with three vaccines.  Plus six private speech therapy sessions.   On top of missing half our income, now we had a heavy month of uninsured medical expenses.

note: money is hard in marriage, even when there is plenty.  it gets harder when times are tight.

At the same time, we have been oddly happier than we’ve been in a long time.  Living so intentionally has created a sense of empowerment & togetherness.  Simplicity really is a lovely thing when $8.00 Netflix is all you can afford.  Hell, we’ve even been having more sex because…what else are we going to do on a Saturday evening with no money?   In early December, Doug praised my Type A personality because Harrison’s Christmas gifts were purchased before the lay-off, which meant Santa would visit.  We took great joy in splurging for a $3.00 Almond Joy coffee creamer that Doug wanted to buy but felt was unecessary.  The smile on his face made me all warm & fuzzy.  He made me coffee the next morning with the creamer.

I wish I could do justice to how perfect that little $3.00 creamer was for making us smile & realizing that something small to share was even better than a dozen roses or a new set of golf clubs or even a vacation.

Things began looking up again as my new insurance kicked in & the boys were covered again.  We had good feedback on our house.  Doug had several good interviews and began helping his old coworker start-up a company under a new investor (it launched this past week!  he is gainfully employed again!).    I made a bonus & we were able to afford a few Christmas splurges. I still adore my new job.  Then Doug’s dad got sick & everything has turned into a bigger ball of stress since then.

The other night, driving in the dark for an hour with Harrison screaming for his Auntie, I thought I might be reaching a breaking point.  I felt like I was constantly working, never shutting off, with the weight of everything on my shoulders.  I felt that old nemesis trying to creep in, those choking thoughts that pull me under.  You deserve this stress, your baby doesn’t love you, you’re a distracted wife, you have a bitter heart, you’ll never get it right…I think the worst part is that even when I feel good & stable, there is this prodigal twisty part of my soul just lurking.

Waiting for me to slip.  Waiting for me to give just an inch.

But I’m not giving an inch.  I’m fucking making it after all, okay?

.

p.s. we are so lucky, so thankful that doug was able to get a paycheck again after only two months of unemployment.  we are bursting with gratitude towards my new job & the timeliness of babble’s job offer, which gave us security the past few months.  my heart goes out to anyone that feels that stress longer than us & i know there are plenty of you out there. i wish there was more i could do other than simply say that i understand.

p.p.s. it feels so good to get this off my shoulders.  like my body just took a huge cleansing breath.

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Stealing is for losers. Copyright 2008-2012 Beth Anne Ballance