The price of love is more than that of a skill.
March 29, 2009
This evening I’m feeling a bit off.
It seems as though nothing is working out quite as I had planned – that’s not the odd part.
The odd part is the fact that I’m basically left without a future for myself.
I’m all wrapped up – not mentally, but physically, in being the future Mrs. Labello.
The mom of little Labellos and apparently nothing for myself.
One of the hard points of Nick’s and my relationship has been his ability to remind me again and again that I have no skills, no trades, no degrees.
No amount of common sense about how the world ACTUALLY works, about being a parent, about stock markets and music or anything count – as they aren’t actual TRADE skills.
I think part of being a graduate with multiple degrees is gaining this incredible lack of insight to the fact that to 90% of the population, those degrees don’t matter and it’s about who you ARE on the inside.
And he’s a good man. And I love him.
But he’s clueless about this.
And I ask myself again tonight what that means on a day to day basis.
Am I going to hear about the money being HIS because he’s the primary breadwinner?
Am I going to hear about how I need to take off of work because my job isn’t as important as his?
I don’t actually think he’s that meatheaded to SAY those things, but the points that have lead me to this quandary multiply with imagination and imagery and I’m left with sort of a Donna Reed vs. Father Knows Best mixture.
And I worry.
He sent me an email a few months ago from the Le Cordon Bleu school in Minneapolis. He has been saying that he thinks it would be great if I do something like that for school because my job is ‘dead end’.
I’ve defended my position, but the truth is that I have had about all I can take of the rigidity of the world in which I work.
And so I finally looked into it. I’ve always wanted to go – just never thought that it was all that practical as a single mom.
And I got excited – enough to where I asked for more information.
But tonight he’s dismayed. Thinks that finding a job similar to what I have is the way to go because you can’t keep changing jobs every few years.
I am who I am who I am.
And never have I been a person that’s content with sticking with a job for more than 5 years or so.
I simply get bored.
And the things I love – the things that I can do forever are the creative things. I want to try working for a printing press, I want to cook, I want to make cupcakes for a living, I want to create music the way I always dreamed, I want to be a family therapist, I want to be a photographer.
I don’t see why I have to decide.
He chose chemistry in high school.
I chose motherhood.
That’s my full time, life long job.
Everything else is simply a paycheck and so when he says that he wants me to find something to do that makes me happy, I cringe. Because then comes the elaboration, that it needs to be a trade, a skill, a degree.
And yet none of the skills I have thus far are good enough to count – what would be?
So I aim for my happiness, but that email that he sent is no longer valid.
No longer a good trade, a good skill.
Because we’d have to pay for it.
8 to 5. 18 months.
Just like a regular job. Only one that I’d pay an enormous amount for.
I’ve not been unemployed since I was 16 years old.
Not a day.
And I’m facing a period of unemployment that is indefinite. And an impatient but good man with impossible expectations.
And I wonder when to separate respect for him as a man with good long term planning skills and when to truly hang him by his toes for being so clueless about the fact that being miserable with a paycheck for a job HE can be proud of does not a happy wife and mother make.
Positively Paperific.
March 27, 2009
Little by little I’m falling in love with so much that Minneapolis has to offer.
The levels of creativity you can find in quiet corners astounds me.
And never so much as during this wedding planning excursions.
I’ve already become a huge fan of smaller businesses and homemade options via Etsy, but finding out how many of these people are from a state that may one day be my home just makes me all giggly inside.
For instance, did you know that Minneapolis is home to the cake artist that designed my favorite wedding cake – the infamous Mario cake?
See? What’s not to love?
Recently I’ve been shopping for an invitation printer. This should be fairly easy. I’ve designed the invites with a great friend’s help in Adobe awesomeness and I really don’t have to do the random page flipping in book after book of overpriced paper. So that’s a bonus.
However, I do have to decide on the base paper and ink for the overpriced bits of paper that no one seems to want to price for me in recyclables (please ignore the bitterness), so that’s been a bit of a pain in the wallet.
And while it may remain a pain in the wallet, I’ve fallen head over heels in love with a letterpress site in… where else? Minneapolis!
Look at this gorgeous design of theirs! LINK
That beats embossing all to heck, wouldn’t you say? Now I wonder if they can do the announcements for every other major event in my life – just to keep me happy?
(Please don’t let them be too expensive, please don’t let them be too expensive.)
Ah, paper love. Who knew?
Makes me wish I could gather up a little of their overspill of creativity.
See? I can do this!
March 27, 2009
I’ve spent a good amount of time today perusing wedding sites.
This is destructive behavior in several ways.
One, because my budget is pretty much spoken for considering food and whatnot – and two, because it would only take half a whisper of a hint to get me to commit to all of those gorgeous ideas and more.
I have dreams of wedding coordinators.
And what is this fun that they all have with it?
Wedding planning is fun?
I’ve gone from being excited about marrying the only man I think I could love consistently for the rest of my life, to praying I make it through the planning stages.
I feel about wedding planning the way most people feel about dirty diapers and hangover vomit.
If I was able to choose between that and an enema, well, let me assure you, I’d be one clean lady.
So what is it that these brides of femininity have that I don’t seem to have? A different gene? A chromosomal abnormality? Estrogen?
Their creativity seems to be limitless and they blog their finds out one by one on their blogs – in helpful optimism so that people like me won’t drown in a sea of linens ordered in the wrong shade of brown.
Should I start telling you about the details of my planning?
Sure.
I’ll tell you some.
For one thing, Memphis is totally bereft of wedding resources for the reluctant bride-to-be.
For those budget-conscious girlie sale-attack-gurus, it doesn’t matter if they’re on a rowboat in the ocean, they’ll find what they’re looking for.
But for someone like me?
Well.
I started with Google.
A church location was easy.
How could it not be?
I wanted an outdoor reception on my grandmother’s land and the only Catholic church allowed in Mississippi, where they live, is Christ the King.
A gorgeous church – bad sound qualities.
I guess that means I’ll have to forgo the prerequisite tonedeaf “Ave Maria” singer. We must make sacrifices.
Then the reception idea fell through. I won’t say I’m not still bitter about that – but the fiance vetoed and I bowed down to his opinion. At that point he hadn’t offered up much of one, so I figured I could throw the boy a bone.
Convenience tends to be a turn on of mine, so the golf club that surrounds my apartment complex was voted in. A bit of a rustic look on the outside – totally not what I was going for, but much less of a drive than the 45 minute other options I had.
The entire time I’m thinking of planning I keep running into the same advice.
A theme. A theme. You have to have a theme.
And apparently ‘What Lish Likes’ and ‘What Lish and Nick can afford’ aren’t considered appropriate themes.
Mainly because my advisors are good at spending other people’s money.
My theme isn’t really a theme.
I chose a color.
Mango Callas. (I know. Totally original. Blame my sheep mentality.)
So. Mango it was – then… that gorgeous green of the stems – a color and theme in one!
But what color for the girls? Ah, I know.
An October wedding? Chocolate.
Who doesn’t like chocolate?
So there we had it.
A church, a reception club place, flower initiatives, and color schemes.
And still.
Back to the theme.
Mod invites. A classic cake.
Ivory dress. Mango Callas.
Midday wedding.
No music ideas, no baker yet, no linens.
Just a bunch of forks that I keep stabbing into my eye to distract me from the fact that there is no fairy godconsultant that is going to come along and save me from the torture.
Can’t I just marry the guy?
I love him – why all the planning for a day that is breaking him into hives over the cost, me into hives over the sheer torture of the monotonous LACK OF THEME!!! CAN YOU BELIEVE LISH DOESN’T HAVE A THEME?
But today.
I have happened upon a theme.
Other People’s Weddings.
Granted, it’s expensive, as there are a lot of weddings out there for us to emulate, but at the same time, by the end of the 237th or so, we’ll have at least accomplished enough of the various wedding events that we can assure each other that every need was seen to at least once and that we are really and truly married.
I’m thinking I’ll start with the one that costs a million dollars and makes me look like a size 2 in my dress.
Complete with gorgeous cancer-free tan and deltoids that make your mouth water.
Yay for decision making!
Power In.
March 26, 2009
Perhaps it should tell me something that I routinely forget my password to WordPress.
I’ll blame it on the Zoloft. I routinely forget everything these days.
So, for those of you coming to the wedding, if you wind up without food to eat, don’t blame me.
Blame the wedding coordinator I forgot to hire.
I peed standing up this morning.
Though most people say you probably shouldn’t share your bathroom habits with the world, I say… I’m probably not the only one.
It’s not that I can’t sit down.
It’s that I can’t sit down without hurting.
Standing doesn’t hurt and therefore we let it go.
I’m fairly good at it.
Years of going out with friends during Abbey’s summers away have left me quite capable of avoiding public toilets and so my abilities reach gold medal power during these early days of training.
And. I can assure you – I’m past the age where killing my legs on Tuesday and then doing a very light elliptical on Wednesday will help loosen them up.
It worked once upon a time.
I keep forgetting I’m not 23 anymore.
I finally discovered Pandora on my iPhone. I suppose not FINALLY, but I just hadn’t taken the time to download it – being too occupied by playing various games that have no purpose at all.
But I’ve made my own little Ray LaMontagne station and am quite happily jamming along.
Except for this song. ‘Every Ship Must Sail Away’ sounds much like ‘Every Ship Must Sail A Word’ and it took me a while to understand why ships were going on such wordy adventures.
Perhaps it’s much like being immersed in a book for hours – and having an ass the size of a ship?
I’m not sure, but I think I’d qualify in that case.
An ass ship with the ability to pee standing up – without a penis.
Tell me, why have they not yet given me the key to the city?
I’m unstoppable.
New Beginnings
March 26, 2009
Yesterday I had the dubious pleasure of a demo training session with a local personal trainer.
After seeing the wonders he’d accomplished with some co-workers I was all for anything on this planet that would help me see results and boost my confidence.
And having always thought of personal trainers as a bit of a money waster – considering the time I’ve spent seeing… (dating) trainers in the past, I felt my knowledge was beyond the norm.
And it is.
He agrees.
It’s also not working.
With that in mind, he and I got together yesterday for some new changes to my methodology.
“Did you know that just lifting your own body weight can be every bit as exhausting as using actual weights?”
I paused here – not really sure how to answer, but went with a typical Lish response.
“Uh. I’ve gained 70 pounds in a year. I weigh over 200 pounds. I’m reasonable sure that just lifting my body to walk to another room to pee should qualify me for a gold medal.”
Destructive humor.
My life has become a rash of jokes that people aren’t sure if they should laugh at.
Yes, LAUGH!
That is the purpose of the joke!
I suppose they feel bad for me and so I’m supposed to sink down into it.
But it is what it is.
Genetics and Root Beer rearing their ugly heads to show me that I’m not 21 anymore.
The days of skipping a meal and losing 10 pounds are over.
These are the days of exercising every day just to see how frustrated one person can get before their brain explodes and they eat 4.2 million pounds of vanilla pudding. Which I personally find much better than chocolate.
The meeting itself?
Wonderful.
I liked the guy, and I felt reasonably sure that he could help me.
I had hope.
Do you guys know what that kind of hope feels like? You skinny readers of mine?
Nick’s not thrilled with the idea.
Because spending $500 on 7 weeks of sessions doesn’t make nearly as much sense as buying a $2000 bike for the two months of good weather one finds in Minneapolis.
Even offered to cancel our honeymoon.
Lol, I don’t mean to break it to the guy, but if this is how I look and feel then, our honeymoon will cancel itself.
If you know what I mean.
mwahahaha.
See?
Another inappropriate joke.
Does anyone else find these funny?
Still, I feel wonderful today. Pain in muscles that had forgotten they’re supposed to have a purpose. Amazing what a little motivation and workout perspective can do for you.
I’ll never be a long term cardio person – my workouts will always have to be different than his.
But perhaps I can find a medium.
Something that we can get along with.
Because I love this notion of hope.
And I’m willing to sacrifice most anything and anyone at this moment to keep it.
depression
March 13, 2009
I hate wedding dress shopping. This is so shallow, but discovering your back has tits, your arms wave in the wind and that you actually resemble one of the long-haired linebackers is enough to make any woman want to elope while wearing a gorilla suit.
Ah, princesses.
March 5, 2009
To say that it’s hard to keep from showing Nick the dresses I tried on is an understatement.
Now that I’m a few days away from trying them on, I can forget about the way the weight I’ve managed to balloon to looks in ivory and can concentrate instead on how much fun it is to wear a formal dress – no matter what for.
The last dress I tried on this weekend is the one I’m leaning towards – though I’ll go again, I should discount a dress that can make me dance.
I hope he thinks I’m beautiful.
Some surprises are good though and this one is one that’s worth keeping, I think.
Though I’m looking forward to a time when I get to run home and share things with him immediately.
I am definitely looking forward to this, you guys.
Definitely.
