A recurring theme during the wedding festivities was that of The Family Compound. I've had a low-simmering fantasy for a while, of collecting all our separate family units (my sister, my brother, my parents, my Dear Husband's sister and parents, with invitations out to all aunts/uncles/cousins/extended family) and close friends on a big piece of land somewhere. We'd each have separate houses, with one big central meeting house. You know, like the Kennedy compound. We could hang out all together in the big central house, or be alone in our separate houses, as mood dictates. And everyone would have a specific job--I'd cook, my sister would homeschool the children, our mothers would sew and garden, John's brother-in-law would be the brewmaster, my dad would be in charge of hunting and fishing, and so on. We'd grow lots of vegetables and raise chickens and goats and ducks and things and make our own cheese and sit on the giant deck every night drinking good wine and watching the kids play.
Surprisingly, it only took one mention of The Family Compound for everyone to get on board with it. Now everyone wants to be a part of the compound. Even my dad, though his comment was, "As long as there are no hippies." In fact my sister and I started discussing possible places to locate this thing. I'm gunning for Costa Rica, but Utah/New Mexico, Washington State, Tennessee, and central Virginia also made strong showings. The compound can't be anywhere too cold, must have high-speed internet and be within reasonable distance of a major metropolitan area (major enough to get good wine and medical treatment, anyway), must be pretty, and must be somewhere where land prices aren't too high. Ideally I'd like access to fresh seafood, too. The real stumbling block is of course the money. Maybe if we all start saving right now, we could afford to buy the land and part of one house in twenty years, but that negates the part about raising children there.
Guess I'll have to start playing the lottery.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Saturday, May 29, 2010
On Marriage
Well, what can I say? So far, being married is pretty awesome. All these years I thought I'd feel oppressed or at least different. But being married is...just us. We're exactly like we were before, except now I don't have to worry about it. It's me, with him, with stability. And better silverware.
Everyone agreed that the wedding was very us, and it was. It was perfect in its own idiosyncratic way. Several people told me afterward that was the most fun they'd ever had with perfect strangers. I had no doubt our families would hit it off--they did--and we already had all the same friends in common. My biggest regret was that I couldn't stay up partying with everyone for 72 hours straight. For those of you who couldn't make it--well, you really missed out.
The week leading up to the wedding was busy, and exhausting, and exhilarating at the same time. The two families hunkered down in a big, beautiful mountain house, with nothing to do but cook and eat and hang out. (Sounds like a Godfather sequel, doesn't it?) We arrived late on the Saturday before the wedding, driving from DC through the wilds of central rural Virginia. We missed my sister's graduation (she was getting her master's degree) but made it in time for a raucous family dinner with all the kids and all the spouses. Sunday was church, followed by my sister's baby shower, followed by a barbecue. Monday we got up and started baking. Three dozen loaves of bread, several pounds of bacon chocolate, and I don't even know how many cookies. Let me tell you, cooking all day is exhausting. It doesn't sound like it would be, but it is. We made it maybe halfway through all the cookies and fudge before I threw in the towel.
On Tuesday, we went to the local courthouse and got our marriage license. One of the few advantages of growing up in the middle of nowhere is that when you go to get your marriage license, a) there's no line, b) the clerk already knows you, c) you don't need to show ID, and d) you're the only people there. It took us maybe 15 minutes, and that was mostly filling out the paperwork. I continued on to complete the shopping for the week, which ended up being much less expensive than I'd planned. And a side note--we sent at least half the food and half the booze home with people on Sunday. I drastically overestimated how much we'd need, and you know what? It was still a lot cheaper than I'd budgeted. Rock on.
People started arriving Tuesday night and Wednesday morning--my sister and her husband, my Dear Husband's sister and her family, his parents, my parents, my grandmother. We had a bridal shower and a big dinner. We got in the hot tub. We baked some more cookies. (We were all so tired of baking cookies that no one wanted to eat any--the tragic flaw in my plan. We didn't make anywhere near the 600 I thought we'd need, and there were still a bazillion left over.) My brother-in-law sliced his finger open with one of my mom's very sharp knives on Wednesday night, requiring four stitches. It's not a party until someone bleeds.
Repeat ad infinitum--cooking, eating, drinking, hot tub. Sleep. More people. Cooking, eating, drinking, hot tub, drinking, eating, more people, hot tub, etc., etc. Thursday night we started cooking the 100 pounds of Boston butt we'd bought for the barbecue, and when I woke up at three in the morning to the overpowering smell of slow-roated pork, I couldn't get back to sleep because the house smelled so good. Which unfortunately set a bad precedent for the week--being too excited to sleep.
Friday was the day most of our friends and extended family would be rolling into town, so I started off in the spa. Then we started making vats of gumbo--chicken and andouille sausage gumbo, and a seafood gumbo made with fresh Gulf shrimp, crawfish and alligator sausage. By this point I was doing more delegating than cooking; I was trying to greet guests, talk to old friends, and cook simultaneously, which meant all of those things were being done poorly. I will admit it was kinda fun to point at random people and say things like, "Could you chop these peppers for me?" and "Stir that" and "You're in charge of mincing the parsley." And those things got done! I get a kick out of saying to my hubby, "You need to vacuum today,"--and then he does it! How awesome is that?!--but it was even cooler when people I'm not married to were scurrying around asking, "What can I do to help?" All that help made the gumbo extra delicious.
I was so excited by everyone's arrival that I forgot to eat. I kept running from one old friend to another, checking in with everyone, making sure everyone was having a good time. I didn't have a chance to really talk in-depth with anyone, but I was still deliriously happy to have (almost) everyone I loved under one roof. Plus the house came with the most amazing pimptastic bar ever. I was quite the social butterfly.
I hit the wall hard sometime after midnight, which meant I woke up on my wedding day coasting on about five hours' sleep, too nervous to eat (and I forgot to eat dinner on Friday), and too wired to either nap or at least sit down. Well, nervous isn't quite the right word. I was fluttery and keyed up, but I wanted to get married. I really did. On some level, I was paranoid it wouldn't actually happen--that it would turn out to be some elaborate practical joke, or that he really would cut and run at the altar. Because I hadn't wanted to be married for so long, and then I hadn't let myself want it for fear of it never happening, and then once I did admit I wanted it, I got humiliated in the worst way, and so then I was back to not wanting it. And there it was, within reach. Surely the universe would throw up some roadblock, it couldn't happen that easily. At the very least, I would spill something on the ivory satin wedding dress my mom made me, or snap the heel of my $400 Stuart Weitzman red satin pumps. Right?
And then, before I knew it, the music cued. The minister prayed, his brother-in-law played a hauntingly beautiful bagpipe solo (that went perfectly with the rainy, foggy weather), and my best friend took her place to officiate the ceremony. Someone handed me a bouquet, and then there I was, walking down the aisle. I was still nervous, but I didn't cry, or trip, or run away. Neither did he. We just stood there, grinning at each other, as my best friend grinned at the two of us. Mercifully, the ceremony was short. When the words "husband and wife" floated through the air, everyone applauded.
The rest of the night was a blur of friends and drinks and laughter. It was the first time all week I could truly relax, so I did. A lot of people left earlier than I would have liked (maybe they were tired from Friday night, too), but the barbecue was a huge hit and I got several exhortations to bottle my barbecue sauce. Somewhere in the middle of all that my brother got operated on (see previous post). Sometime after midnight, the small group of people left shooed John and me away. "It's your wedding night! Go celebrate it!" they cried. "I only see you people once every few years, MAYBE," I said. "I can see my husband for the rest of my life. Let me hang out with you a little while longer!" But no. We were shooed away. I suppose it's a good thing, in retrospect, because I remember going up the stairs to our bedroom, but I don't remember anything else until waking up at 4 am. I was so tired that I went unconscious literally the moment I touched the bed. Not quite the wedding night everyone had in mind, I'm sure, but we've been making up for it this week. (I've never had legal sex before! It's quite the novelty.)
And then the next day, everyone left. Three metric tons of leftover food and booze were divided up and carried away, and then we had that enormous house to ourselves for a night. The plan all along was to come back to our apartment in California and "honeymoon" at home for a week, running errands and hanging out. And all along I thought that was a cop-out, that I'd be chomping at the bit to travel, to go somewhere and do something. After last week, I've been more than content to sit at home on my ass all week long. We've been productive--we had to restock the completely depleted pantry and liquor cabinet, do laundry, unpack, blah blah--but I've also been sleeping 10 to 12 hours every night. That's right, folks, I'm spending my honeymoon in shorts, on my sofa, drinking rum and watching cheesy movies. Aren't you jealous?
In my defense, we've at least been eating well. No more beans or soup for a while. Our first married dinner was a board full of gourmet cheese and salami, with fresh buffalo carpaccio, and a good bottle of wine. Our second married dinner was roasted pork belly with wild rice and an avocado-arugula-heirloom tomato salad. Our third married dinner was whole broiled trout wrapped in wild boar bacon with broccoli rabe. And so on.
So, to sum up: I love my husband. I love being married. We'll get that same house and throw down again for our five-year anniversary. You're all invited.
Everyone agreed that the wedding was very us, and it was. It was perfect in its own idiosyncratic way. Several people told me afterward that was the most fun they'd ever had with perfect strangers. I had no doubt our families would hit it off--they did--and we already had all the same friends in common. My biggest regret was that I couldn't stay up partying with everyone for 72 hours straight. For those of you who couldn't make it--well, you really missed out.
The week leading up to the wedding was busy, and exhausting, and exhilarating at the same time. The two families hunkered down in a big, beautiful mountain house, with nothing to do but cook and eat and hang out. (Sounds like a Godfather sequel, doesn't it?) We arrived late on the Saturday before the wedding, driving from DC through the wilds of central rural Virginia. We missed my sister's graduation (she was getting her master's degree) but made it in time for a raucous family dinner with all the kids and all the spouses. Sunday was church, followed by my sister's baby shower, followed by a barbecue. Monday we got up and started baking. Three dozen loaves of bread, several pounds of bacon chocolate, and I don't even know how many cookies. Let me tell you, cooking all day is exhausting. It doesn't sound like it would be, but it is. We made it maybe halfway through all the cookies and fudge before I threw in the towel.
On Tuesday, we went to the local courthouse and got our marriage license. One of the few advantages of growing up in the middle of nowhere is that when you go to get your marriage license, a) there's no line, b) the clerk already knows you, c) you don't need to show ID, and d) you're the only people there. It took us maybe 15 minutes, and that was mostly filling out the paperwork. I continued on to complete the shopping for the week, which ended up being much less expensive than I'd planned. And a side note--we sent at least half the food and half the booze home with people on Sunday. I drastically overestimated how much we'd need, and you know what? It was still a lot cheaper than I'd budgeted. Rock on.
People started arriving Tuesday night and Wednesday morning--my sister and her husband, my Dear Husband's sister and her family, his parents, my parents, my grandmother. We had a bridal shower and a big dinner. We got in the hot tub. We baked some more cookies. (We were all so tired of baking cookies that no one wanted to eat any--the tragic flaw in my plan. We didn't make anywhere near the 600 I thought we'd need, and there were still a bazillion left over.) My brother-in-law sliced his finger open with one of my mom's very sharp knives on Wednesday night, requiring four stitches. It's not a party until someone bleeds.
Repeat ad infinitum--cooking, eating, drinking, hot tub. Sleep. More people. Cooking, eating, drinking, hot tub, drinking, eating, more people, hot tub, etc., etc. Thursday night we started cooking the 100 pounds of Boston butt we'd bought for the barbecue, and when I woke up at three in the morning to the overpowering smell of slow-roated pork, I couldn't get back to sleep because the house smelled so good. Which unfortunately set a bad precedent for the week--being too excited to sleep.
Friday was the day most of our friends and extended family would be rolling into town, so I started off in the spa. Then we started making vats of gumbo--chicken and andouille sausage gumbo, and a seafood gumbo made with fresh Gulf shrimp, crawfish and alligator sausage. By this point I was doing more delegating than cooking; I was trying to greet guests, talk to old friends, and cook simultaneously, which meant all of those things were being done poorly. I will admit it was kinda fun to point at random people and say things like, "Could you chop these peppers for me?" and "Stir that" and "You're in charge of mincing the parsley." And those things got done! I get a kick out of saying to my hubby, "You need to vacuum today,"--and then he does it! How awesome is that?!--but it was even cooler when people I'm not married to were scurrying around asking, "What can I do to help?" All that help made the gumbo extra delicious.
I was so excited by everyone's arrival that I forgot to eat. I kept running from one old friend to another, checking in with everyone, making sure everyone was having a good time. I didn't have a chance to really talk in-depth with anyone, but I was still deliriously happy to have (almost) everyone I loved under one roof. Plus the house came with the most amazing pimptastic bar ever. I was quite the social butterfly.
I hit the wall hard sometime after midnight, which meant I woke up on my wedding day coasting on about five hours' sleep, too nervous to eat (and I forgot to eat dinner on Friday), and too wired to either nap or at least sit down. Well, nervous isn't quite the right word. I was fluttery and keyed up, but I wanted to get married. I really did. On some level, I was paranoid it wouldn't actually happen--that it would turn out to be some elaborate practical joke, or that he really would cut and run at the altar. Because I hadn't wanted to be married for so long, and then I hadn't let myself want it for fear of it never happening, and then once I did admit I wanted it, I got humiliated in the worst way, and so then I was back to not wanting it. And there it was, within reach. Surely the universe would throw up some roadblock, it couldn't happen that easily. At the very least, I would spill something on the ivory satin wedding dress my mom made me, or snap the heel of my $400 Stuart Weitzman red satin pumps. Right?
And then, before I knew it, the music cued. The minister prayed, his brother-in-law played a hauntingly beautiful bagpipe solo (that went perfectly with the rainy, foggy weather), and my best friend took her place to officiate the ceremony. Someone handed me a bouquet, and then there I was, walking down the aisle. I was still nervous, but I didn't cry, or trip, or run away. Neither did he. We just stood there, grinning at each other, as my best friend grinned at the two of us. Mercifully, the ceremony was short. When the words "husband and wife" floated through the air, everyone applauded.
The rest of the night was a blur of friends and drinks and laughter. It was the first time all week I could truly relax, so I did. A lot of people left earlier than I would have liked (maybe they were tired from Friday night, too), but the barbecue was a huge hit and I got several exhortations to bottle my barbecue sauce. Somewhere in the middle of all that my brother got operated on (see previous post). Sometime after midnight, the small group of people left shooed John and me away. "It's your wedding night! Go celebrate it!" they cried. "I only see you people once every few years, MAYBE," I said. "I can see my husband for the rest of my life. Let me hang out with you a little while longer!" But no. We were shooed away. I suppose it's a good thing, in retrospect, because I remember going up the stairs to our bedroom, but I don't remember anything else until waking up at 4 am. I was so tired that I went unconscious literally the moment I touched the bed. Not quite the wedding night everyone had in mind, I'm sure, but we've been making up for it this week. (I've never had legal sex before! It's quite the novelty.)
And then the next day, everyone left. Three metric tons of leftover food and booze were divided up and carried away, and then we had that enormous house to ourselves for a night. The plan all along was to come back to our apartment in California and "honeymoon" at home for a week, running errands and hanging out. And all along I thought that was a cop-out, that I'd be chomping at the bit to travel, to go somewhere and do something. After last week, I've been more than content to sit at home on my ass all week long. We've been productive--we had to restock the completely depleted pantry and liquor cabinet, do laundry, unpack, blah blah--but I've also been sleeping 10 to 12 hours every night. That's right, folks, I'm spending my honeymoon in shorts, on my sofa, drinking rum and watching cheesy movies. Aren't you jealous?
In my defense, we've at least been eating well. No more beans or soup for a while. Our first married dinner was a board full of gourmet cheese and salami, with fresh buffalo carpaccio, and a good bottle of wine. Our second married dinner was roasted pork belly with wild rice and an avocado-arugula-heirloom tomato salad. Our third married dinner was whole broiled trout wrapped in wild boar bacon with broccoli rabe. And so on.
So, to sum up: I love my husband. I love being married. We'll get that same house and throw down again for our five-year anniversary. You're all invited.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Our wedding
It was perfect.
Not in the storybook-perfect way. It was raining pretty heavily all day, there was a lot of fog, and there were a lot of people I wanted to see that couldn't make it. Also I was tired, frazzled, and couldn't eat all day. But it was still perfect. Because it was us, and because it was our family and friends, and because it was our wedding.
I'll go into more detail later, but here are the important points. The house was amazing. Spending a week with the two families (who got along like gangbusters, natch) was amazing. Lots of laughter and good food. We cooked enough food to choke three armies, half of which ended up going home with everyone on Sunday. (But better to have too much than not enough.) The biggest hits were, of course, the seafood gumbo and my barbecue sauce. My dress was beautiful, made by my mom, and everyone loved the shoes. I got to wear my great-grandmother's pearls. The bouquet was a variety of herbs from my mom's garden. My best friend performed the ceremony. No one stuttered, or cried, or spontaneously vomited, or did any of things I was afraid would happen during the ceremony. But lots of people in the audience cried. In fact, I couldn't stop grinning.
After the service, we all ate, took some great pictures, and then retired to the bar--conveniently located next to both the living room and the hot tub. Drinks were had. At some point in the evening, John's uncle, a plastic surgeon from Ohio, started talking to my brother. My brother has a mole on his nose--just a little one, but it's always bothered him. Uncle Doctor told him if he wanted it removed, all he needed was a bag of ice and a pair of embroidery scissors. So we procured a bag of ice and a pair of embroidery scissors, gave my brother a couple of fortifying shots, and then the doctor just--snip!--and it was gone. We put a bandaid on it and celebrated. It's not every wedding that has surgery in it.
Oh, my brother-in-law sliced his finger open earlier on the week on one of my mom's good knives. It took four stitches. So the marriage has been doubly consecrated in blood. It's not a party until someone bleeds.
Not in the storybook-perfect way. It was raining pretty heavily all day, there was a lot of fog, and there were a lot of people I wanted to see that couldn't make it. Also I was tired, frazzled, and couldn't eat all day. But it was still perfect. Because it was us, and because it was our family and friends, and because it was our wedding.
I'll go into more detail later, but here are the important points. The house was amazing. Spending a week with the two families (who got along like gangbusters, natch) was amazing. Lots of laughter and good food. We cooked enough food to choke three armies, half of which ended up going home with everyone on Sunday. (But better to have too much than not enough.) The biggest hits were, of course, the seafood gumbo and my barbecue sauce. My dress was beautiful, made by my mom, and everyone loved the shoes. I got to wear my great-grandmother's pearls. The bouquet was a variety of herbs from my mom's garden. My best friend performed the ceremony. No one stuttered, or cried, or spontaneously vomited, or did any of things I was afraid would happen during the ceremony. But lots of people in the audience cried. In fact, I couldn't stop grinning.
After the service, we all ate, took some great pictures, and then retired to the bar--conveniently located next to both the living room and the hot tub. Drinks were had. At some point in the evening, John's uncle, a plastic surgeon from Ohio, started talking to my brother. My brother has a mole on his nose--just a little one, but it's always bothered him. Uncle Doctor told him if he wanted it removed, all he needed was a bag of ice and a pair of embroidery scissors. So we procured a bag of ice and a pair of embroidery scissors, gave my brother a couple of fortifying shots, and then the doctor just--snip!--and it was gone. We put a bandaid on it and celebrated. It's not every wedding that has surgery in it.
Oh, my brother-in-law sliced his finger open earlier on the week on one of my mom's good knives. It took four stitches. So the marriage has been doubly consecrated in blood. It's not a party until someone bleeds.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
May 22, 2010
...As the screaming from outside the gate burst all bounds of propriety, the Prince interrupted the Archdean and said with gentlest manner, “Holiness, my love is simply overpowering my ability to wait—please skip to the end of the service.”
“Mawidge,” the Archdean began.
“Again, Holiness, I interrupt in the name of love. Please hurry to the end.”
“Mawidge is a dweam wiffin a dweam. The dweam of wuv wapped wiffin the gweater dweam of everwasting west. Eternity is our fwiend: wemember that, and wuv wiw fowwow you fowever.”
The Prince stood up and approached the Archdean firmly. “Man and wife,” he shouted. “Man and wife! Say that!”
“I’m not there yet,” the Archdean answered.
“You just arrived,” the Prince replied. “Now!”
“Mawidge,” the Archdean began.
“Again, Holiness, I interrupt in the name of love. Please hurry to the end.”
“Mawidge is a dweam wiffin a dweam. The dweam of wuv wapped wiffin the gweater dweam of everwasting west. Eternity is our fwiend: wemember that, and wuv wiw fowwow you fowever.”
The Prince stood up and approached the Archdean firmly. “Man and wife,” he shouted. “Man and wife! Say that!”
“I’m not there yet,” the Archdean answered.
“You just arrived,” the Prince replied. “Now!”
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
This house is PIMP
No, not my parents' house, where I was staying for the past few days. That's still small, in the country, and sans internet access and cell phone reception. My Man and Son flew in with me on Saturday to DC, whereupon we took the long and winding road (Route 15, to be exact) down the middle of the state and got many great views of cow pastures. We spent a few busy but good days there, getting some baking done, rounding up all the stuff we needed for the wedding, and catching up with my pregnant sister and her husband. (PS: she's not fat, despite all her protestations to the contrary.)
Then yesterday we drove up to Wintergreen, to the house we rented for the wedding. Dude. 6 BR, 5 BA, a full bar next to the 10-person hot tub--and when I say full bar, I mean full bar, complete with two wine refrigerators, an ice machine, a sink, and two TVs--a fire pit on the wraparound deck, a 96-inch projection screen, air hockey, ginormous kitchen, two laundry rooms, et cetera, et cetera. Definitely one of the nicest houses I've ever set foot in. I can't wait for the wedding.
Well, let me rephrase that. I'm having such a great time hanging out with everyone that I want to be able to slllloooooooooooowwww down this week and make it last about two months. I can't wait for Saturday, but after that, it'll all be over.
Then yesterday we drove up to Wintergreen, to the house we rented for the wedding. Dude. 6 BR, 5 BA, a full bar next to the 10-person hot tub--and when I say full bar, I mean full bar, complete with two wine refrigerators, an ice machine, a sink, and two TVs--a fire pit on the wraparound deck, a 96-inch projection screen, air hockey, ginormous kitchen, two laundry rooms, et cetera, et cetera. Definitely one of the nicest houses I've ever set foot in. I can't wait for the wedding.
Well, let me rephrase that. I'm having such a great time hanging out with everyone that I want to be able to slllloooooooooooowwww down this week and make it last about two months. I can't wait for Saturday, but after that, it'll all be over.
Friday, May 14, 2010
Hi ho, hi ho, it's off to VA we go...
It goes without saying, but I'll be offline for a few days while at my folks' house. I won't have time to blog anyway, what with the 600 cookies we'll be baking and all. More soon, I promise!
Thursday, May 13, 2010
New Me vs. Old Me
So yesterday at work, being bored, I reverted to my old method of killing time at work—planning imaginary trips. I think it’s great fun, but it has one painful side effect. It stokes the wanderlust. Periodically it stokes it high enough that I actually take one of the trips I’ve just planned. (Sometimes last-minute, sometimes not.)
Yesterday I was thinking about that week we’ll have in our apartment after we return from the wedding. Technically it’s our honeymoon, which will be spent running errands, going to the beach, and having a lot of sex. Of course, I’d much rather do those things in a more exotic locale, but the money just ain’t there right now. So I started thinking of day trips we could take--Tijuana, the Channel Islands, maybe Death Valley. That led into “well, if we’re going to drive to Death Valley, we might as well spend a couple of days and see some other stuff at the same time,” which led to “oooooh! We could go back to the Grand Tetons and spend a long weekend there!” which led to “why not take another mini-road trip through Utah, Idaho, Montana and Wyoming?”
I planned the whole thing out, down to researching hotel rooms, before common sense reminded me that “all that money you’ll spend going to Wyoming would pay off a debt or two.” Damn. But, correct. So then my brain piped back up with “how about just a nice dinner out? That could be the ‘honeymoon.’”
I got a reservation at the Inn at Little Washington.
For those of you that don’t know, the Inn at Little Washington is consistently rated one of the top three or four restaurants in the United States. It’s in a tiny dinky town in Virginia, an hour’s drive outside DC and around two hours’ drive from where the wedding festivities will be. It’s very hard to get a reservation there, I’ve always wanted to go, and a honeymoon sounds like a pretty good reason to go to me. So, problem solved. Right?
Until I did the math.
Now, on an empirical level, I have no problem spending $700 on dinner for two. (Tasting menu + wine pairings = $288 per person, plus tax and tip.) I’ve spent $500 on dinner for myself, and it was worth every penny. This, I guess, is “Old Me.” The Me who would happily drop that kind of money on a fancy-pants dinner. ESPECIALLY with a good reason like a honeymoon. Who is now warring with “New Me,” who says “$700 would buy the two of us a week in New Orleans. Or a Big Green Egg. Or, you know, some dental work and groceries and new tires for the truck and maybe some new socks.”
SIGH. I know I shouldn’t go, but I really really want to! But, you know, fiscal responsibility and adulthood and all that.
So my compromise will be to cancel the reservation (!!!), happily spend the week at the beach/running errands, and download the menu from the restaurant. Then try to make all those yummy things for myself. Maybe when we get some stuff paid down, we can go visit my sister and the new baby, spend that money living it up in New Orleans for a few days, and I can make a fancy-pants multi-course dinner with wine pairings for everybody. And we can eat it in our pajamas.
Not the same at all. But it'll have to do.
Yesterday I was thinking about that week we’ll have in our apartment after we return from the wedding. Technically it’s our honeymoon, which will be spent running errands, going to the beach, and having a lot of sex. Of course, I’d much rather do those things in a more exotic locale, but the money just ain’t there right now. So I started thinking of day trips we could take--Tijuana, the Channel Islands, maybe Death Valley. That led into “well, if we’re going to drive to Death Valley, we might as well spend a couple of days and see some other stuff at the same time,” which led to “oooooh! We could go back to the Grand Tetons and spend a long weekend there!” which led to “why not take another mini-road trip through Utah, Idaho, Montana and Wyoming?”
I planned the whole thing out, down to researching hotel rooms, before common sense reminded me that “all that money you’ll spend going to Wyoming would pay off a debt or two.” Damn. But, correct. So then my brain piped back up with “how about just a nice dinner out? That could be the ‘honeymoon.’”
I got a reservation at the Inn at Little Washington.
For those of you that don’t know, the Inn at Little Washington is consistently rated one of the top three or four restaurants in the United States. It’s in a tiny dinky town in Virginia, an hour’s drive outside DC and around two hours’ drive from where the wedding festivities will be. It’s very hard to get a reservation there, I’ve always wanted to go, and a honeymoon sounds like a pretty good reason to go to me. So, problem solved. Right?
Until I did the math.
Now, on an empirical level, I have no problem spending $700 on dinner for two. (Tasting menu + wine pairings = $288 per person, plus tax and tip.) I’ve spent $500 on dinner for myself, and it was worth every penny. This, I guess, is “Old Me.” The Me who would happily drop that kind of money on a fancy-pants dinner. ESPECIALLY with a good reason like a honeymoon. Who is now warring with “New Me,” who says “$700 would buy the two of us a week in New Orleans. Or a Big Green Egg. Or, you know, some dental work and groceries and new tires for the truck and maybe some new socks.”
SIGH. I know I shouldn’t go, but I really really want to! But, you know, fiscal responsibility and adulthood and all that.
So my compromise will be to cancel the reservation (!!!), happily spend the week at the beach/running errands, and download the menu from the restaurant. Then try to make all those yummy things for myself. Maybe when we get some stuff paid down, we can go visit my sister and the new baby, spend that money living it up in New Orleans for a few days, and I can make a fancy-pants multi-course dinner with wine pairings for everybody. And we can eat it in our pajamas.
Not the same at all. But it'll have to do.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Isn't it time to fly to Virginia yet? SHEESH.
I know in a few days I'm totally going to bite my tongue for saying this, but right now I am BORED. Booooooooooooooooorrrrrrrrrred. I know, nice problem to have, right? I want to hurry up and get to Virginia so I can do all the nine billion things on my list (bake 600 cookies; assemble various stockpots and serving trays and baskets; buy all the groceries; raid my mother's garden; oh yeah, try on my wedding dress) but until then there's nothing I can do here. Work is slow (thank God), the house is relatively clean, we're packed except for the last few things...it's a waiting game now.
I hate waiting.
I hate waiting.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Warning: tackiness ahead
Alas, Emily Post offers no guidance on whether it is tacky to tell people where you are registered via your own blog. So, if it actually is, my apologies.
For those of you who care, we're registered at Williams Sonoma, Crate & Barrel, Pampered Chef and Chef's Catalog.
For those of you who care, we're registered at Williams Sonoma, Crate & Barrel, Pampered Chef and Chef's Catalog.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Happy Mother's Day, everyone!
This is the last weekend we'll spend in our apartment as single people. Crazy, huh? I spent yesterday packing, and today I'm sure I'll just wander around trying to think of what I've forgotten. Our flight leaves bright and early on Saturday, so on Friday we'll actually spend the night in a hotel in Long Beach (courtesy of my soon-to-be-husband's ex-mother-in-law; is that weird? It seems weird to me, but he seems okay with it, and I'm not one to look a gift horse in the mouth). Work has been very busy; I go into work every day hoping to get all this stuff done and then they actually expect me to do work at work. So unproductive.
Plus, let's be honest, there actually isn't that much that needs to be done between now and the time we leave. Return all the library books. Take out the trash. Do laundry and finish packing. Get some stuff for sandwiches to take on the plane. The rest of my time is spent checking and rechecking all the various lists, just to make sure I haven't forgotten something, and no one is interested in my paranoic obsessing. Except possibly my cats.
Plus, let's be honest, there actually isn't that much that needs to be done between now and the time we leave. Return all the library books. Take out the trash. Do laundry and finish packing. Get some stuff for sandwiches to take on the plane. The rest of my time is spent checking and rechecking all the various lists, just to make sure I haven't forgotten something, and no one is interested in my paranoic obsessing. Except possibly my cats.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
More things you gotta do before getting married
1. Read every book you can find about marriage, joint finances, and childrearing. Start to freak out about all the things you don't know about childrearing. Then read The Liars' Club and The Glass Castle and realize nothing you could do would ever be that bad. Continue freaking out a little anyway.
2. Budgeting is so much easier with two paychecks! But wait. There are two sets of debt.
3. Call every friend you have with kids to find out how long it took them to get pregnant after going off the pill.
4. While you're at it, inquire delicately as to the state of their marriages, and what words of wisdom can be passed along. Attempt to mentally collate all this.
5. Amend escape fantasy from "selling everything and moving to Costa Rica to work in a bar on the beach somewhere" to "selling everything and moving to Costa Rica with both extended families to start a joint family compound near the beach somewhere, and raise chickens."
6. Realize that, forever after, a happening Saturday night will consist of dinner, a video and possibly a board game. The words "booty text," "2-for-1 shots," and "Joel Robuchon's new restaurant" will now be eliminated from your Saturday night vocabulary. Likewise, "I think I slept with that bartender once," "Can we get a cab in this neighborhood at 4:30 am?" and "Zombie bowl for four please. With extra fire." Happily stock up on board games.
7. Call your sister repeatedly to be assured that, yes, all men would rather play video games than do housework, that all men are incapable of seeing dirt or the trail of clothing they leave behind them when getting home from work, that no man will ever bound out of bed on Sunday morning saying, "Gosh! So many things to do today!" Realize that you are actually okay with this.
8. Send up repeated prayers of thanks that you are marrying THIS man, and not any of your ex-boyfriends. Briefly contemplate married life with each of them, then go wash. Repeatedly.
9. Likewise, wake up one night and think, "All this time I thought it was the institution of marriage that scared the crap out of me. When really, it was just Brant!"
10. Realize that you no longer care about updating your wardrobe, because life insurance payments now take precedence. Attempt to talk yourself into a new bathing suit, then sit back and watch as your rational brain--for the first time ever--convinces you that a bigger emergency fund is more important.
11. Take your engagement ring off to knead dough/apply lotion/paint, then feel guilty about it.
12. Try to envision changing your name. Then try to get an appointment at the DMV for anytime in the next six months. Table that discussion.
13. Wake up every morning and remember how lucky you are. Look at his dad and hope he's just like that in his old age. Watch him playing with the cats and discover your long-buried maternal instinct. Hold hands quietly as you walk to work with him every day. Think about how you cannot wait to really be married to this man.
2. Budgeting is so much easier with two paychecks! But wait. There are two sets of debt.
3. Call every friend you have with kids to find out how long it took them to get pregnant after going off the pill.
4. While you're at it, inquire delicately as to the state of their marriages, and what words of wisdom can be passed along. Attempt to mentally collate all this.
5. Amend escape fantasy from "selling everything and moving to Costa Rica to work in a bar on the beach somewhere" to "selling everything and moving to Costa Rica with both extended families to start a joint family compound near the beach somewhere, and raise chickens."
6. Realize that, forever after, a happening Saturday night will consist of dinner, a video and possibly a board game. The words "booty text," "2-for-1 shots," and "Joel Robuchon's new restaurant" will now be eliminated from your Saturday night vocabulary. Likewise, "I think I slept with that bartender once," "Can we get a cab in this neighborhood at 4:30 am?" and "Zombie bowl for four please. With extra fire." Happily stock up on board games.
7. Call your sister repeatedly to be assured that, yes, all men would rather play video games than do housework, that all men are incapable of seeing dirt or the trail of clothing they leave behind them when getting home from work, that no man will ever bound out of bed on Sunday morning saying, "Gosh! So many things to do today!" Realize that you are actually okay with this.
8. Send up repeated prayers of thanks that you are marrying THIS man, and not any of your ex-boyfriends. Briefly contemplate married life with each of them, then go wash. Repeatedly.
9. Likewise, wake up one night and think, "All this time I thought it was the institution of marriage that scared the crap out of me. When really, it was just Brant!"
10. Realize that you no longer care about updating your wardrobe, because life insurance payments now take precedence. Attempt to talk yourself into a new bathing suit, then sit back and watch as your rational brain--for the first time ever--convinces you that a bigger emergency fund is more important.
11. Take your engagement ring off to knead dough/apply lotion/paint, then feel guilty about it.
12. Try to envision changing your name. Then try to get an appointment at the DMV for anytime in the next six months. Table that discussion.
13. Wake up every morning and remember how lucky you are. Look at his dad and hope he's just like that in his old age. Watch him playing with the cats and discover your long-buried maternal instinct. Hold hands quietly as you walk to work with him every day. Think about how you cannot wait to really be married to this man.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
