But he has to be into you!

Let me make something clear. This is not going to be one of those posts where at the end, I say how happy I am to be married and not doing the dating thing.  Not because that isn’t how I feel but because I find it obnoxious. Single friends reading this – don’t worry, I won’t go all smug-married-person on you.  I hate when people do that.

Maybe it’s because I like listening to other people’s problems. Maybe it’s because I haven’t had my fill of bad dates. But I actually enjoy hearing about my friends’ dating escapades. I like helping them* by going out and having a good time with them. Sometimes they meet people, sometimes they don’t. I would hate to miss out on all the laughs just because I’m married.

*Ok, ok. I just like going out – helpful or not.

I’ve lamented before about the lack of good-quality, single men out there.  A Male Friend once told me that all the 20-something guys are dating 18 year olds because the 20-something girls are all dating 30- something guys. Then when the 20-something girls, now close to being 30, find themselves single again , there are no guys around their age because they are all dating those 18-25 year old girls.  The Male Friend is right.  Damn those 18 year old girls.

All hope cannot be lost though. A quick look at my friends’ match.com and mysinglefriend.com’s accounts prove that there are single men out there looking for single women like my friends. They’re exchanging winks and favorite-ing each other. Once they send a message, the game begins.

And as much as they don’t want to refer to their dating lives as a game, they have to because that is exactly what it is.  It’s a game that takes constant attention and effort. My friend – we’ll call her Katie – is on match.com and has had a few successes in the past but nothing panned out in the end.

She took a break from the site because it took too much effort to keep up with the correspondence and she was busy with friends and it was the holidays blah blah blah.

Truth is, she was just tired of it. The roller coaster effect of finding someone, exchanging messages, going on a date, being slightly disappointed by the date, exchanging more messages, feeling positive about a second date, having a good second date, kiss on the cheek, obsessing over what that means,  decide it’s sweet and respectful, ignore the fact that you really wanted a big fat kiss on the lips, send text, don’t receive a text back until two days later, decide not to send him a text until three days later, then get really annoyed when you haven’t heard from him in a week.

See, it’s a game.

The thing I first noticed about online dating is that – in general – it seems women put in more effort with their profiles.

First, you’ve got the photos. Maybe it’s because men don’t take cameras with them everywhere they go, but you should see some of the photos up there.  It’s like they had two from their office Christmas party, one of them drunk at a music festival last summer, and one post-coital pic their ex took. Sometimes they don’t have enough photos of themselves and upload photos of their cars, motorbikes or a sunset from a recent vacation.

Women, on the other hand, have a billion photos to choose from and selecting five or six takes up a whole afternoon. You want to look good but you also want to look realistic. You need at least one that shows below the shoulders.

To complement the photos, you can also pick from a list of  preset adjectives to describe your interests, drinking style, job/income, and body type. We saw a guy who said he was “heavyset” and we’re pretty sure he doesn’t know what that word means unless he’s one of those guys who actually has a slew of very flattering photos.  Or as my friend, Maria, pointed out, “Sounds like he has body issues. This could be a good thing!”

Then you’ve got the profile they have to write about themselves which is no small feat. To write Katie’s profile, three of us spent a Saturday emailing drafts back and forth. To write Maria’s mysinglefriend.com profile, we did our nails and went through three bottles of wine trying to come up with 150 words. And the whole point of mysinglefriend.com is that your friend writes the recommendation, you don’t even have to write it yourself.

I don’t know about you but I can’t see a group of guys sitting around, drinking beer, and writing match profiles for each other. Which is why, in most cases, they leave a bit to be desired. It is not uncommon to hear the girls dismiss guys over lack of information or bad grammar. I’m with them on the bad grammar and complete disregard for punctuation i mean how annoying is that could they not even be bothered to spell-check this is a representation of themselves they should be ashamed!

It makes it all the more wonderful then when you run across a profile where the guy is the next Nicholas Sparks (or has asked his sister to write it). One potential suitor wrote, “I don’t know exactly what I’m looking for but I have a picture in my mind of a morning spent lazing together on the sofa, newspapers strewn about, filling the time between a full English breakfast and a late afternoon Sunday roast.”

Suddenly I’m imagining myself reading a newspaper with this man!

So you exchange messages. You ask each other about different things mentioned in your profile – you ask about his trip to New Zealand, he asks what red velvet cake is. You spend your evenings trying to craft witty and interesting responses. You count the days until you receive a message back. You try not to freak out when he suggests talking about his trip in person.

You arrange to meet for drinks on a Thursday. You make your friends come over and drink white wine, give you pointers on things to talk about and assure you are showing just enough cleavage.

You have your date. It may or may not be wonderful. It’s always weird meeting someone in person after having an image of them in your head. You wonder if he’s happy with who you turned out to be. You text your friends on the way home and begin the next part of the game.

The thing about online dating is that everyone is on there, trying to meet someone. It’s not like when you go to a bar and casually meet someone. If it doesn’t work out, you can both make some excuse about not really wanting to meet someone anyway but with online dating, we all know what’s happening here.

You’re all looking for someone and while he’s out with you, he might have two witty and interesting messages waiting in his inbox from someone else.

The competition – this is is the hardest part.

If match.com has to put commercials on the TV announcing that they’ve just had a huge batch of men join, you can pretty much guess that there are more amazing single women on there than men. You’ve got stiff competition.

As the friend, as the one not dating, this is the hardest part for me too. I love my friends. I think they are amazing women. I don’t understand how someone wouldn’t like them.

When a guy Maria was seeing seemed to be messing her around, canceling at the last minute, giving mixed signals, I couldn’t tell her to cut him loose. I knew she liked him, or at least wanted him to like her, and I couldn’t bring myself to suggest that maybe he just wasn’t that into her. Look at those photos we chose! Read how cool you sound on your profile! You’re so fun and pretty – he has to like you!

When she told her story to The Male Friend, he listened. The Male Friend stayed quiet as Maria explained how the guy seemed interested – he told her this and that, he was the one who asked her out  in the first place, but going two weeks without a date, what did it all mean?!

Katie and I stood nearby, listening to the story for the fifteenth time, nodding sympathetically.  Just as I was about to say something like, “Maybe he’s really into you but he doesn’t know how you feel and he’s scared,” The Male Friend spoke up.

‘Dump him and move on.”

It was that easy to him. The facts were on the table and it didn’t matter what The Male Friend thought about Maria. It was clear as day to him. The guy was not interested and Maria should not waste any more time thinking about it.

But that would be too easy. Instead when the guy canceled their date again, we all sat on Maria’s bed, thinking of something she could say in response. We knew it would be the last time she would be in contact with him. She wanted to play it cool but also let him know that she wouldn’t be hanging around for him again.

“Can I add an exclamation mark?” Maria asks.

Katie and I both say no.

“But I like them and I usually include them.”

Katie says it will sound like she’s yelling at him. We thought she wanted to play it cool.  She says she is and this will show she doesn’t really care…it’s more of a happy exclamation mark.

“So you’re happy that he canceled? You’re happy that he’s not interested?”  I ask, knowing the answer already.

The tone of exclamation marks does not come across well via text but we still debate it. In the end, she sent it exclamation mark-less.

However, my thoughts on this are not exclamation mark-less.  Throughout this process, I have continuously pointed out that we sound as though we could be in the movie “He’s Just Not That Into You.” We laugh and all agree but we don’t change because honestly, how can they not be into them?!

There is no moral to this story. Or at least not one that I’m willing to accept.  I have three other friends asking me to help with their online dating profiles and I have yet to be able to say that my help has led to a success story.

But, friends, I swear I will never say, “God, I’m so lucky to have found someone!” and wax lyrical about how nice it is not to be dating anymore.  Instead, I will promise to help, to listen, to drink wine, to edit your text messages and to tell you your rack looks amazing in that shirt.

Girl meets boy

I have always had crushes on celebrities. I think it’s weird if you haven’t ever had one. What?  You only go for real, attainable men? Weirdos.

For me, it started with Timmy from Lassie and Kirk Cameron from Growing Pains and then progressed to Ralph Macchio in The Karate Kid. But my biggest celebrity crush was Devon Sawa. I had posters covering my walls and I had even created mock-ups of wedding invites for Devon and me.  I actually wrote a letter to him once, asking if he wanted to be pen pals.

I also wrote our initials on the side of the house. On the cement between two bricks. With a pencil. I was so badass, you guys wouldn’t even believe it.

But when I was 14, I became obsessed with Prince William. I was devastated when Diana died because I actually thought she might be my mother-in-law one day.

We had internet access at home but I never used it. I’m not sure I even knew what it all meant. Then we started having classes at school centered around the World Wide Web and all the neat stuff you could find on there.  I used to go to my friend’s house after school and we would go on British chat rooms on the hunt for Prince William. Because, you know, he was probably at his friend’s house playing on this newfangled internet too.

We began chatting to someone named Joey. Turns out he was actually three 18 year old guys who had just moved in together and pooled their money  for a computer. We spent many hours talking to them – we were clearly charmed by their British wit – but one of the guys stood out in particular.

He explained how there were these free email services and how we could write each other messages for free and you could check your email anywhere. I got my first hotmail account and got myself on ICQ too. We talked about growing up in different countries, we told each other about school and our familes, we shared favorite books and songs and films.

In the beginning, it was something to kill the time. It was also a novelty. It was just meant to be a bit of fun, nothing serious. My mom knew it was more than just something to kill time when I started spending a lot more time on the computer. (And these were the days when you waited for five minutes while you listened to the dial up modem whizzing and buzzing away, certain aliens would arrive at any moment. These were the days when we paid by the minute.These were the days when there was no way you could sneak onto the Internet. Kids have it so easy these days.)

I told my mom I was speaking to someone on the web and she responded as any mother would. She was concerned. After all, back then all you heard about were the girls who went missing after meeting their supposedly 17 year old suitors they met on America Online.

Naturally, she was worried and didn’t want me giving out our phone number or address. She asked lots of questions about him and what we talked about for so long. She was just being a mom. (I admit, at the time, I was all,”You just don’t understand me! No one understands what it’s like. My life is so hard!” I’m sorry, Mom.)

We had been chatting for months when he asked if he could send me a mixed tape of songs that he had recorded off the radio. I asked my mom and at first she said no but after I argued my case we agreed that if he was a 50 year old serial killer, he probably would have found me by now. So, yes, he could send the tape but my mom needed to listen to it.

And she did and she was satisfied that there were no sinister messages laced throughout the Sunday night Top 10 singles. She also read some of the letters. I was okay with it too. I knew that if I didn’t include her it would all be over.

We continued chatting and sending tapes and letters. We finally exchanged photos – through snail mail since I probably had never even seen a scanner, never mind a digital camera. It was so strange to see the person I had spent all those months talking to. He was and wasn’t how I imagined him but I was pleasantly surprised.

Then one day he asked if he could call me. I was a nervous wreck. I had talked to boys on the phone. A few of them I even liked but no one like this. I’d like to say the conversation was amazing but it wasn’t. I struggled to understand his broad northern accent. I said “sorry, what was that?” about fifty times and laughed at his jokes 20 seconds after the punch line. He could understand me better because he watched Friends and The Simpsons.

I was falling for a guy I had never even met. I was 16 and wasn’t even allowed to properly date anyone in real life. This guy lived in England. He had just started university. He wasn’t real.

Neither of us really knew what to make of it. We certainly liked each other. We missed each other when we didn’t speak. But we didn’t really know each other and yet you could argue that we knew each other better than anyone.

We talked about meeting up one day. Maybe some day after I graduated college. We could meet up and see where things went from there. I don’t think either of us really believed that would happen.

As the months went on, we talked more and more about how we could meet. I think he was more serious about it than me at first. When I thought about meeting him, I felt sick. I wasn’t ready for that sort of thing. I still had Devon Sawa wedding invitations tucked away in my bedroom. I wasn’t sure I wanted to take the risk and spoil things. I liked having him in my computer, listening to me, asking me questions, caring about me.

And then there was the whole issue of my parents. My dad was stationed in Korea and during his weekly calls, my mom would tell him how serious we were getting and what would she do if I really tried to meet up with this…this man! My dad told her not to worry about it, he was sure it would just wither away. It was a stage. It was a fad. It would never really happen. Then he probably hung up the phone, cursing God for giving him three daughters who had all these icky emotions and trivial problems when he had bigger issues on his mind. Like North Korea.

But it didn’t seem to be a fad. It certainly didn’t feel like I was going through some stage either. One day when I was chatting to this funny and smart Englishman, he suggested that he and a friend come to the US in the summer. They would fly to DC and meet me and my friend and if it was weird and didn’t work out, that would be ok. They would continue on with their vacation in America. No pressure. But what if we never got another chance? What if it was fate? What if we were meant to be together?

And because I was am a hopeless romantic and watched way too many Nora Ephron movies, I said yes. Er, I mean…I said, let me ask my mom. (By this point we had been talking for a year and he still had not abducted me so my mom said ok.)

The lead up to that day in June 1999 was a whole mix of emotions. I was nervous. I was in denial. I was excited. I was, in the only way I knew how, in love. I was terrified.

It was a horrendously hot day in Virginia. I put my hair in velcro curlers the night before and wore a blue shirt. My friend wore a cream skirt. My mom (yep, she had to come) sat on the other side of International Arrivals, reading a magazine. These are the things I remember.

I also remember waiting three hours because their flight was delayed. I remember my friend sitting on an empty luggage carousel and standing up to find black grease across the back of her skirt. I remember my mom telling us she was heading to Starbucks – there was only so much waiting one could do. I remember watching his flight disappear off the board and thinking, he’s not coming. What was I thinking?

And then there they were. The two guys from the photos. Only they looked much younger and much more scared. The look on his face in particular was a look of pure shock, as if he couldn’t believe he just spent all his part-time job earnings on a flight across the ocean to see a girl he had never met before. A girl who wore braces and loved Third Eye Blind and hadn’t yet been allowed to drive with friends in the car. He was as white as a ghost.

I wanted to turn and run away. That sounds horrible but you have to remember I was 16 and terribly self conscious and suddenly faced with what was essentially a blind date. But with so much riding on it.

I didn’t run though. My friend pushed me forward. He saw me. I think a bit of color returned to his face. I actually don’t remember much from those few seconds where he walked out from the big crowd of people. I remember we hugged. I remember he was wearing a grey t-shirt. I remember saying, “You came” in a surprised and totally relieved voice.  I remember looking at him, thinking… is this really you? Is this who I tell my secrets to? Who are you? I hope I know.

The guys checked in to a hotel but came to my house for a BBQ on the first night. We played Scrabble and took my dog for a walk. They charmed my mom with their polite manners and English accents. She let them sleep in the guest room in the basement for the rest of the week. (With a chair under the doorknob, just in case.)

If I were a country singer/songwriter, I could make a killing with a song about that week. It was a week I will remember for the rest of my life. For a week that summer, I felt pretty good. And that’s no small feat for a teenage girl just starting out in the world. I am eternally grateful for those seven days. I am grateful to my mom for listening and acknowledging. I am grateful to my friend who wouldn’t let me run from the baggage claim at Dulles Airport. I am grateful to “Joey”.

In the end, it really did happen. It didn’t wither away. So what if he wasn’t Prince William? Turns out he was something better. He was my first love. He was my future husband.

Devon Sawa, if you are reading this – I’m grateful to you too. Thank you for never writing me back.

On marriage

Go big or go home – that’s how I see this whole blog thing.

I never wanted my blog to just be a collection of vacation photos or a detailed account of what I did each day down to what I had for dinner. Sometimes I want to just share a funny story. Other times I want to write something more serious and I am hopeful that someone somewhere will relate to what I write. I always try to be honest and real.

But every once in awhile I write something that I later decide not to publish. This was one of those pieces before I resurrected it from the “don’t publish for fear of being taken out of context/upsetting your mom” file.

I decided to post it for the following reasons:
1) I think people can relate
2) I just feel like it, plain and simple. That’s the beauty of this whole blog thing
3) I am in a happy, loving marriage with a man who read this and agreed that no husbands were harmed in the making of this post.

———

I’m not sure many people would admit to thinking about how life might have been if things didn’t last with their partners. Think about a time when you fought and how it would have been if you never made up. A moment when you thought it was over and what it would have been like had you let it be.

I believe there are times in a relationship when you or your partner, or both of you, have to make a conscious decision to stick it out or throw in the towel. Have you ever thought about what would have happened if you had chosen differently? Do you ever imagine a different life? Do you ever wonder about where you might have ended up?

I met Scott at 16 and we spent many years apart, working towards a time when we could be together. Maintaining a long distance relationship is one of my greatest accomplishments. I’m really proud of how we did.

But let me tell you, it’s extremely difficult to grow up with someone and not grow apart. I felt myself shaping and I wondered what parts of me were because of him and how I might be different if I were with someone else or with no one at all.

Some days I couldn’t believe my luck. I didn’t understand how I had managed to find a guy like him and to have him love me in return. Other days I questioned whether we were developing into the people we were meant to be or not.

I know we both wondered if the distance – the hardships of doing it for so long – would be too much. I was concerned that one day we’d look at ourselves and who we’d become and we’d be resentful.

We’ve gone on though, completely committed to each other, and we said vows in front of family and friends, promising to be faithful and true to one another.

But after very nearly ten years together, I look at him, looking at me and I can’t help but wonder if he sees me, really sees me. And I look hard at him, searching, wondering, worrying. Has he settled for me? Have we settled along the way?

Usually when I am having one of those days, I pick a fight. I bring up the fact that he never read that book he told me he would. I had asked him to read it so we could talk about it. I want him to ask me about the book, to listen to my thoughts, to share his opinions.

Suddenly we are no longer talking about a book. I want him to get to know me again.

And then he says, Ok, what are you thinking about? What are your thoughts on this book? What do you think about this issue? How do you feel about this event/problem/ TV show?

And before I say anything, I remember that my answers are no different than a year ago, ten years ago. He knows me.

I feel it building up inside me and I want to blurt out, If we were strangers in a bar, would you approach me? Would you pick me out of a crowd?

Maybe he would say yes. Maybe he would say, What does it matter now?

I don’t know.

But I am certain I am not alone in this.

Six months ago, I spent an evening with a dear friend and after half a bottle of red wine, all this came tumbling out. And I saw it. I saw the relief spread across her face. I watched her shoulders relax. Me too, she said. I know exactly what you mean.

We took comfort in each other’s unsettling, niggling feelings. We felt like we could say what we were experiencing without all the judgment, without the looks, without the trouble in paradise comments. We felt normal. We are normal.

Love is the easy part. The hardest is saying I choose you no matter what. I choose you even if you don’t choose me. I choose me with you, me shaped by you.

After ten years, after all the goodbyes, the hellos, the tears and the joy, after moving thousands of miles away, after buying a home together, after leaving family, changing careers, losing loved ones, making friends, after choosing each other over and over again – marriage is hard.

Even if there are no fights, no mean words, no children, no money trouble, no someone else – it’s still something to work at and work for.

You have to be there. For a marriage, for that sort of commitment, you have to be present and aware. You have to just stay in the room.

In all situations, I have a bad habit of thinking the grass is always greener. But the truth is, you’re just as likely to step in a big pile of dog shit whether the grass is green or not.

So I look hard at the grass. And the thing about grass is that it grows and it changes and there’s potential, you know? I try to remember that. I try not to look too hard. I just try to keep looking.

Maybe if we had ended up with other people life wouldn’t have been any less full, any less rich.

But for me, it would have been a life without him. And that…that would just be less.

I know him. He knows me. Sometimes it’s tempting to think about what it could be like meeting someone different, learning new things about them, having them ask your likes and dislikes. Most of the time it seems natural to think about those things. Once in awhile, I worry that it’s not. I worry that it means something more. I worry that he is thinking the same thing. I worry.

But then my hand finds his next to me on the sofa, across the table, under the covers.

He squeezes back.

And my heart settles and I know that’s the very opposite of settling.

Cheaper than couples therapy

Scott has a famous recipe for salsa, which is pretty much my mom’s recipe for salsa, minus the tomatoes and the addition of cucumber. Scott’s salsa is very easy to whip together but it takes some serious chopping time, especially since he makes truckloads of the salsa at one time.

He is so proud of the salsa that no matter what dinner party I have planned he suggests his salsa. The last time we were visiting my parents, they hosted a party and Scott served his salsa and the three kinds of chillis nearly killed a few unsuspecting guests.

This salsa inspired my sister to give us a gift certificate to the cooking school, CulinAerie, on 14th Street in Washington, DC.  She chose the Knife Know How class since we would both find it useful in our cooking adventures and we went to the class back in January.

Unfortunately on the way to the class, we got in an argument. We were early to the class so we sat for awhile in a Starbucks, still upset with one another.  We walked into the cooking class, not speaking to each other, which was actually ok because for the first hour the instructor is taking you through all the best knives and chopping techniques.

Then it was our turn to work together to debone a whole chicken. I don’t do chicken on the bone so this was a very challenging task for me and not one I really wanted to do while Scott sat back, watching me, judging me. It didn’t take him long to see that I was about to do it all wrong (I’m sorry but I could barely look at that blue-ish chicken skin, nevermind touch the damn thing.)

The truth is I needed Scott and he saw it. He took the knife and came to my rescue just before the instructor arrived at our table to inspect our techniques. At that moment, Scott was my Jack Bauer of the culinary world.

We cut oranges and onions together and Scott cut my portion of carrots. We made a great team. Then it was time to cook the chicken and make a thick creamy mustard sauce. Finally my chance to shine!

I took over the sauce and then we watched the chicken pieces closely, waiting and hoping to get it right. We managed to only burn one piece, which we were able to conceal from the instructor* by quickly flipping it over.

Then it was time to serve up the food and it was delicious. Way more tasty than any chicken I’ve ever made and maybe it had to do with the fact that we made it together and actually had fun doing it. Or maybe it was just because it was covered in creamy goodness.

We ate our entirely homemade meal and left the class with some awesome chopping skills, a great recipe, full bellies and content hearts.

Most people wouldn’t suggest handling knives when you’re fighting with your spouse but for us, it was the perfect way to get over it quickly, have some fun and work together to make something we can both enjoy.

Bottom line: Go to a cooking class. It’s cheaper than therapy and you get to eat and drink your way through it.

* Our instructor, Susan Holt, was great. She was so kind and encouraging and she entertained us all night with stories from her restaurant days.

So when are you having kids?

I slept terribly on Sunday night. I woke up several times even though I was so very tired after staying out too late and drinking entirely too many cocktails for Scott’s 30th.

I kept having these strange dreams involving a baby crying. The first time I woke up, I sensed that Scott was awake too and we murmured to each other about the baby crying.

But it wasn’t a baby crying at all. It wasn’t a little girl screaming either (thank God, that was terrifying there for a minute). The screeching and whining continued.

We realized there were a couple of foxes just outside our window.

The noise went on for hours. I drifted in and out of sleep and when I did sleep, a baby always showed up in my dreams. It was downright creepy.

Turns out Scott was having similar dreams and we both went to work feeling slightly weirded out. (Why do so many scary movies involve a creepy little girl?)

Anyway, this whole baby-crying-thing got me thinking.

I don’t know if I’ve ever been asked if we’re having kids. People always ask “When are you having kids?” And when I shrug and say “in a few years”, they smile and move on to the next subject.

Recently, when asked, I have said, “I’m not sure if we will.”

And they always look so surprised and sad and full of follow-up questions. I’d like to think it’s because they think we’d be great parents but I think it’s more of a surprise because it’s taboo to say you don’t want children. Everyone wants to be a mother. It’s natural. It’s what we’re here for.

I’m not saying I don’t want to have children. I am just saying I don’t know if we will. This was probably not the best reply to my mother after she asked if Scott wanted a baby for his 30th birthday.

While Scott and I are not always on the same page, we’re usually in the same chapter. I knew Scott didn’t want a baby for his birthday. I knew I wouldn’t be giving him a baby for his birthday if he had wanted one.  See, same book at least.

My mom followed her birthday suggestion with the “when are you having kids?” question. My answer is I don’t know. There are no plans except the “not any time soon” plan.

But that never seems like enough for people because I am constantly met with these:

Don’t you want kids?

I always thought I did. I always pictured them in my future. But the older I get, the more I think I don’t feel that strongly about having them. I might feel differently in a couple of years.

Do you like kids?

Yes, I love them. I have been a camp counselor, a preschool assistant, an art teacher, a baby sitter, a summer nanny. I like being around children. At the risk of sounding incredibly cheesy, I think it’s very magical watching a child play, talk, think, and experience life.

What about that ol’ biological clock? Tick tock.

I’m 26. I’m fine, thanks.

Have you ever felt those maternal feelings starting up?

I can remember one summer when I was babysitting a little boy named Dylan. When Dylan would cry and I would go into his room, I’d see him standing, holding onto the sides of the crib. When Dylan saw me, he’d reach his arms out for me.

Dylan clearly just wanted to get out of bed, but for a few seconds, he wanted me and wanted to be held by me.

I know that if his mom had been there, he would have wanted her more. I think that must be an amazing feeling.

Doesn’t your heart nearly explode when you see children?

That depends. When I see them running wild in our parking garage or when I read “We Need to Talk About Kevin” or when they’re laying in the middle of the aisle at Tesco throwing a tantrum? No.

There are more moments when my heart does almost seize up and explode at the sight of something cute and child-related.  But I never think, “Aww, I wish it were me” or “I want one!”

But…you’re married.

I know it’s easy for people to assume first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes baby in a baby carriage. And certainly for us, we’ve got the first two under our belt but what if having a baby is not the next step?

I don’t want to have a child because it feels like the next thing to do. I don’t want to have a child right now because we’re married. I don’t want to have a child because I think it will help my marriage. These are all reasons other people have told me and while the child has brought so much joy to their lives, I can’t help but think…ugh.

How about getting a dog first?

I know people mean this well but a dog is not a good indicator of how I’d do as a parent. I desperately want a dog but I’m not getting a dog. Why? Let’s just get it all out on the table.

I want to go out for drinks after work. I want to sleep over at my friend’s house if I’m out too late. I want to go away and not worry about where the dog will go. I want, I want, I want. I’m allowed to be like this.

And that’s it – I’m too selfish to be able to give selflessly to something else right now.

Are you scared?

Um, yes! Don’t you know having a baby changes everything? If I have a kid, I want to know it was for the right reasons and because we both wanted the child, not because we felt we should.

I know you shouldn’t take life advice from celebrities but I read an interview with Seal about his marriage to Heidi Klum and while I have never really thought of them as the ultimate marriage model, something he said really struck a chord with me.

He said their children don’t come first. He said his wife is his top priority.

Who knows if they will last but personally, I wonder if there is a greater gift to your child than to give them parents who love each other.

I also know that having a baby changes your relationship, so…yeah, I’m scared. I don’t know too many people who got the balance right.

But if you had a kid, you would have lots to blog about.

What, you don’t like talking about biscuits and Twilight and finding cheeseburgers in your handbag? I’m sorry, Internet. This blog is going to be about me – all me, all the time- for a lot longer.

In the meantime, we’ve got foxes and that is a pretty good simulation of what a baby would be like right now. Nightmares and all.

I will always be 17 at heart

While Scott was away, I spent most of the weekend here:

With just these:

And it was amaaaaazing.

***

Can we please discuss Twilight? And why I have been able to resist the Jonas Brothers and Zac Efron but not this…this…this book series that has taken a hold of my life?

When I first heard about it, I was like, Vampires, are you for real? Yeah, right. So not interested. I don’t like fake stuff. Never read Harry Potter. Never saw Lord of the Rings. Not into wizards and half-humans and magic.

And then my friend at work convinced me to read the book so I could see the movie everyone was raving about.  At the end of it, I was in love with a vampire – that totally took me by surprise!

I took Scott to the cinema. We were with about 100 shrieking, giggling teenage girls, about fifty swooning  women, and about ten men (a mix of boyfriends, husbands and fathers) taken there against their wills.

I loved it – not as much as the book(s) but as a take on the book, the characters were exactly how I imagined them to be.  (Scott didn’t mind it either.)

(And yes,  it’s totally cheesy and ridiculous at certain points. But I like it. So there. )

I have issues with some of the storylines and I’m not quite finished with the last book yet but overall, it has provided me with some much needed entertainment on my commute and in between work and class. It’s been nice not to read something so heavy (like…um…The Economist. Which is what I usually read, Dad.)

17 was one of the best years of my life  – so far.  I loved being 17 and I may act like a teenager about Twilight. What can I say? It brings that out in me.

A warning though – human boys have lost all their charm after reading Twilight. Edward Cullen will do that to you.

I know I’m 26 and married and people think I should be into more high-brow stuff.  Oh, and not have a crush on a teenage vampire character from a book (can you honestly help yourself???)

But I know moms who love these books! Real mothers! There are websites dedicated to moms who love Twilight. And Edward drives a Volvo – a Volvo, people! How could I not fall in love?

(And yes, I know it’s written by a woman. Scott reminds me all the time when I say I love so-and-so from Grey’s Anatomy, Twilight, etc. I know they are created by women who are just as romantic and unrealistic as I am. But I still like it.)

Last night, when Scott got home and I pulled myself away from the book, we were talking in the kitchen and I just blurted out, “I wish you were a vampire.”

He says “this Twilight thing” is getting out of hand.

Psssh!

I say,  love me, love my obsessions.  Now, maybe you could grow your hair out a bit and ruffle it up. And wear a grey pea coat. Sparkle, damnit! Sparkle!

(Not) desperate (but still) seeking

Scott was away for a bachelor weekend in Poland so I decided to host a slumber party. I lured my friends all the way out to Hertfordshire on Friday with the promise of good food and a possible Chuck Bass sighting.

Considering we didn’t leave my flat until 1pm the next day, we did not see Chuck Bass. Sadly he does not live in my closet. (If he did, I would not be inviting girls over on the weekend my husband was away. I’m just sayin’…)

A sleepover at 26 is not that different from a sleepover at 16. We swapped Mountain Dew for pink champagne and prank calling boys for writing dating profiles for each other. We painted our nails and listened to music. We laughed until it hurt. We went to bed when we felt like it.

On Saturday morning, my friend dropped a bottle of top coat nail polish down the toilet. It broke and the nail polish coated the toilet bowl. We had to fish the broken glass out with a slotted spoon.

I wasn’t sure what the best course of action was to remove as much of the nail polish as possible. We decided on a combination of bleach, toilet cleaner, and nail polish remover. Then we closed the lid and the door and slowly backed away, praying there wouldn’t be a horrific explosion of any sort.

It could have been worse. It could have been dark purple nail polish. Plus it’s not a slumber party if there isn’t at least one mishap like this. And a nude pillow fight. Right after we compared breast sizes.

One thing that doesn’t ever change about slumber parties is the amount of time spent talking about guys. Or should I say, the lack of them.

I have quite  a few single friends and I love to listen to the stories of their dating triumphs and woes. Because I have been with Scott since I was 16, I missed that part of life. I find it exciting to think about my friends meeting someone for the first time – the emotions, the what ifs, the analysis after every phone call, email, date, kiss.

My friends are not so excited about this. It’s not that they necessarily want to be married, or even in a serious relationship. They just want to find someone to have fun with, someone to feel comfortable with. To stop worrying about finding someone, to stop agonizing over whether he will or won’t call. They want to be pursued but if they can’t be pursued, they want to know who they pursue won’t reject them. They want their Plus One. It’s their turn.

All the single women I know are attractive, intelligent, successful and funny. And I am not just saying that because they are my friends/relatives/coworkers. I am saying it because it is absolutely, without a doubt, the truth.

All the single men I know are also these things. Really, they are. The problem is I just don’t know that many single men.

Where are they?

My mom is convinced they are all holed up in their houses, playing video games. My friend believes every single man is gay, until proven otherwise. It doesn’t help that I recently read an article about single men dying earlier in life than married men.

When I think about what it would be like if I were single, I don’t even get to the part about worrying about finding a guy. I worry about the competition I’d be up against. My friends/relatives/coworkers are that good.

On Saturday,  we had a girls’ night out and danced the night away in North London. We had a great time and we didn’t need to meet men to have fun, though I know that if my friends all had, it would have been just that little bit more fun.

One of my friends did meet a  guy towards the end of the night. Turns out he was a plumber/songwriter and just visiting London for the weekend. She took his number but the next day, she decided she wouldn’t use it. Instead, we said we’d do another girls’ night out soon.

In the meantime, is it wrong to want my friend to text the plumber/songwriter for advice on removing nail polish from the toilet pipes?

How to get laid on Super Bowl Sunday

The last time I liked anything related to football was when I was 12. I went to a local high school football game and was bored out of mind. While flipping through the program, I came across a player named Jay. I drew a heart around his face and hung the photo in my room. By the time I got to high school, he was long gone and I had only ever managed to see one more photo of him in an old yearbook. I kept that team photo for years. I still have the photo.

I have been to quite a few Super Bowl parties but I’m pretty sure I’ve never actually watched a Super Bowl game. I find American football excruciating. For one, there are four 15-minute quarters which always makes me think, ok, an hour…I can do that. But it’s never an hour! It’s more like four.

Two: you can’t even see the men properly because they are covered in pads and helmets.

I do like Super Bowl parties though. I can appreciate the excitement other people have for the game and the best commercials are shown during the Super Bowl. But by far the best part is the food.

A  simple Google search will show you how much thought and planning goes into a Super Bowl party. The food that is served always seems to be geared towards men. Lots of meat, cheese, beer, spice. Easy on the veggies.

But the truth is women love it too and it’s the one day you can gorge yourself on 7-layer dip without feeling like you really should be eating the cucumber sandwiches and fresh fruit.

A staple at my family’s football parties is sausage dip. In the past, I had always described it as something men love. These days I add that this is a dip American men love. I haven’t properly tested the British market but the couple of Englishmen who have tried it, liked it, but didn’t loooove it. I know, I can’t believe I’m still with a Brit either. *

Anyway, this dip has now become the “Never Be Single Again” Sausage Dip or maybe more appropriately, “Sure to Get You Laid” Sausage Dip. The women who have made this recipe have nothing but good things to report back. And I do mean good things.

The dip is quick and easy to whip up. You’ll still have plenty of time to doll yourself up for the party. Though, let’s be real here, you could be bleaching your upper lip right next to your man during the Super Bowl and he would not even notice. But don’t do that. Use that precious time to eat some of this dip yourself.

I don’t make this dip often because, as I said, the magic doesn’t work on my Englishman and like many American recipes, it can be tricky to find suitable ingredients. But it’s Super Bowl Sunday and I’ll be damned if I’m going dip-less.

You’ll find quite a few variations of this recipe and the great thing is that you don’t even need to measure. It’s one of those recipes where you are actually required to taste as you go.

As for the actual Super Bowl game – may the best team win…who’s playing again?

“Never Be Single Again” Sausage Dip

1 lb Jimmy Dean or Bob Evans sausage (feel free to choose Hot & Spicy)

1 1/2 8 oz blocks of Philadelphia Cream Cheese

1 can Rotel Tomatoes and Chilis

1 small can of V8 tomato juice (optional)

Brown the sausage and drain. In a pan, melt the cream cheese in with the meat. Add the can of Rotel. If you think it’s too runny, add more cream cheese. This is where you are free to start tasting.

Add a few tablespoons of the V8 to give the dip a deeper color.

Then transfer to a crock pot and serve with Fritos Scoops or tortilla chips.

Notes to my English readers:

Rotel can be found in several specialty grocery stores and also online. There are suitable substitutes in the International aisle at Tesco and Sainsburys too.

Choose any pork sausage and remove the casings before cooking. If you use sausage meat like I did, you may want to spice it up with Tabasco or red pepper flakes.

You can find Fritos at specialty grocery stores and online but really tortilla chips do the job just fine.
 

*After tasting the dip this time around, my Englishman said he did really like it and maybe it was because I used British ingredients. Riiight.

The art of gift giving

I like the idea of surprises but I don’t actually like surprises. I feel the need to prepare my reaction – good or bad. I like to know what’s happening so I can prep myself.

Scott thinks that because I’m a girl I’m supposed to love surprises and be swept off my feet by any remotely romantic surprise. Instead surprises can make me feel panicked and uneasy. I feel much better knowing what’s coming my way. Especially if it’s a bad gift. I really, really would prefer to perfect my “Oh wow, thank you!” look. I can do a really good one.

Not that Scott has ever given me a bad gift. He does very well even though most of the gifts are things I have pointed out, cut out, left up on the computer screen, whatever tactic is necessary. 

I love giving gifts and pride myself on giving good ones. I listen all year long and make notes of things he mentions. Of course there are times when I am at a complete loss as to what to give him but I keep looking. I keep thinking. I love when he opens the gift and says, “How did you remember this?”

I know that I am partially to blame. I have ruined many, many surprises. One Christmas I actually used nail clippers to slice open one of my presents. Just a peek, I told myself. But then I couldn’t stop and I had opened all my gifts and had to re-tape them all. Unfortunately Scott had rearranged the presents strategically and had noticed they were out of place. He called me out on it. It was very embarrassing. 

My birthday is coming up and Scott has started to ask me what I would like. I’d like to say, “Oh, don’t worry about me. You don’t have to give me anything. Every day with you is a gift.” But even he knows that would be a big fat lie. 

In his perfect world, I would give him the color choice, size, spec, and URL of my ideal gift. 

The problem is that I always hold out hope he will know exactly what I want, that he will be trawling through a website and see that forget me not ring and think, yes, she would really like that! (Scott – don’t bother. I already bought it for myself.) Or be wandering around the cosmetic counters at a department store and spy some new Benefit products that are just the perfect shade for me. 

That never happens. One year I dropped him off at the mall so he could do his Christmas shopping. I even pointed out the areas of the mall that would be the most promising. When I picked him up nearly four hours later, not only was he almost in a catatonic state but the only thing he had purchased was a Taco Bell combo meal. Note to self: send in reinforcements way before the four-hour mark. 

What I would like for my birthday this year is something he knows I want. He heard me talking about it. He saw a picture of it. I can’t give him any more clues or else I will essentially be picking out my own gift and I just don’t want that. I want him to know. 

This is a problem because Scott doesn’t know. He has no clue. He actually just said to me, “This is a really busy time for me – can’t you just tell me?” Oh, with that kind of sweet talk, I’m practically putty in his hands. 

I think he thinks this is a game but I couldn’t be more serious. In fact I told my friend at work about my dilemma and she actually said she would email Scott herself and tip him off just so I’m not disappointed. Now that’s a coworker for you.

It doesn’t look like she’ll have to though as Scott is planning on asking my sister. I can’t tell you how many times she’s had to come through for me on the gift front. I quickly sent her a message saying, “If Scott asks, I’d like _____ but I really wish he would just know what I wanted.”

She replied, “Ok, got it. Boys are idiots.”

But I told Scott that before he asks her, I wanted him to think really hard about it, that he really did know what I wanted, that I had showed him a picture once before. He sat there, his forehead creased, clearly in deep thought.

Then he switched the TV back on and said, “Just tell me and I’ll get it and everyone’s happy.”

Sigh.

Must. keep. thinking…every day is a gift, every day is a gift, every day is a gift…

More than enough

This project turned out to be much bigger than I ever imagined. I had over 200 handwritten cards from friends, family, coworkers and strangers.

A girl scout troop even got in touch and sent packages and cards of their own.

People I’ve never met asked me what they could do and if what they were doing would be enough. Friends and coworkers worried that what they had written wasn’t meaningful enough. I kept saying that just the thought, just that little bit of effort, was enough.

I mailed all the packages and cards last week. I felt so good once they were in the hands of the Royal Mail (and I don’t think I’ve ever said that before). I can only hope they get there in the next 11 days.

When it came down to it, I didn’t know what to write either. I worried that what I had put in the packages wasn’t enough. Of course the cards and the packages aren’t going to make up for the fact that they’re missing out on the holidays with their families and friends. I knew that. I kept telling myself all I was trying to do was make it a little bit easier for them. All I wanted to do was let them know that there are people all over the world who are grateful to them and proud of them and most importantly, haven’t forgotten about them.

Yesterday I read that four Marines were killed in Afghanistan. Two were from the unit our cards and packages are going to.

And in that moment, I realized you can never really do enough. You just have to do something.

I am so grateful to everyone who helped me do this. Your time and generosity really touched me. I don’t think there is a better time than now to let these guys know we’re thinking of them. Thank you for helping me do that this holiday season.