I use this forum for lots of reasons, not the least of which is to share what I've learned after thirty years of marriage. So here goes. I hate to burst anyone's bubble but to all you engaged or newly married readers out there - spoiler alert - I have to tell you, whether you choose to believe it or not, you will wind up keeping a few secrets from your beloved spouse. I'm not talking about the big, hairy, headline-making-Dr. Phil kind of secrets like "I had an affair with my husband's grandfather" or "I shoplifted enough items to open my own boutique", I'm talking about the "what he doesn't know won't hurt me" kind of secrets; the ones that don't do any real damage but save a lot of unnecessary (not to mention unpleasant) conversation.
For instance. The other day we were out shopping. My dear husband (henceforth referred to as DH) had come along to keep me company as I purchased a Father's Day gift for my DF (I might as well keep the stupid acronyms going). Okay, his presence may have had something to do with the fact that I was going to one of his favorite electronics stores but, nevertheless, he dropped what he was doing to hang out with me.
After finding an inexpensive MP3 player that I hoped would replace the Walkman that my dad currently employs when he mows the lawn, I left my husband browsing while I hit the cashier's line. When I reached into my purse for my one-and-only credit card, it wasn't there. Panic set in. I tried to remember when I had last used it and where I could have possibly put it. I'm not known as the most organized person (I may have mentioned that once or twice) but I always put this particular card in the first slot of my wallet and now it was gone.
I switched to Plan B, pulled out my debit card, and put on a game face when my DH asked if I had paid. I knew I had two choices - tell him about the missing card, in which case I would have to listen to a rather lengthy lecture about my carelessness and an urgent insistence that we call the credit card company to cancel our card, or say "yep, all set" and get my ass home as quickly as possible to look through every pants pocket in my closet.
Guess which one I chose?
You'll be relieved to know that within the hour, I had found the card in a pair of shorts I had worn the day before. No harm, no foul. And if you're sitting there thinking you would have done it differently, I have to ask you. Do you honestly think you'll always tell your husband the price of that dress you bought for your cousin's wedding? Or what exactly you did when you had a couple of margaritas with your girlfriends? Or how you feel every time you watch Ryan Reynolds in Just Friends?
Liar.
Wednesday, June 19, 2013
Monday, June 10, 2013
Be Italian
When you're getting back into the swing of things after a long vacation, you've got to appreciate the small pleasures of being back home. And since this wasn't exactly a pampered beach getaway complete with limitless drinks adorned with colorful paper umbrellas, I'll admit to being grateful that I'm back in the land of escalators, inexpensive restaurants and no-smoking signs. I'm also glad to have returned to reality just as my favorite season gets ready to make an appearance. Our last big trip ended in October which made facing the prospect of a Chicago winter an added hurdle to getting over the "home-from-vacation-blues". Spring getaways make for a softer return landing.
So, after getting used to eating nothing but fresh, cooked-from-scratch meals loaded with colorful fruits and vegetables for weeks, I'm determined to keep the magic going. I'm making salads every night, complete with homemade dressing and have gotten into the habit of serving small glasses of sparkling water (I think it's mandatory at every meal but breakfast in Europe) and slightly larger glasses of red wine with every dinner. We've kept the pasta thing going but have now thrown grilled fish or chicken into the mix. Tonight, we split a grilled steak with Caprese salad and sauteed potatoes and mushrooms. We're trying to eat as many meals as we can on our deck (it may not have a view of the ocean but it is pretty peaceful). We listen to the birds, talk, and keep the television off as much as possible (yes to the Hawks' playoff games; no to "The Bachelorette").
Maybe that's the secret. Maybe vacations are supposed to help you figure out the secrets to living the other fifty weeks of the year. They shake up your routine, expose you to other cultures' ways of doing things and give you some insight into what's really important to you.
We may not be able to live our lives on vacation but no one can stop us from bringing a little of our vacations into our lives.
So, after getting used to eating nothing but fresh, cooked-from-scratch meals loaded with colorful fruits and vegetables for weeks, I'm determined to keep the magic going. I'm making salads every night, complete with homemade dressing and have gotten into the habit of serving small glasses of sparkling water (I think it's mandatory at every meal but breakfast in Europe) and slightly larger glasses of red wine with every dinner. We've kept the pasta thing going but have now thrown grilled fish or chicken into the mix. Tonight, we split a grilled steak with Caprese salad and sauteed potatoes and mushrooms. We're trying to eat as many meals as we can on our deck (it may not have a view of the ocean but it is pretty peaceful). We listen to the birds, talk, and keep the television off as much as possible (yes to the Hawks' playoff games; no to "The Bachelorette").
Maybe that's the secret. Maybe vacations are supposed to help you figure out the secrets to living the other fifty weeks of the year. They shake up your routine, expose you to other cultures' ways of doing things and give you some insight into what's really important to you.
We may not be able to live our lives on vacation but no one can stop us from bringing a little of our vacations into our lives.
Friday, June 7, 2013
I Want to be Rick Steves
Well, loyal readers, I've procrastinated long enough. After an amazing three week trip to Europe, it's time for me to get back to real life and that includes this humble little forum for my earth-shattering observations about life after motherhood.
After that kind of break, I'm here to tell you that there are some perks to a life sans children. You don't have to plan your trips around school holidays. You can walk around historic sites for hours without hearing anyone say, "I'm tired" or "Are we there yet?" (Although I think I might have muttered both of those on our four hour hike from Monterosso to Vernazza). And you can drink as much wine as you want to without worrying about embarrassing yourself in front of your offspring.Your husband, however, may be forced to occasionally pretend he has no idea who you are.
Our hastily put together trip was designed to be a celebration of our 30th anniversary and our (gulp) 60th birthdays coming up later this year. We originally thought about waiting until the fall but when a good deal presented itself, we jumped on it and decided to treat ourselves early (you know, the old "Who knows if we'll be around in six months" argument - the one I drag out quite regularly when I'm trying to justify spending money we probably shouldn't spend).
Anyway, before we knew it, the trip turned into a twenty-three day marathon (what can I say, it was cheaper to fly on Tuesday) visiting over twenty cities by train, bus and ship. We climbed more stairs than Rocky Balboa and visited more churches than the Pope. We schlepped our luggage over cobblestone streets, dragged them up dozens of flights of stairs (including one narrow nightmare of a circular staircase that should have been put out of its misery years ago), and subjected ourselves to a level of physicality that would have challenged Jillian Michaels. And you know what? Now that we're back, I can tell you one thing.
I want to do it again. Soon
After that kind of break, I'm here to tell you that there are some perks to a life sans children. You don't have to plan your trips around school holidays. You can walk around historic sites for hours without hearing anyone say, "I'm tired" or "Are we there yet?" (Although I think I might have muttered both of those on our four hour hike from Monterosso to Vernazza). And you can drink as much wine as you want to without worrying about embarrassing yourself in front of your offspring.Your husband, however, may be forced to occasionally pretend he has no idea who you are.
Our hastily put together trip was designed to be a celebration of our 30th anniversary and our (gulp) 60th birthdays coming up later this year. We originally thought about waiting until the fall but when a good deal presented itself, we jumped on it and decided to treat ourselves early (you know, the old "Who knows if we'll be around in six months" argument - the one I drag out quite regularly when I'm trying to justify spending money we probably shouldn't spend).
Anyway, before we knew it, the trip turned into a twenty-three day marathon (what can I say, it was cheaper to fly on Tuesday) visiting over twenty cities by train, bus and ship. We climbed more stairs than Rocky Balboa and visited more churches than the Pope. We schlepped our luggage over cobblestone streets, dragged them up dozens of flights of stairs (including one narrow nightmare of a circular staircase that should have been put out of its misery years ago), and subjected ourselves to a level of physicality that would have challenged Jillian Michaels. And you know what? Now that we're back, I can tell you one thing.
I want to do it again. Soon
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