Freudian Smell

The other day while curriculum mapping some of my co-English teachers and I got on the discussion of smell, who has what kind of smell, if we find those smells attractive, strong, correct for that individual, and so forth. I was told I smell "spicy." I'm okay with that.

But the conversation was somewhat serendipitious in timing as the night before Adam had gone to bed before me. He closed the bedroom doors and when I opened them to go to bed a couple of hours later the room was filled with the smell of my DAD. Adam, when in a contained space, emits a smell that is uncannily like my father's smell. Now my dad has been dead since I was 22 years old, and I don't really know his smell nor could I really describe it in words, but when Adam sleeps in a closed room his body makes my dad's smell.

How Freudian is that?

Our Big Fat Gay Wedding

We attended our first gay wedding this weekend. This was Alexandra's second wedding this summer, and she looked forward to both Jen & Mary's and Sam & Maddy's with great anticipation. She was excited to wear a dress, to dance, to eat cake, and to go on "vacation" with us and have adventures. All week leading up to the wedding she kept asking, "Are we going to the wedding today?" and making statements like "Jen & Mary are going to be so so so pretty in their dresses!" Never once did it even occur to her that Jen & Mary's desire to marry each other was anything to bat an eyelash about.

There is something so amazing about that innocence and her lack of understanding that many folks do not think that Jen & Mary should have the rights and benefits that come with the legalization of their union. To Alexandra, the fact that our neighbors and friends were in love and wanted to get married was no different than mommy or daddy getting married or from the wedding she attended in August. She just wanted details on the car we were renting to get there, what type of cake there would be, and the color of Jen's dress and Mary's suit (after I explained to her that I had never seen Mary in a dress and that some girls didn't like/want to wear dresses, she easily accepted that Mary would wear a suit). The fact that Jen & Mary are both girls? No big deal.

The wedding was beautiful and, no surprise here, just like every union of two wonderful people that we have ever attended. I cried during their vows, got chills during their super cute choreographed first dance, and saw so many parts of their wedding that I wish we had done (great idea: a big picture frame hung between trees as a "photo booth" for all the guests to go pose in as wedding documentation--brilliant!). We danced until Alexandra started to fade (Nico had passed out in the Ergo despite my booty shaking), and we slowly traipsed back to our hotel room looking at the stars that elude us here in Brooklyn.

We didn't bring any books in from the car, so I told Alexandra a story as she fell asleep. I told her that one day, she'd have a wedding and we would all come. That we would eat cake and dance all night and be happy with all her friends and our friends. I told her that she could marry whomever she wanted and we would support her choices and love her (I decided to save the "as long as s/he isn't a total douche" addendum for later), and that she'd always be our baby girl. As she looked at me with her dark chocolate eyes, I don't think she realized the layers of meaning in my story of her future, but it would be just lovely if some of it would sink in and, in her mind, she would never feel the need to question the validity of Jen & Mary's wedding versus anyone else's.

Marital Disputes

Every marriage has its issues, and ours is not without an entire catalog of them ranging from the small to the "I'm divorcing you!" variety. Lately some small marital disputes have been making me giggle and reminding me to be thankful that I have such a great partner in crime. Probably a good thing to dwell on before baby #2 comes and our lives enter the perpetual spin cycle of insanity that children bring to a marriage. Here are a couple funny-haha marital disputes:

COMPOSTING--I hate composting. I am a bad person, I know this, and I really don't give a rip about the tons of organic waste I toss into the garbage for the NYC Dept of Sanitation to haul to the landfill to live happily ever after. I hate composting b/c the compost never gets taken out and turns into a stew-y, smell-y mess in the compost container which then inevitably gets the funk and smells up the kitchen. Adam adores composting. He feels so green and happy and takes baby girl out back to open the festering composter full of maggots and fruit flies and I can see the glee in his eyes. BUT, Adam does not really take out the compost with any regularity, so I have stopped composting. We are at war. He thinks I'm horrid. I don't care. Marital dispute.

BUG KILLING--Bugs. . .If they let me see them, they are dead. I am a serious bug terminator. I have been known to linger in the hallway of our apt with a fly swatter and kill no less than 30 mosquitos in one bloodbath. I get great zeal from this. Adam wants all bugs to go to heaven, and not by my murderous hand but by being "released" to the outside world where they will roam free and never enter our ground floor apartment again. Yeah, right. Those mother f***ers have got to die. I kill any/everything I see (except ladybugs--they're my one exception) and show no mercy. Baby girl is my baby terminator. This weekend we had an ant infestation and I taught her how to smack them with her bare hand. No punks here. The other morning Adam had her on the changing table and a spider was on the wall. He was about to educate her on how spiders are good bugs b/c they eat other bugs when she sat up, smacked it with her bare hand, and said with a beaming smile, "I killed it!" That's my girl.

The list goes on, but these two have been at the forefront lately. We literally argue over them, then look at each other and crack up. I just read somewhere that the key to a good marriage is to argue everyday. Check.

Six Years

Today is our 6th anniversary.

Six years =
Three pregnancies.
Hopefully two babies.
Three apartments within two brownstones.
Three international trips together.
Almost three graduate degrees combined.
Infinite laughs & many tears.
New family entering.
The acknowledgement that somehow we "grew up" along the the way.

I looked at our wedding photographs last night and they seem to hail from another era. Adam looks like a little boy. I'm thin, tan, and blonde. It's easy to romanticize our lives back then--the freedom we had, the disposable income, the social life, the travel, the space, the quiet time...The list is long.

But this weekend Adam went away with Alexandra and I was left in Brooklyn to write for 50 straight hours. Our one bedroom apartment seemed huge...and quiet...and dark....and sad...and wrong. Just plain wrong.

As much as becoming a family has thrown a curve ball to our relationship, our finances, our senses of self--EVERYTHING, I wouldn't trade it for anything--not the possibility of being kinda hot, not the promise of beaucoup cash and no college debt, not the potential to own my own living space, not for all the free time in the world. I'd rather be schwarmy, broke, renting forever, and smothered with baby love and whining as long as I'm with Adam and Alexandra and this new baby.

And that's the truth.

I love you, honey. So much. Happy 6th anniversary.