Promises Promises

I've been annoyed with my husband lately, and for little fault of his own. I mean, I knew exactly who I married before I walked down the aisle. But that doesn't stop me from expecting more sometimes and sometimes I genuinely get it and he genuinely tries. Other times its a comedy of errors.

In our relationship, I tend to be the driving force. I tend to make the major decisions. I tend to research our potential moves, my husband is the spotter. He works to keep me balanced and grounded and from getting overwhelmed, which I do, often.  We've been playing these roles together for nearly 8 years now. And while some people might be happy to always take the reigns,  it is more exhausting than one might imagine.

Lately I've been really exhausted. Work has  been a roller coaster and life has been running a similar course. Sometimes I just need my hubby to be a bit more proactive than what comes naturally to him. I had been worn so thin that I begged S. to do anything to take me out of this environment for a day or two so I could unwind and relax and actually have a little fun.

For the past month or so, hubby has promised to do something special for me. To take me out somewhere away from work and family stress and away from obligations to anyone but each other. This sounded wonderful  and necessary,  each weekend I would eagerly await the execution of said promise.  I would wake up early excited and Hubs would "take care of business" around the house. Then he'd get distracted. Then about 3 or 4 pm he'd ask if I wanted to do something because he has a few ideas.... Ideas are not execution. And after waking up only to find nothing was planned, by 3pm I was tired and grumpy. I apparently have an expiration point for plans being executed. Things went on like this for about 4 weekends. At best, we settled on dinner out and a walk at our local beach. Which is nice, but not special or interesting and was certainly not planned. You see, whenever we planned a real daytrip or vacation or event, the planning always fell on my lap.  When Hubs plans, he second guesses himself until its too late to do anything really special and we end up back in the mundane.

A few weeks ago Ailyn wrote about the necessity of date nights. I wholeheartedly agree. The biggest problem with marriage is that people become too distracted to take care of themselves. And outside parties assume you have all the time in the world to be together, that you might as well be obligated to them too. We have spent nearly 40 of the last 52 weekends at friends or family or working overtime. Oftentimes, we were guilted into events when we'd have much rather spent quiet time together enjoying being married. So taking time out to take care of us was vital to the survival and health of our relationship. Sadly, we were failing at this and it was making me stir crazy.

The funny thing about being irritated with your significant other is that sometimes it boils down to a failure to be clear in what your expectations are. Communication. I tend to be a fixer. If things are not going perfectly I fix them by taking over and doing them myself. Its something I am working on for my sake and the sakes of those around me. The truth was I needed to spell out what I needed from hubby so that he was confident in his planning. I would have been ecstatic with anything he planned so long as he followed through. House chores will wait, the internet will be there when we get back, failing to adequately communicate and spend significant time together only hurts ourselves.  I finally communicated to him how I felt, when my internal alarm clock expired, and how desperately I needed time for us. He eventually got it right.

More on that in another post.

K
 

Of Buns and Ovens

Nope not pregnant. Didn't mean to get you all excited. And no pregnancy isn't overwhelmingly on my brain. Neither is finding a house, which it had been for so long.  Instead we decided to focus on becoming debt free, so I took a good chunk out of the nest egg and put it towards our debts: car debt, credit card debt, woosh! vanished. Now we just have to conquer our student loans and look toward recovering that bit of nest egg while we consider where to build said nest.

We've been talking a lot about where we would like to see ourselves in five to ten years, and we both agree that if possible, we would like to be able to work part time only, and lead a slightly slower paced life focusing on personal projects that make us happy. This is on the tail of a rather dramatic and potentially traumatic (or amazing) patch of rough water in my office. While the drama does not directly involve me, it could potentially change my life for the better or the worse in the next month or so.  Insecurity is dangerous place to totter.

We've been talking a lot to my brother about financial issues etcetera. My brother, who makes three times more money than hubby and I, yet is 5 times more likely to have to borrow money, feels he is in a good position to tell us what we should be doing and why what we are doing is stupid... In any event, he has a beautiful new home with a pool, somewhere around the armpit of the golden coast and we in turn weigh our options. Because while 10 times the space we live in filled with every comfort a young couple could desire is tempting. Being able to walk to the beach, makes us pretty darn spoiled. As does the wonderfully breezy rarely sweltering climate, and access to food and culture and art within walking distance. Would we like a yard and a space that feels more like a home than a "place we stay"? Yes, absolutely. But we don't have school aged kids to think of in terms of space and convenience. Nor are we particularly invested in any one area. And in August, my brothers Mc Mansion will be his only respite from the Mc Oven of the Inland Empire.

We've actually been considering saving up and buying a hippie farm somewhere near Santa Barbara. We'd purchase the land outright and basically create our own community of homes filled with neighbors we want to spend the rest of our life sharing coffee and wine with. This is not simply the dream, this is the goal for the next ten years. We'd have to consider the specifics of where so that we can financially survive while still having the conveniences and luxuries we need.

And on to that bun portion of this rhapsody or diatribe, as you will...Have you seen the movie Idiocracy? If you haven't please rent it prior to reading this. Hubby was recently talking to an old friend from high school, who hadn't done much since then. No great goals, no grand ideas, a few stints in jail perhaps. Basically the only thing this person had done with his life is breed. Please forgive this next judgmental assertion: When I look at the breeders in my life, those who's goal is to personally "fill the earth and subdue it" 99% have little to no motivation, education, or vision.  Its like the only mark they plan to leave behind when they die, is a long line of offspring. This in itself would not be so bad, if the intellectuals I know were also breeders. Unfortunately most of them are too busy pursuing life's treasures to treasure the life they could bring into it. The slippery slope of Idiocracy is that world is eventually populated by the lowest common denominator of humanity. This premise feels very... prophetic these days. So we have decided, we probably really need to have at least one kid. Of course we can change our mind tomorrow, but lately this has been the conclusion.

It isn't that we're exactly trying to have kids, but we've switched our perspective to not actively trying not to, if that makes sense. The good little former health educator in me, knows exactly what should be done to not get pregnant. So playing fast and loose (wow, now that's a gross pun) is a huge step for us in an effort to save humanity from its otherwise impending doom. At this point if we get pregnant it is neither on accident, or on purpose, it simply is. This is basically procreation Russian Roulette.

Its nearly our one year anniversary.  No one was kidding that time starts flying. I can't believe it. I still feel so much like a newly wed, only now I can offer sagely advice. I think the the strangest part has been my shift in perception. I am admittedly a perfectionist, and was therefore disappointed that my wedding wasn't as perfect as I would have liked. I tend to invest a lot of myself in the things I put my name on, and expect myself to accomplish the impossible. For some people my wedding was just that. My mom reminisces all the time about it being the most beautiful wedding she had ever attended, but then again, she's my mom. I think I did the best I could for spending as little as I spent. But the downside of wedding season is you cannot help but compare what you accomplished to what others did. I know my particular mental issues left me hyper critical of everything that went wrong-- which there were so few and so many things all at once.

I didn't dislike my wedding, I just left it a bit unfulfilled. Maybe because it took me months to unwind afterwards. Maybe because I was hypersensitive to what I wanted that was missing or changed out of necessity.  Maybe because it didn't live up to being the "Best Day of My life" because although it was a beautiful day and I love my husband very much, I don't define myself by being married. However, eleven months into being married,  I find myself thinking back on the day with more rose colored hues than I did 11, 6, or even 3 months ago. Almost a year into wedded life and the stress of throwing a wedding is finally diminishing and I can appreciate the day for what it was. I appreciate it for the simplicity and meaning and time spent with those I love the most. I appreciate my two amazing bachelorette parties thrown by my two amazing maids of honor. I appreciate the giant slumber party in the venue the night before that culminated with me and my besty blowing bubbles and singing "Somewhere Out There" and the late night BBQ. I appreciate the early mornings with my mother watching the fog roll out of the valley below us, and the really bad karaoke that followed the end of the reception. I appreciate the contentment in my father's face and the light in my hubby's eyes when he saw me. A year after my wedding, I am beginning to fall in love with it. Perhaps five years down the road I will remember it as the best day of my life.

I guess the theme if this blog today is that life is anything but certain. Certainty comes when life is in the past. Looking back at choices, our visions is 20/20. But looking forward it always feels so hazy. For the moment, there is the semblance of contentment before the next big wave washes me out to sea or carries me back to the shore.

What's in a name? ...And other Tragedies. Or, What the Wedding Books Don't Tell You Part 2

Changing one's name is strangely traumatic. Unless you were cursed with an unfortunate moniker such as Afadass, Mandic, or Hooker, most of us are not running to get our name changed, even though it is a sign of respect for your partner and a way to solidify your union, because changing your name isn't simply donning a new hat. Changing your name is open heart surgery. It can be painful, scary, and potentially life threatening.

A name is deeply entangled with one's identity. This is even more true, if your name is used for professional as well as personal purposes. I mean, at the very least, you have spent 18 years carving out who you are, or in my case 20-30 some odd, and then all of the sudden you find you have to be someone new. I say have to, even though, technically name changing is a choice, because the expectations and emotions tied to the name changing ritual can be a make them or break them scenario to one's friends and extended family.

I tried to convince my hubby to take a new name with me. Something that would be completely unique to us. He wasn't having it.

He also did not force me to take his name, but I realized that taking it showed a solidarity to our union. I mean, why marry him if I wasn't willing to consider us one?

Still I dragged me feet. Hadn't I spent the last 6 years making a name for myself professionally? What would that name and effort mean now that that name wasn't going to be mine anymore?

I took a babystep towards the name change. Rather than making it official, I made it digital. I opened a new email account with my new so-called identity. Just to try it out I suppose. See what it felt like...

It wasn't painful, but it wasn't comfortable. Kind of like when you sleep over at a friends house and you forgot your bathing suit so they loan you one or at least loan you some shorts and a t-shirt. Even if they fit perfectly, you can help but be self conscious. That is kind of what it feels like when you first change your name.

On Facebook, I squished our names together into something new. Some amalgam of who I was and who I was supposed to be. That felt safer; becoming part of something  new versus becoming part of something that existed long before hubby and I ever were together.

I am sure part of the awkwardness of the name change comes from the lack of a close relationship between me and his family. Defining myself apart from them, I keep my strength and self confidence. Keeping my name, is keeping my guard in the us versus them scenario. It means I shouldn't be disappointed  or expect too much, because its not like they're MY family. They are HIS. But when you take on a name, you feel as though you SHOULD be closer and able to trust and rely on those people who share it. Its like the act turns a magnifying glass upon all the cracks and holes in your newly minted foundation together. Sure, you fell in love with your husband, and have built your lives together, but that doesn't mean, you've necessarily spent time falling in love or becoming one with his family. The name isn't only your husband, which would feel easier, the name is your husbands life, friends, family, history. The name is about you fitting or not fitting. Its about being plucked from your own family tree and tied to another. But if you are simply tied, how could you ever grow? There needs to be grafting and nurturing , but that takes time, and it takes both sides to try a little harder to create a bond.


Nonetheless, I meandered forward with my name change. I had put it off, in part, because my parents supposedly took home our wedding certificate. It was a destination wedding and was too impractical for Hubby and I to grab everything. My mom assured me she had it and for months I trusted she did.  Then I realized my window was closing. What window? Well if you had gotten a new passport within a year of getting married, they let you change your name free. Otherwise they charge you a million or so dollars no one has. So I made my way down to my parents house to pick up our marriage certificate, only to realize, while it was indeed a certificate, it was more like the kind you get in elementary school for good penmanship. The "Decorative" marriage certificate. God it was ugly.... and useless.

So now, with less than a month to accomplish my name change I had to strategically maneuver my schedule all about town so that I could have the documents needed at each venue in order to effectively change my name. It is NOT an easy task. Outside of the emotional struggle there is also the hour long waits at various government buildings. All of which want both ID and their personal copy of the marriage certificate and some of which keep them for 3+ weeks before they issue your ID and paperwork back. Its a hassle. And who has the time to run around to multiple government offices in LA?

After taking two half days off, my name is only half changed. I now get junk mail to a variety of name combinations. I have decided to keep both my name and his name. Using his name personally will bring us closer as a couple, but maintaining my name professionally will help me not lose my identity and progress in my field. Its an internal compromise for me that highlight the duality of my roles, but feels like a safety net too. I can pick and choose from day to day who I want to be.

I thought I was taking the transition well enough (it ony took 10 months for me to get this far) when tragedy (okay not so tragic) struck. I had fedexed my passport et al to the US passport office only to find out (after the week it took to arrive) that the office refuses to accept Fedex or UPS. Which, by the way, is INSANE, because who would want to mail sensitive legal identification documents in an insecure way? USPS has been known to lose more mail (in fact, 1/3 of our wedding invitation were lost by USPS) and costs a fortune if you want to mail something more securely and be able to track it. Hello identity theft! I was so livid, because when I asked the passport office what to do, they basically told me to go F-myself.  No they wouldn't help me, no they wouldn't provide me with an alternative way to send it, no they wouldn't put a note on my file if it arrives a day or two late because they REFUSED it when it arrived 2 weeks early. No they don't have a supervisor. No they don't have employee identification. No there isn't a way to contact someone directly. No they didn't TELL you your package would be refused on the paperwork with direction, but had you called BEFORE you had this problem because you were psychic, they we would have told you by phone that they only accept USPS. No, no no. The US government hates you and your new name.

And that, apparently was the straw that broke this camel. I ended up losing it this morning. Going into fits of sobbing, because it doesn't matter how good or reasonable or fastidious you try to be. You are going to get screwed eventually. And dealing with people who treat you terribly when all you want is some information on how to contact a courier, or where you can resend the document to so that you don't miss the deadline and owe the government ridiculous money for changing your name...Changing your name which is akin to open heart surgery. Changing your name which may mean losing who you are. Perhaps climbing onto a family tree where you are attached by scotch tape and staples. Yet, you don't really have control over any of it anymore.

So I cried. And my husband had to save me. Which makes me a wimp, and Fed Ex had to save me.

You + Me = us

Its been a little while since I've posted, though I have stopped and started posts too many times to count in the last 3 weeks. It wasn't writer's block so much as it was emotional exhaustion.

Here at the McB house, crises are as abundant as as snow in the mountains. Between being sick, my sister getting in a car accident, hubby's family dealing with a couple of major medical issues, I am plum worn out.

So what do you do when the world is shattering around you? You cling to the most stable thing around you and hope for the best. That's my husband. My stable thing.

I won't say I have the perfect husband. I'm sure we both have laundry lists of things we wish the other would improve on. I would give my eye teeth for more romance and I would not be surprised if he sold his soul to have me be the driver more. Yet our short comings are insignificant when compared to our dedication to each other's happiness.

I am starting to realize that in spite of our many years together before the wedding, we were never one entity or one force. We were always K or S. There was no guarantee.  Now its like an unspoken requirement that you choose your spouse's feelings and need above anyone else's. You are a team and if you want that to last, you work at developing this new joint identity.

Its a very strange metamorphosis, the blurring together into one. It doesn't happen all at once. Instead, the realization that you are less of a "me" and more of a "we" seems as natural as growing your hair. Soon people start treating you like you are a single being, as if all knowledge imparted to either of you is shared by osmosis.

Maybe it is.

At the very least there is a lot more intimate conversation. Or should be, if you expect the marriage to grow instead of shrivel.

Its not even weird to call him my husband anymore. People have stopped asking the dreaded "How's married life?" 7 months into marriage I now feel we are married.