The Great IL Wedding of 2014

This weekend was the big family wedding. How’d we fare?

Well, the logistics were something of a clusterfuck (you know me, I don’t mince words). From trying to find the meeting place that wasn’t on Saturday morning to taking pictures after the ceremony, I was exhausted by all the purposeless movement. By the time Monday rolled around and my husband suggested we trek around the resort to get to lunch, I found myself going full brat and saying I wanted — nay, needed — to walk inside and take the most direct route. I apologized for being bitchy, but he told me he knew how I felt.

The bride, however, looked lovely. The groom seems pretty nice and in love with her. Though it was a quickie wedding (says the woman who dated her husband for years), I’m hoping it’s a long marriage.

My ILs were not terrible. There were moments, of course. The seating at the reception wasn’t well planned, and when it seemed like my husband and I wouldn’t have seats, my FIL freaked out on the staff. Now, it’d be okay for him to freak out if it were his wedding. But I feel that the planners, the wedding party, or the couple’s parents are the ones responsible for the comfort of their guests — not another guest. I had to say, firmly, that if I was uncomfortable, I would complain. Trust me, I would complain. Unfortunately, we ended up having to sit at their table. Le sigh.

At points, it seemed like we couldn’t escape my MIL and FIL. They were the only people we repeatedly ran into at this huge resort. They joined us for our pool days on Saturday and Sunday (where my FIL was inappropriately grouchy at the kids playing in the pool—you do realize I’m keeping score, don’t you, dude?). On our last day, after we thought they had left, they surprised us as we were having coffee (this was somewhat nerve-wracking — we were having lunch with my husband’s brother and cousin and did not want them to join).

Then, at the airport, while my husband enjoyed a beer and I a Sprite, my husband got up to use the restroom. He came back almost immediately saying, “Nope, nope, nope.” I ducked my head out and saw that his parents and an uncle were looking at the departures board — we assume they were looking for our gate. We avoided them, but there were some tense moments. Jaysus, leave us alone.

However, it’s quite obvious they’re tiptoeing around us. They’ve already had a near-miss, with my FIL trying to crash my shower before he and MIL realized what a bad idea it was. I think they’ve realized that their good behavior is paramount when it comes to their access to Dubya—give us space, realize that these are our decisions to make, don’t try to control every aspect of your relationship with her and us, and meet us halfway. It remains to be seen if they can follow through. In the meantime, you can tell every single one of my husband’s brothers and cousins is watching and waiting.

The family thing, combined with the awful resort, made us happy to be home. I’d never been so happy to leave a tropical paradise.

Thursday Randoms

As I wait for my computer to finish searching old files on the company shared drive (yay, research!), I thought I’d post here since it’s been a bit.

What to say?

Well, the furniture conversion at Casa Writer is happening, slowly but surely. The husband and I managed to buy new bookshelves, though they won’t show until late October. We also bought a few new pieces that will be scattered throughout the apartment — a chest of drawers, a hallway entrance table, some nightstands. While furniture shopping, my husband saw a new living room set he’s kind of gaga for. We might be getting that in the next few weeks.

We enjoyed the end of the summer with some trips to the pool and generally relaxing weekends, which are much needed since we’re both working our asses off at work. I’ve been enjoying this nose-to-the-grindstone approach since I didn’t have the most productive of summers. But I shaped up because I most definitely do not want to ship out.

On the Dysfunction, Inc. front, I have a friend who’s escaping the place as of tomorrow. I’m going to her happy hour celebration, which will involve me hanging around for maybe an hour, sipping at water or a ginger ale. Crazy thing—the place got a new federal contract. It’s like, how the hell did they manage that? I have no clue. But they did and are hiring, so I posted a review of them on Glassdoor.com because people need to know what they’re getting into. It’s still pending approval, though. Ugh. But it’s an honest review that was actually written by my husband. I couldn’t stop getting personal, so he took over and did an excellent job at describing my hell there.

My little brother seems to be adjusting well to DC. He’s enjoying his neighborhood, hanging out with us on occasion, job, and making new friends. I think he’s gotten quite into biking around here, though he hasn’t said anything about being active in WABA. Whatever the case, he seems to love it here. I’m glad.

My parents and other siblings are starting to make plans to visit us for Christmas. We’ll have to get them to DC from BWI via Super Shuttle; our little car won’t fit the lot of them. But I’m excited to have them here for the holidays.

The wedding of the century is slowly but surely coming up. I ended up emailing my cousin-in-law about my name. She responded with a thank you, saying that her mom had pointed out the misspelling on the save-the-dates, but that she completely forgot about it when it came invitation time. She said she appreciated the message, though, and we ended up exchanging some commiseration over wedding planning. I think the wedding will be just fine; it’s still my FIL and his antics I’m dreading. Ay.

Last but not least, I desperately need a haircut. And a manicure. And a pedicure.

Late Hump Day, Bump Day: Belated Birthday Edition

Yesterday, I hit 16 weeks. Dubya is the size of an avocado. Husband says we can make salsa out of her.

(When I write to her, I have to forever promise her that I won’t let her father eat her when she’s here.)

It was also a checkup day for me and my husband’s birthday. The morning brought the good news that Dubya was in there, happily using the arc trainer to get her heartbeat up to a nice 138. The evening brought a trip to the pool, a nice dinner at home, and some solid chocolate Cold Stone ice cream cake to celebrate my husband’s day.

He’s not a huge fan of his birthday for many reasons. We tend not to make a big deal out of it, but I think yesterday was a nice day for him. Not only did he get confirmation that his avocado is still growing (we can also tell by the almost-noticeable bump that I’m sporting), but the day was relaxing, fun, and low key. Every day should be like this, but especially a birthday.

The day ended with me reading an app in bed that said Dubya’s formed bones in her ears and might be able to hear. My husband got a huge grin on his face, put down his book, and moved over to say hello to Dubya. He told her about how excited he was to see her in a few weeks (and how she should give him a thumbs up), that he couldn’t wait to have her here, and to remember two words for her future: hedge fund.

Things have been going smoothly the past few weeks. My nausea and fatigue sharply decreased in week 13, so I’m now rebounding and kicking major ass at work (every day is a busy day; I can’t believe how much I get done, yet still have to do!). Between walking, working out at the gym, swimming at the pool, and yoga, I feel like my workout routine is going well. Yesterday, when weighed, I’d gained about five pounds since the start of my pregnancy; not bad, particularly since it’s all belly.

We’re now waiting for our anatomy scan, four weeks from today. I have my fingers crossed that all’s well and she’s developing as she should. C’mon, Dubya. Be your awesome self.

Our families and friends not associated with work now know, too. My parents are thrilled – they’ve been buying every piece of clothing there is for Dubya and checking up on me whenever they can. His parents … well, per usual, they’re being weird. Since we announced, they’ve been more or less silent on the subject. It’s either that they don’t know how to handle the situation or they’re waiting to pounce with some highly unreasonable demands on Dubya (I place my money on the latter).

That weirdness aside, we’ve had a pretty awesome summer. We’ll cap it off with a visit to the National Book Festival this weekend (where we’ll get that fantastic poster and make it the centerpiece of Dubya’s nursery). Next week, I’ll be telling work about my pregnancy (wish me luck).

But for now, still very happy about getting to share my husband’s birthday with him.

Common Courtesy

At a little over 10 weeks, my emotional range hasn’t been vastly different. In fact, despite the all-day hangover feeling and fatigue, I’ve been downright cheerful.

However, certain things can trigger a highly emotional reaction that goes beyond what I’m used to. I feel like I’m back in teenage territory, throwing a huge fit. I feel ridiculous as I’m doing it, but I also feel it needs to run its course.

Little things get to me. At work, there have been a couple of times where I feel I’ve been slighted. Were the slights intentional? Probably not. But I interpreted them as marks against me, indictments of my work performance. In one case, I had to go out for a walk around the block to avoid people and keep back my tears. In another case, I sat through an entire meeting, brooding. I’ve gotten over these instances, but I can’t deny that they happen.

However, this evening? Jesus, I’m going to be mad about it for a while.

So, remember cousin-in-law’s wedding? Well, cousin-in-law’s invitation came today. Cousin-in-law also has a terrible habit of misspelling my first name, constantly. She adds extra letters and switches out another one. She also drops the first half of my last name (I double barreled because I did not want to lose my middle or last names). The dropping, okay, fine, simplicity. But misspelling my name?

It’s fucking common courtesy to make sure your guests’ names are spelled correctly on their invitations. I was meticulous about this when I got married. People have given names: don’t fuck them up!

I was in a good mood when I came home from work. I’d just listened to a song I hadn’t thought about in years and wanted to download it from iTunes. I was going to post something cutesy on Twitter about belting out the song along with my cousin when I was 13 years old. But as I picked up the mail, my joy turned to rage. FULL. ON. RAGE.

I was so mad that I threw the mail, including the invite, HARD on the damn floor. Like, temper tantrum mode. I was infuriated, people. I almost logged back into Facebook to post a passive-aggressive message about how my name is X, not XXX, XXA, XXZA, etc. I decided not to because I don’t miss Facebook (and didn’t want to be a bitch), but holy hell.

My name is a sensitive thing. People are always misspelling it, dropping the last letter, getting it completely wrong. I just want to shake people and ask what’s wrong with them!? Figure it out – if you’re thinking of taking a random stab at it, ASK first. And it’s not like this cousin-in-law hasn’t been exposed to my name before; even though I deactivated Facebook, I would still show on her friends list. She could’ve looked me up. Or emailed me. But no, she apparently thinks she knows how to spell my name.

I sent my husband a message, asking if we could please let her know that she keeps on misspelling it – nicely, of course. I wouldn’t blame him if he were a bit annoyed with my text, but I’m also highly pissed because she keeps on doing this. I think my husband has corrected her in the past and apparently it doesn’t stick.

I know part of my reaction is typical – I’d be mad at this, anyway – but I know the reaction is heightened. Throwing things? Sending snippy text messages? Almost crying (yep)? Yeah, sometimes I have these surges, mostly of anger.

I’m going to calm down now – venting on the blog has been therapeutic.

But I have no idea what I’ll do if she misspells my name on an escort card even after we’ve asked her to spell it correctly.

Surviving the In-Laws

So how was the visit from the in-laws?

Could’ve been worse.

They’re easier to handle these days. My husband and I are less inclined to fill silences. Whereas we used to chatter incessantly to avoid tension, we now let silences ride and let them struggle to find a conversation topic. I don’t feel the need to be the pleasant and perky wife like I did earlier in our marriage. Whenever there’s indecision (they hate making decisions), the husband or I will take charge.

But they still managed to annoy in their own ways.

To my husband, my father-in-law made a few comments that he apparently can’t make when I or his wife are around. It’s his way of trying to get information on my brothers-in-law, but my husband’s pretty close-lipped when it comes to, well, most things. He also ranted about how one of my cousins-in-law didn’t tell him anything, which, honestly, why should cousin-in-law do so?

Another moment was their insistence on sending a picture of my husband and me to a friend of theirs. Their friend creeps me out and has done inappropriate things in my presence — I do not want him having a picture of me. They asked my husband to send the picture after it was taken, but husband faked it. He then played dumb when they realized it hadn’t been sent. I ignored their pointed glances for help. If they figured out how to send it, fine, but I wasn’t going to send some strange man who makes me uncomfortable my picture.

Dinner on Saturday was a trial. After spending all day in the sun and dealing with them, I was beat. I didn’t order a drink, of course, and wasn’t up for dessert or coffee. But the pouting when I declined dessert and coffee! It was as if I had forbidden them from having it (which they were welcome to do). When the waiter arrived and asked if anyone wanted anything, they couldn’t even speak up to say they wanted dessert though they clearly did. My husband ended up ordering a piece of cake for the table. By the time we got home, I was internally telling them to call it a night. Thankfully, they did.

At breakfast the next morning, I asked for decaf coffee. When my mother-in-law and I were again away from my husband and father-in-law, father-in-law says to husband: “Writer’s been keeping a very careful diet. No caffeine and she didn’t order a drink last night?”

Husband thinks he flubbed it, but his answer was good: “She’s been working out a lot lately, wants to keep that stuff to a minimum.” But inside, he was pretty pissed. We’d found out about the pregnancy two hours before. It’s early days. If we weren’t saying anything, husband says, his father should’ve kept his clever observations to himself. For my part, father-in-law can think what he wants, but if he’s dumb enough to share his clever observations with anyone, especially my parents, he’s in my doghouse.

After we left them following breakfast, the husband and I looked at each other: “We survived.”

Next up: the October wedding. Ay.

Los Randoms for June 5, 2014

Greetings, hoopleheads.

• Since Amazon announced they were adding HBO shows to their Prime lineup, I’ve been geeked. I never finished watching Deadwood, Rome, or saw the very last episode of Carnivàle in its entirety. I’ve started watching Deadwood first — I’m only about five episodes in, but I love how much I still love this show. Despite the rampant cursing — maybe because of it — the writing is superb and Shakespearean in its complexity, nuance, and power. I’m chuckling at the newer reviews of the show on Amazon — so much swearing! They really need to read an interview with David Milch that addresses the reason for that (in short: your characters will sound like Yosemite Sam if you stick to historical profanities).

 

• Though things at work are quiet, I’m starting to get more of a feel for the actual work itself. I have two reports that are about to be done. I’m rather proud of both of them, though I know I’ll be cringing in a year when I read them and I shake my head at my style deviations. However, apparently I’m really good at translating complex information into layman’s terms. I’ve always said I’m good at that, but it’s nice to have independent confirmation on that front, hah.
• I must admit that the growing list for the 2014 National Book Festival contains no one I’m excited to see. That said it’ll be a wonderful opportunity to discover new authors. I’m also very much in love with the poster for this year — while I’m still not thrilled with the new location, I think the artist did a tremendous job making the change a fun and exciting thing in the poster. If you’re a book lover who’s been kept up by a great novel or biography, you know you’ve had that look on your face as you read late into the night (though I’m not sure if you were wearing the nightcap). I’m thinking I’ll get this one framed, too, and set it next to the one from last year (which looks marvelous in its frame, btw). Kind of like an old-to-new art set.

The moon looks so happy to be staying up late to read! Artwork by Bob Staake. Via loc.gov/bookfest/

• I’m supposed to hit another Dysfunction, Inc., birthday happy hour tonight. I’m not going for long (a husband-wife pact to cut down on the beer for June plus the in-laws arriving tomorrow keeps me from getting my drink on). The head of HR might be in attendance — he of the HR Ambushes. I have no idea why my former colleague is inviting him. My husband observed that, as head of HR, it’s immensely stupid for him to attend happy hours and then proceed to defend the terrible bosses. I’m sure he reports back everything that happens, so it’s unwise to invite him. If he’s there tonight, I’ll do a one-eyebrow raise and say, “Oh. HR Person.” Then nod and say nothing more to him. I dislike him as much as I dislike the bosses.
• The in-laws arrive tomorrow. Eek!

I leave you, hoopleheads.

It’s That Time of Year Again

You know what’s scary? My in-laws will be here a week from tomorrow.

Dun-dun-dun!

As you may recall, I am not a fan of my in-laws. Fortunately for me, neither is my husband. Per usual, they’re passing through and want to stop by. We’ll actually be here, too, so we’ll have to put up with their “visit.”

(Earlier this year, they wanted to come to DC to see a friend receive an award. They made their attendance contingent on being able to get together with us sometime during that weekend. It was the same weekend as the Philly race. Because we would not be here, they didn’t come to see their friend receive said award. Process that now. Make sense? No? I know.)

We’re pretty good at handling them and are planning a host of activities that will keep them distracted. I was probably grumpier last year (since I was still with Dysfunction, Inc.) at the idea of their arrival. This time, I’ll deal, but I probably won’t enjoy it any more than usual. One thing I know they’re going to press on is our hotel reservation for cousin-in-law’s wedding. They’re determined to have everyone stay in the same location.

My response is already primed: “Well, we haven’t really looked at the options, but I do know I want a bit of luxury. The one where cousin-in-law is staying is outrageous, but maybe a step down from that one.”

Husband says he’s just going to reiterate that we’ll be seeing plenty of them that weekend.

But, in order to receive them, we have to get the apartment ready (thankfully they’re staying at a hotel again). Beyond cleaning, that means clearing up evidence of our creative endeavors — writing (for my husband; my in-laws have to know I write, right? I’ve never hidden it) and TTC (they won’t know apricot one about our struggles and will only hear about a pregnancy after the first trimester is over).

It’s sad we have to hide our lives from them, but they’ve not been very trustworthy when we do share. No matter what we tell them, we get accusations about how we don’t include them in anything. Sigh. So we stopped offering them anything resembling trust or confidence.

Like my husband said, though, they’ve had nearly 40 years to treat him like a human being and they never have. What can you do?

We Now Return You to Your Regularly Scheduled Babymaking

In the end, bro-in-law’s girlfriend decided she didn’t want to come to DC all by her lonesome. We had started the mad dash of cleaning on Friday night (and I was slightly annoyed we hadn’t heard the girlfriend’s travel plans as of then) when bro-in-law emailed my husband to let him know the trip wasn’t happening. We both breathed sighs of relief.

So our FW will proceed unimpeded. It started yesterday. Out of nowhere, as we were getting ready to leave the house, I said this to my husband:

“I think you just got me pregnant.”

I have no idea where that came from, especially with more romping to be done. But hell, I’ll take some optimism. It’d be a nice late birthday present (and a calming thought [versus alcohol] while we deal with another visit from my ILs at end of the two-week wait).

So, onward. A weekend to enjoy after all, too!

Paradise Lost

Remember way back in December when my husband’s cousin got engaged? And how I asked her to not seat us with my husband’s parents at her reception?

I mentioned it offhandedly, but it’s a destination wedding. Instead of being stuck at a table with the in-laws for a few hours, we’re going to be stuck on an island with them for a long weekend. I wanted to weep when I found out.

I’ve been a quick study in how my in-laws think. My husband will admit that I’m a few steps ahead of him when figuring out how they’ll try to control family interactions. When we saw the venue (expensive), I predicted that a) the in-laws would complain about the cost; b) they would want the entire family to stay in one section of the venue even though it’s huge; and c) they would make a grand gesture of wanting to pay for our room.

“Noooo,” my husband said. “No, they know better by now!”

Guess what showed up in his inbox yesterday? Why, an email wherein they suggest where we should stay and that they’ll pay for us. (This after months of horrified “Can you BELIEVE the cost of this place?” comments. Yeah, it’s expensive. We’ll live.)

(“Lesson: never doubt me on this,” I said to my husband.)

In a reasonable family, this wouldn’t be terrible. In this family, we’d be regimented into a schedule from morning until night (wedding events excluded). And trust me, you do not want to be at a table with my father-in-law when he ridicules waitstaff (an aside: I think people who do this are some of the most insecure and sad and spiteful people in the world).

My husband’s approach is to email them back and say we still haven’t looked at the room options, but we will definitely be paying for our own stay. No matter the room we pick, he’ll write, he’s sure that we’ll see each other a lot that weekend.

He tells me to understand that in his family, this is defiance to nth degree — you agree to what my father-in-law says immediately or you won’t hear the end of it. My husband is still afraid of this man, who made his life a misery and still treats him like property instead of a person. That makes me incredibly sad. And yet they say they want to be closer?

Truth be told, I don’t want to stay in the area of the resort that they chose. Never did. I want to spend a bit more for some luxury since vacations have been hard to come by this year. I want us to be able to do what we want that weekend: breakfast in bed, beachcombing, swimming, snorkeling. I don’t want to spend the day with my father-in-law’s grumpy ass.

I’ve said my husband can blame it all on me if it’s easier: TTC Writer wanted to stay here. TTC Writer wanted a quieter tower. TTC Writer wanted to be closer to X. TTC Writer wanted whatever. It’ll all be true and have the added bonus of giving us a more relaxing weekend.

Because there is one thing they still will not dare to do, and that is mess with me.

My In-Laws Are Weird

Have I ever mentioned that my in-laws send us Passover and Easter cards? Every year since we’ve been married.

This year, they sent a combo Passover/Easter card about sharing traditions.

Did they not pay attention to our totally secular wedding ceremony? We’re both atheists.

I want to say it’s nice, but clueless is the only thing that comes to mind. I have never, ever indicated I’m religious. Husband stopped practicing long, long ago.

It just screams “Not paying attention and don’t care to!” to me. Respect my unbelief, yo.

Hell, my mom’s as Catholic as they come and she doesn’t say apricot one about religion these days.