Eleven years later

So, love languages. I just took the quiz, for kicks, even though mine is bleeding obvious: "words of affirmation". But I was also reminded of how much "acts of service" mean to me. Especially now, when we're so close to having a baby and I haven't done things like, uh, make dinner, in weeks. 

"Physical touch", which I guarantee is Phillip's primary language, is dead last for me. I'M SORRY, PHILLIP. 

I'm reminded of this because Phillip and I have been talking about this Unbloggable Thing for a few months now, a sort of sticky situation that neither of us are quite sure how to navigate. However, I am always - ALWAYS - at peace and reassured and totally fine with everything when Phillip actually speaks the words, "I will put you first." 

This has been true ever since I've met him. He's someone who does a lot of Helping Other People and there are often these obligations to others where I'm like: WHAT ABOUT ME? In college it was about the freshmen in his bible study. Now it's work and work people and even sometimes Phillip gets really caught up in wanting to help a relative or close friend and I'm silently fuming, all: WHY ISN'T HE LIKE THIS WITH ME? 

He is, of course. In a different way, since everything about me strongly affects HIM, and for a 9 on the enneagram he tends to "merge" with me (oh wow am I font of personality typing today)... anyway, it makes a world of difference for me when he's able to articulate it and speak it out loud. "You. Come. First." 

Other phrases that mean the world: "I appreciate you." "I know you do a good job." "I know you work hard." "You're a great mom." "I like you best." "Why would I want to hang out at happy hour with all my awesome work people when I can stay home with my hugely pregnant cranky wife and watch bad television?" 

Acts of service... who doesn't like those? I think, for me, acts of service is about someone recognizing a need without me having to bring it up. There was a while a few weeks ago where I thought I might die of washing dishes. I wouldn't do them at night, then I'd be faced with this huge mess in the kitchen every morning which, believe it or not, would ruin my entire day. Like I would just feel overwhelmed from the get go, conquered the minute I got out of bed. Then Phillip started helping with the dishes a little more and OH WOW I haven't had a morning like that in a while. 

I've tried to make a greater effort - okay, not necessarily NOW, when I'm weeks away from giving birth and sort of mad at the entire world - to respond to Phillip's love language. Which is HARD. I mean, I'm a pretty touchy huggy person, but it's not the first way I think of to take care of someone. Probably because that's not what I want when I'm not doing well. But all Phillip really wants is a massage. Seriously. Sometimes I think how much easier life would be if I just mentally scheduled a shoulder massage after dinner several times a week. I even remember the first time I finished rubbing his shoulders - because my fingers were ACHING - and Phillip turning around and saying, "I feel LOVED!" 

I tell myself this is as legitimate as needing to hear that I am appreciated on a regular basis. Even though it's obviously not. I mean, a MASSAGE? Really? Can I just tell you how many times the LAST thing I want is for someone to grind their fingers into my shoulders? STAY AWAY FROM ME. 

But none of the love languages are rated higher than the others. Sigh. 

I don't think we had any clue about these things when we got married. I've been reading that VirtuousPla.net website and it's actually starting to irritate me. There's a lot of dating/marriage stuff written by people who are dating/barely married. Not that that means those posts aren't weighty or worthy or anything, but I'm just highly annoyed by how churchy they are. And I thought Phillip and I were churchy! All this stuff about preparing for marriage and asking the right questions and hard core grounding in the faith and all that - GOOD STUFF. I do not deny it. They are smarter and wiser than me. 

But Phillip and I were two stupidheads who happened to be super serious about dating (as in, we considered the idea of breaking up and then having to find someone else a giant undesirable bummer). I met him at 19, I started dating him at 21, we got married when I was 23. I was the only person I knew who felt I wasn't old enough. But it wasn't about age it was about... well, I just knew I didn't KNOW anything yet. Who WERE we? I mean, I knew he liked massages, but come on, we were Churchy Waiting-For-Marriage Kids and that's all he was getting YOU KNOW? And man, do you know how long it took me to realize that I just needed him to say, "YOU COME FIRST"? Yeeeeeeeeears.

By the grace of God we've figured this stuff out. We fight and fight and fight. We know we're stuck with each other so we HAVE to figure it out EVENTUALLY. Believe me, eight years ago this Unbloggable Sticky Situation would have been a much much MUCH bigger deal. And now it's... hard, but talkable. Awkward but both sides are infused with major understanding of how the other one works, and why the other one is taking that stance. We didn't know this crap eight years ago. I wonder what crap we don't know right NOW.

I have to say, I spent absolutely no time discerning if marriage was my vocation. Well, I HAD prayed about dating Phillip for an embarrassing amoutn of time, but it didn't occur to me that we might actually get married. Honest. That was so... unfathomable. And then it happened. And we had a million things to learn about each other. We probably have a billion more.

Last night Phillip's phone beeped before we went to bed. He pulled it out and looked at his calendar and looky there - guess who has "anniversary of dating maggie" on his PHONE. Who has not mentioned the day since, oh, it happened? To be fair, I had no idea. So not on my radar. But I remember it: talking the night before he left for a four-week trip to China, to overlap with my two-month trip to Europe. He'd waited till the last minute (TYPICAL PHILLIP) and still didn't want to make a decision (TYPICAL PHILLIP) and we said we'd talk about it again when I got home.

Then he picked me up at the airport, with flowers he left in the car because he was embarrassed (no longer typical Phillip) and I made him walk around the lake at midnight and talk talk talk because I couldn't stand the idea of not being around him.  

That's all I really needed to know, you know. That everything was lacking without him. Well, that and he'd always put me first (possibly dependent on massage frequency. But I can work with that.) 

Time to slow down and eat some cake

Phillip just left to play board games with a bunch of guys. Fun times, huh?! Okay, that was sarcastic. I am not the board game type. I have TRIED since we are friends with INTENSE BOARD GAMERS but alas, it is not to be. Partly because they are boring, partly because if I cannot win I do not want to play. Seriously. It's just better for EVERYONE if I am not deadset on having the longest train. 

It's all good because Phillip doesn't get to play with his friends very often. This is his own fault (and theirs) of course, because for whatever reason, Men Do Not Make Plans. Whenever he does have a chance to hang out with the guys I always think, "How NICE." Well, right after I think, "Not until the kids are in bed!" 

The other nice thing about when Phillip leaves to have fun with friends (as opposed to work travel or working late or school meetings or whatever) he does a little extra at home. As if to make sure I cannot possibly be upset with him for leaving. So all the trash is out and all his tools are cleaned up and YES, this makes me happy INDEED. Have fun with your game that requires action figures and ten different dice! 

Anyway, I am bumbling around doing my work. This involved updating my Google calendar with the kids' school calendars (and finding out that they have separate Spring Breaks, UGH.) I filled out another nine thousand forms for Molly's school. (A PERSONALITY PROFILE? What for?! I basically used it to warn them about Potty Anxiety.) I did some money stuff and consolidated preschool papers into their appropriate folders, I emailed absolutely everyone back (unless you didn't get an email from me and you were expecting one, which means I did not and OOPS, PLS LET ME KNOW). I updated MY calendar with doctor appointments and baby showers and when my MIL decided to take time off for the baby. My house is still kind of a disaster but my calendar is organized!

I am tired and moody about the house disasterness and slightly overwhelmed by the preschoolness, but I still feel really itchy about doing stuff to my house and it's frustrating. NOW I want to paint the little room off the kitchen. I want to go find a nightstand at a garage sale or Goodwill to paint and match my coral nightstand. I want to make a crib skirt for the new baby's mini crib. I want to head to Ikea and buy all the rest of the stuff we want for the living room. I stood in the playroom for a good half hour this afternoon deciding how to rearrange and paint and where will I put my mom's old sewing machine and sewing machine table because OH YES I'M GOING TO LEARN HOW TO DO THAT TOO. 

Then I remember I'm having a baby in four weeksish and, um, simmer down, Maggie. 

Can I just tell you one other thing that I'm obsessing over, which is TOTALLY STUPID and yet I CANNOT HELP IT? I hate my hair. Hate it. This is the problem with cutting all your hair off: an earlobe-length bob is suddenly WAY TOO LONG. It looks half decent if I take the time to blow dry it (with volumizer) and flat iron the ends. It's not like I could just leave it when it was super short either. I still had to blow dry, but the blow drying took, like, SECONDS and I LIKED it. So I want to go back and chop it off again, but two things: 1) You have to keep cutting it all the time and will I have time to do that with a new baby? I know I'll WANT to, but you know how it goes. And 2) I AM TOO FAT. I feel like my FACE is pregnant and super short hair will be even more unflattering than what I've got right now. I don't know. Perhaps this is stupid. And the people I've happened to timidly ask about it appear to be people who didn't like my super short hair in the first place SO WHATEVER. Shut up, me. And I know you are the internet which means you want a picture, but TOO BAD, INTERNET. Don't got one! Don't wanna take one! I'm just gonna shave my head!

Although, I will tell you now, the shortness will return. Sooner or later. I am NOT going to grow it all the way out only to lose two thirds of it 6 months post partum. GAH.

 

Thirty-Three Things...

...that maybe, quite possibly, you did not know about Phillip Cheung. 

1. He has no shame about and may, in fact, be rather proud of, his falsetto. Quoth Jack, "Daddy, stop singing like a girl." 

2. He works very hard, but his big get-rich plan is for his wife to write a bestseller. So while it's endearing that he believes in me - HA HA HA.

3. He's a little bit snobby about clothes. Sometimes he says, "I miss wearing ties to the office."

4. He is wrong about pretty much everything politically, but he's still my favorite person to talk to when I read something interesting or someone is saying something stupid on the news. 

5. I think he has a crush on Neil DeGrasse Tyson.

6. He requires no breather between Getting Home From Work and Engaging With His Children. I used to think his sense of humor was my favorite thing about him, but nope, the instant-engagement thing has taken sense of humor's place. 

7. He randomly comes home with random gifts for the kids or me, just because. 

8. He can function on about half as much sleep as I need. I find this admirable and infuriating. 

9. He's the youngest child, but he has an Older Brother-type concern for everyone from his younger sisters-in-law to his employees to panhandlers. 

10. Every nursery rhyme he knows he learned from me. It's like he had first generation immigrant parents or something. 

11. That said, he's the only guy I know who knows [almost] as many old big band and jazz standards as I do. Our first dance song: "My One And Only Love".

12. It was the Sting version though. I KNOW he has a crush on Sting. 

13. He would love me more if I changed all my passwords on a regular basis.

14. He likes buying the tools for the project more than he likes the project itself. 

15. He has a Lady who cuts his hair. If she's not there, he'll come back another day. Apparently she gives a good scalp massage. 

16. Most of my memories of dating Phillip consist of going to his apartment after work to either make dinner (penne with white sauce and chicken) or eat his dinner (stirfry) and watch Friends with his roommate, who became our best man. Sounds boring, but those were super good times.

17. I'm pretty sure he's the reason I eat vegetables. 

18. He thinks he would look good on a motorcycle. 

19. He does not clean bathrooms. But he vacuums, does dishes, folds laundry, takes out the garbage, makes beds, sweeps, mops, and will spend houuuurrrsss cleaning up his office. When I say, "Can you clean up the office so people can stay the night in that room," I mean, "Can you straighten up the papers and hide the wires?" But Phillip hears, "Develop an entirely new filing system and reorganize all the cables."

20. He's a 9 on the enneagram. He is SUCH A 9.

21. He has very strong opinions about Asian Men In Hollywood and would write a rather interesting and entertaining blog post about it. If I asked him to. But I'd rather he pick up his socks. 

22. If you are having Problems, you probably want to talk about them with Phillip. I mean, you might not want to talk about them at all, but 1) talking about things is good for you and 2) Phillip is really good at it. 

23. I never DREAMED he'd be the Corporate Office Manager Dude he is today. EVER. 

24. He recently started his own blog. For work. About work stuff. So naturally I am bored. But he wants to talk about his BLAWG and discuss how to do stuff with his BLAWG and sometimes I am all, "Is this what I sound like?" 

25. I don't know if he wants this advertised, but he REALLY liked Downton Abbey.

26. He cheerfully puts up with me talking about Don Draper and Ryan Gosling (in Crazy Stupid Love) and that one guy in that other movie and ooh, does he want to hear about the weirdo dream I had featuring guys other than himself? He will humor me. But if he even MENTIONS another girl, no matter how vaguely or remotely, I shut it down. I'm fair like that. 

27. He always prefers vanilla. I know. Whatever. 

28. He has never had a cavity. I KNOW. (Please God, let our kids get his teeth!)

29. Today I told him that I was starting to feel afraid about the whole labor thing. And he goes, "I know, I am too, I'm trying really hard to get all prepared at work and make sure I don't have too many loose ends - " and I am just STARING AT HIM. And I say, "I meant: THE PAIN." And he goes, "Oh." And yet! We are still married!

30. He's bought me jewelry, makeup, and handbags, and I've loved all of those things. The only present I didn't like was the year he gave me Snapware for Christmas. 

31. I love it when he ends up being The Guy Entertaining All The Kids. It's adorable. I get to look at him and think: THAT ONE IS MINE.

32. I can decorate however I want and buy pretty much whatever I want, but Phillip will not tolerate wicker. Wicker is the devil's furniture. Do not even RESEMBLE wicker, furniture, if you want inside our house. 

33. September 8 is his birthday. He's 33. There will be Costco cake and handmade cards and, for once, a gift in which I have confidence. 

Portlandia: Conquered

Would you believe that the one thing I said I wanted to do in Portland was the one thing I did not do? In not going to Powell's I feel as though I've committed a mortal sin. I walked by the entrance several times. I thought about what books I would look for. But we never went and... I don't feel bad about it! I mean, I do, because I have to come here and ADMIT that I DID NOT GO TO POWELL'S. But I did not go to Powell's because I pretty much slept/read through Friday afternoon and I couldn't be bothered. AND IT WAS LOVELY. 

I've been to Portland a handful of times, but this was the best yet. The Hotel Monaco was fab. The public transportation was beyond easy. The food was delicious, even though we only went to one of the restaurants on my foodie's list of must-eats. And Phillip bought himself a new wardrobe in the city that does not charge sales tax. SCORE.

We kept walking around saying to ourselves, "Why doesn't SEATTLE do this? Why isn't SEATTLE like this? Why aren't the people in SEATTLE like this?" After a while we decided that Seattle DOES do a lot of these things (markets, outdoor movies, street musicians) but the geography makes it hard to take it all in via a twenty minute walk downtown. In fact, Seattle's downtown is not all that awesome at all, whereas I loved walking through Portland's Pearl district all the way to "Flicks on the Bricks". In Seattle you have to head to Fremont or Magnuson Park for an outdoor movie - not terribly walkable places from downtown. And Seattle public transportation... well, I'll refrain from describing our bus ride home when we got off the train.  

As for the people... I really don't know how to describe the difference I felt. I just saw a print on Pinterest - it's a bunch of regional generalizations written in the shape of the United States, and up where Oregon and Washington are was "RAINY HIPSTERS".

 

Source: facebook.com via Kat on Pinterest

 

So yes, in some respect, the crowd was very similar. Coffee snobs, anyone? But there seemed to be more people out on the streets. More locals. They didn't seem to be in much of a hurry and sometimes they smiled and there were all sorts on every street. Maybe I don't spend enough time in downtown Seattle anymore. I used to walk through it every day, twice a day, three times if I headed to the market for lunch. Now all I experience is hazard after losing-a-child hazard. So maybe it's that. 

We had an amazing brunch at Tasty and Sons. We saw Crazy, Stupid, Love. We caught 20 minutes of West Side Story, the outdoor movie. We caught some major man-wardrobe sales at Eddie Bauer and Banana Republic. We had fantastic hole-in-the-wall Thai food. I felt bad about for not being excited about the restaurants on my foodie friend's list, and had an Existential Crisis over my absolute un-interest in trying new and fancy food. That said I had a perfect cappuccino at Stumptown with Tara, whom I adore and could have talked to for hours and hours. The street food trucks were never open when we were interested, and I avoided Voodoo Doughnuts because of the HORDES of people waiting outside. The train was peaceful and ridiculously easy. I read In The Garden Of Beasts in two afternoons. We watched a few episodes of Downton Abbey on Netflix Streaming. We slept in till nine. The whole time I felt swollen, stretched-out, huge, tired, achy, crampy, hideous. I sat in a Banana Republic dressing room waiting for Phillip while a bunch of gorgeous twenty-somethings picked out going-to-a-wedding outfits for their gorgeous twenty-something boyfriends. I sat right next to a mirror and felt old, fat, veiny, spotty, greasy, with bad hair and flabby arms. To make myself feel better I bought a giant replacement while-I'm-pregnant wedding ring at Nordstrom Rack. Why not?

And now I'm home. The kids are playing outside. Phillip is on an airplane, headed to Work Headquarters for another exciting week of meetings. I am back to obsessing over my house and planning our next Big Things - friends coming to stay for a weekend, Molly's birthday, Phillip's birthday, the starts of preschool. I shouldn't be so tired after such a restful weekend, but I am, and I miss my husband already. I'm not sure what kind of week it will be. Either Phillip will come home to an absolute sty, or he'll see a freshly painted bedroom with new bedding and spray-painted-white furniture and all his junk piled high in the closet where I can't see it. 

Cake, fighting, husband lateness, etc.

I've been meeting a pregnant friend to walk around the lake about once a week. It's not an official Thing or anything, we just did it once and it was nice and we decided to do it again... and then I realized that that was pretty much all the exercise I've been getting lately. Which I think is okay, seeing as how just climbing the stairs in my house makes me breathless and all the painting-near-the-ceiling I did recently about made my arms fall off in addition to making me breathless... in other words, it feels like Life Itself is enough exercise for me lately. But then walking around the lake made me feel, you know, VIRTUOUS. So we've kept it up. 

Except tonight, when I texted her to say: can we meet for cake instead? 

I mean, WHY NOT? I'm feeling sort of crabby anyway and cake is guaranteed to make me feel better whereas a walk around the lake will just make me bemoan my Increasing Girth and future inability to lose it. ALAS. (Oh yes that IS a Future Post Topic!)

The kids were awesome the first day post-vacation, but they've been sassy and snippy and fighty ever since and I! Have! Had! It! My dad was talking about how he bought new DVDs when my nephews visited last week because he just needed an hour when they weren't fighting and I am all I KNOW THIS FEELING. My "favorite" is when J and M are playing some sort of little chasing game and then Molly suddenly decides she doesn't want to play anymore and runs to my side in a Fit of Sweet Innocent Baby Girl Is Being Tortured By Her Nefarious Older Brother and expects me to hold her and protect her and GAH. This happens approximately fifty thousand times a day and as much as I want to, I can't keep Busytown Mysteries going from eight to six. (Right?)

Also I am crabby because my husband is late coming home from work and... ATTENTION HUSBANDS EVERYWHERE: Your wives can usually get behind the fact that you are late. It happens. We understand. The bus schedule is off, traffic is bad, the boss needed something, there was a fire in the server room, whatever. However! When you clearly have advance notice of the Being Late, it would be MOST WISE of you to share that information with us. As in, if you are supposed to be home at six, do not send me a text at six-fifteen saying you've been waiting for a bus for 25 minutes. What can I infer from that text? That you knew you were going to be late A LONG TIME AGO. 

This is why meatballs and corn on the cob and other various random food particles I decided to turn into "dinner" are congealing on my counter as I type. Not that I'm ANNOYED or anything. 

Also! My parents visited this morning and took us to Denny's for lunch. Now, the Cheungs are city folk and we are [rightly] made fun of by others for being sort of snooty about our eating establishments. As in: we live in the CITY. Why eat at a CHAIN. Why eat at Denny's, EVER? But secretly the Cheungs sort of LOVE Denny's, especially because the kids actually EAT things there. Special!

So we went to Denny's and even though Jack was a total pill and didn't want to order anything and Molly only wanted doughnuts or something, when their food came they ate ALL OF IT. And our food too. Jack is getting better about eating and Molly has always been ready to try anything, but neither of them eat very MUCH and it's always a struggle getting them to eat enough so they won't be hungry in an hour. But today? At lunchtime? DUDES. These kids packed it in and I had a whole afternoon without begging for snacks. They didn't eat dinner till AFTER SIX. AMAZINGNESS. Seriously, is this what it could be like? Can I take them to Denny's EVERY DAY?

Oh wait, Phillip is home now and apparently he CAN'T tell me he's going to be late earlier because he's waiting in the bus tunnel and there's no service down there. Okay fine then. But the timing seems sort of off to me... well. I won't pick it apart. THIS TIME. HARRUMPH.

Did I tell you I'm choosing cake over exercise tonight? SO SMART OF ME. 

In other news, I have a post up at Parenting tomorrow about all the ways my kids (mainly Jack) are identifying their half-Chineseness, and most of those ways are just plain bizarre. Well, it's not really HIS half-Chineseness I guess, but just NOTICING Chinese (Asian) things in general... and some of those things are clearly NOT Chinese, but merely associated with Chinese grandparents. Stuff like that. Anyway, I'd really appreciate hearing from other parents from bi/multi-racial kids. I mean, it's not a problem or anything I'm fretting about, but it's just sort of WEIRD, the stuff Jack comes up with, and I don't really know if I should just go along with whatever or try to guide him. I mean, he's FOUR. We have plenty of time to get all racial reconciliation talky talk with him. Bleargh.

It also occurs to me that this website has been seriously devoid of house decorating talk for, like, DAYS now. Unacceptable! Tomorrow: FABRIC! 

Eight

You know what really freaks me out? Like, unnerves me for days on end and keeps me up thinking scary things at night? When bloggers get divorced. I think I can name every blogger I've read who got divorced while I was reading, even though none of them are blogs I commented on or bloggers I felt I knew and some of them I don't even read anymore. 

God knows what I'll do when real friends get divorced. This has yet to happen. I honestly can't imagine it happening at ALL, really. My friends? They're so happy! They're fine! But it's statistically likely, right? Some day it will happen. And I will need therapy.

I've been extraordinarily blessed to not have to deal with divorce in my own life. As I get older and get to know more and different kinds of people, I am more and more aware of how lucky I am. I remember being a little kid and asking my dad if he and my mom would ever get divorced (did I even know what it WAS?) and his response is still so clear: "That will never happen." 

Phillip's parents are still married. My grandparents all stayed married. I have divorced relatives, but none of them are particularly close to me. Of all my parents' friends I only know of one set who got divorced, and this happened after I was far away from home so I was never around it. Every so often my mother catches word of another divorced couple and while I remember the names, I don't know them and it doesn't truly affect me. But I'm always a little freaked out whenever I hear about it. People who've been married for YEARS and YEARS and YEARS. What HAPPENED?

Will it happen to ME?

Last year (Year Seven, if we're counting, AKA The Hardest Year Of Being Married According To Most People I Talk To) was, by far, the roughest we've had. The communication was not exactly happening. I was perpetually angry with nothing to blame except Circumstances. There was so much transition. It just wasn't good. 

And then this year... with just as much transition, the same circumstances, but somehow my insistence on Not Letting Anything Go and Phillip's extreme generosity combined to make sure we were understanding each other. Maybe it just took practice. A LOT of practice. Maybe it was knowing the end was in sight. I'm not sure. I loosened up, he was quicker to see my side, and we put each other first. There is no compromise, folks. Both of you bend over backwards for the other - that's how it works. 

Anyway, I feel like I should know a thing or two by Year Eight, but I don't. Not really. I know that for us, not talking about something is pretty much the worst thing that can happen. I know that Phillip wants back rubs and I want to be told I'm doing a good job. I know we are two very different people than when we first got married, but somehow it still works. 

The one thing I've always known is that I found a guy, through no effort of my own, who commits as strongly as I do. Which is a lot. Which is more than any guy I knew before him. Which really makes me believe that one day I'll be planning our fiftieth wedding anniversary in the dining hall of the blogger retirement home. You're all invited.

The answer is Meatballs

What I gave my dad for Father's Day: a weekend with my misbehaving beasties. Also a copy of Downtown Abbey. 

What I gave Phillip for Father's Day: a weekend without the misbehaving beasties, a trip to Ikea, hours and hours spent putting Ikea furniture together and a back rub. Also a little tiny box that prints pictures from your phone. 

What I gave myself for Father's Day: a new kitchen table and four chairs, and an Entertainment Center of the type I thought I'd never want, but have since decided is Exactly What This Room Needed. 

I also learned how to make decisions with my husband in Ikea. I don't know about you, but Ikea is a prime breeding ground for Spousal Disagreement. I also have the pleasure of being married to the sort of person who hates being forced to make a decision. It's not that he's INCAPABLE of making decisions, he just wants to make them in his own TIME. Which is almost always about nine thousand times longer than MY own time. And if you try to push him, or even GENTLY ENCOURAGE, which is what I've spent eight years of marriage learning how to do, he gets IRRITABLE. Perhaps even TESTY. 

However! This time! He came up with a viable solution. Usually the solution is me suggesting we just scrap everything and try again later. This time Phillip said, "Let's go sit at the cafe and talk." 

OMG! 

So we did. Phillip ate a giant plate of Swedish meatballs and I ate his mashed potatoes (I am unable to control myself around mashed potatoes) and we made not one or two but something like A LOT of GROWN UP DECISIONS. It was kind of amazing, folks. I don't think we've ever explained ourselves so well, agreed so quickly or came up with a plan so easily. Apparently, the answer is Meatballs. 

The first thing we decided is that we need a car more than we need, say, a new couch. The second thing we decided was that we really DID need a kitchen table and chairs and something to house the television. Everything else will wait until we figure out the Minivan situation - there's NO way we can fit another car seat in our Mazda 5 and I am totally ready for my Swagger Wagon, people. 

That all having been cheerfully decided over meatballs and Lingonberry pop, we fairly easily picked out a table and chairs. We somewhat less easily picked out a TV stand. Phillip and I had differing requirements (OBVS). I've never like Giant Entertainment Centers or Big Armoires that look like they should be hiding monsters. We both like the low counter-type cabinets. But then I saw this Hemnes set up, with a low TV stand bookended by a big bookcase and a narrow glass cabinet, with a wall shelf bridging the two taller units. I liked the asymmetricalness, I liked the style and we have a LOT of wall space in our living room - it seemed like a good idea to attempt to fill some of it up with tall cabinets. So we bought those components too. 

The hardest part was choosing a finish- Phillip liked the black/brown (I thought it would look too harsh in our yellow/white room), I liked the white (Phillip thought the white looked cheap) so then we stared long and hard at the gray-brown finish. And bought it. And I was nervous about it until the entire thing was set up, and now I really like it. I think. 

So yeah, everything else is on hold, but it's nice feeling like we have designated SPACES now. I moved the old TV stand (an Expedit on its side) to the little kitchen room and filled it with the kids' art supplies and all my old paper and ribbons and glue. They know where it is and where things need to be put away and it's just nice to have that instead of "oh, it goes in that random pile in the living room corner". 

Anyway, that's how WE spent our Father's Day/mostly childless weekend. Have you ever read a blog post composed entirely of Ikea furniture. I AM SORRY. But I feel like some really good stuff came out of this weekend! My house looks better, for one thing, and MEATBALLS! Next time I need Phillip to focus and help me make a decision, I just need to find the closest dining establishment, sit him down and stuff him full of food. How is he supposed to think on an empty stomach?! 

In sickness

Yesterday was one long prayer that everyone would feel better. Such a strange day. Phillip stayed home and took care of everyone, and even though I'd been sick all night and was totally, utterly worn out, I felt this huge burst of oh I've missed everyone being together. 

Phillip cleaned up all - and there were TONS - of dirty dishes. He vacuumed the entire upstairs. He went grocery shopping. He made breakfast and lunch. He took Molly out on errands in the morning, then took Jack out to ride his bike and play the electric drums at Best Buy. He took out trash. He played cards and marbles and iPad games and cleaned up vomit. I know he was checking work email on his phone, but I don't think he actually DID any work until the rest of us were in bed for the night. It was so, so nice. 

I'm not gonna lie - I sure appreciated getting to lie down whenever I wanted and watching three episodes of Downton Abbey while I was at it. But it wasn't just about not having to do all the dirty work and child wrangling (and Jack, for some reason, was back to lethargy and misery after being nearly himself the previous day.) It was just nice not to be the only adult in the house. And by dinnertime, when I was feeling so much better, we were tag teaming the kids and talking about the next day and recuperating together... Phillip hasn't been around all day, even on the weekends. It was just NICE. 

So you know I was dreading being sick, and then I got sick, and I seriously sent out a number of SOS emails and IMs and texts because intense misery needs company, but then my husband stayed home and instead of the The Worst Day Ever it was almost enjoyable. 

All day I kept wondering what I'd do if he was on a business trip. 

I hate this word, it makes me cringe, but he's such a good PARTNER. I think, in most cases, we work really well together, and when we don't I think we can (usually, if occasionally painfully) communicate why. Sometimes my friends talk about husbands who can't deal with small babies or never clean up after themselves or constantly demand space and time away or miss their pre-baby lives or don't help out with the kids or never realize what needs to be done around the house. Almost every time I hear one of these stories I give silent thanks for my husband, who has manned up from the beginning. I can think of one particularly nasty fight we had when Jack was six or seven months old, when we were both suffering from lack of sleep and Phillip was checking out and I was feeling put upon, but honestly, other than that, he's been RIGHT THERE with the kids. During these grad school years when I've felt like the absolute last item on his list, at least the kids weren't last. He'd get home from a business trip and launch right into one of their games, or getting up with them, or putting them to bed. And if he hadn't put them before me I would have been furious. 

Things aren't perfect, obviously. He still leaves his damn socks all over my house. 

Supposedly we get most of him back in two weeks. I'm reserving judgment. At the precise time he started school, his career went [good] crazy, and I've mentioned his revolting work ethic, yes? The cynical part of me thinks he's going to fill up the extra time with more work, but lately he's been really on top of my fears. I get random texts and emails I never got before, about how things will be different. There are certain things we could jump into after graduation, but we're both in agreement about taking a break from anything Big for a while. And it was his idea to go on a little just-us trip sometime this summer, if we can make it work. 

I just love him. And I've really really missed him. 

Temporary, as-soon-as-I-post-this-I-will-be-fine blog freakout

First, I will tell you that Phillip came home from work, was unfazed by the fact that the kids slept till five and his wife did not have dinner ready, and took the children to Costco for hot dogs. As soon as I write this out I will be scooping myself a gigantic bowl of ice cream and watching The Good Wife on Hulu. 

He also went to Costco to buy luggage. I knew he was going to be out of town all next week. What I just found out tonight is that he'll be gone all of the following week as well. I thought it was a two night trip. It's four nights. 

I wrote about this for Parenting and was afraid to read the (hardly any, natch) comments because HELLO, AT LEAST MY HUSBAND HAS A JOB, AM BIG FAT WHINER. But, uh, now I am REALLY freaked out. 

Because while he's gone I still have two kids, a third one sucking all available energy, and an entire house to pack up. Phillip gets home from his second trip three days before our house closes. (And he'll be traveling after that week as well.) 

I've decided that I need to actually think about this and plan stuff out because OMG two weeks. So. Okay, first thing is I need to get back all the moving boxes from the last person we lent them to, so I CAN pack up. I need to buy packing tape. This will keep me occupied. And I basically did it all by myself last time (although I wasn't pregnant) and I wouldn't say packing is Phillip's forte anyway sooooo yes, this will be fine. 

I will hang my head and flat out ask my friends to watch out for me. One of them always has us for dinner when Phillip is gone and obvs I will be taking advantage of that. I need to be better about planning morning playdates in advance. 

My mom is working right now, but we can probably do an overnight at their house if I'm really exhausted, especially because the second week is preschool spring break and I won't have to figure out how to get Jack back to Seattle in time. My in-laws are still Monday superstars, which is good because I have appointments on the Mondays. And I have a sister with a weird work schedule - maybe I can bribe her into hanging out with us a few times. 

I will not feel bad about the television. I will pray for nice weather so the kids can play outside. I will stock up on chicken nuggets and cereal. 

Anything that happens with the house will be better by virtue of our kick ass agent. 

The whole time I can look forward to being in our big new house in just a few weeks. 

I will not stress too hard about the state of THIS house. 

Okay. I feel better. I can do this. And now I'm going to eat ice cream and listen to the quiet. 

news from the home front

While many are at the Blathering, time marches on at the home front.  Here's a quick report of how the Cheung family is surviving.  

1. Thursday night after the kids went to bed I decided to make some stirfy to last me the next couple of days for my meals.  Jack may be able to live off of cheese sandwiches but not me.  After the kids went to bed I cut and marinated chicken, and chopped up and obscene amount of broccoli.  Then I scoured the kitchen searching for the corn starch (used to thicken the marinade into a sauce).  No luck.  I rembered one time in college making beef stew with some friends and using pancake mix in instead of flour to thicken it up.  Guess what I found in the top cubbard way in the back.  So what I ended up with was somewhat runny stirfry with orange bits of pancake mix floating around.  Surprisingly, it does't taste too bad.

2.  Jack is surprisingly good at playing "mad birds" on my iPhone.  During quiet time, I can take at least a 20 minute nap on his bed while he plays next to me.

3.  If you put the garbage outside with the intention of throwing it away, make sure it's more than just an intention.  Aparantly the squirls or birds are very interested in our scraps of halloween candy and wrappers.  

4.  I talked to my brother the yesterday.  One time he had his kids for a weekend and my oldest nephew ended up in the emergency room needing stitches.  I told him that I was just trying to make sure there was still 20 fingers and toes when Maggie gets back.   

5.  Yesterday I tried to give Jack a ham and cheese sandwich and you'd think getting Jack to eat a slice of ham wouldn' result in tears and screaming (from Jack).  Today we're at my parant's house and she had a ham and cheese sandwich allready made for his lunch.  Jack then proceeded to spend the next 30 minutes of lunch professing his undying love of ham and how it will make him grow up to be a big boy.  

6.  Because of #5, I've decided to spend the night.  

7.  I use to love fall daylight savings because of the extra hour of sleep.  With little kids, the affects of daylight savings have reversed.  In fall, I now expect Jack and Molly to wake up at 5:30 instead of 6:30.  In the spring, they wake up an hour later.  Yet another reason to spend the night at my parents.   

P.S.  I can do 7 quick takes on a Saturday right???