A Place to Hang Stockings

Sunday, December 20, 2009

Home improvement projects have slowed significantly. Okay, they've actually come to a complete stand still. Except for me exclaiming to Hubster that I've finally found the perfect place to hang the Dustbuster.

There are still projects aplenty. The master bath needs re-tiling. The blue bathtub and tile in the hall bath have got to go. It would be nice to have closet doors, stair hand rails, and lights in the living room. Those are all on the list. For later.

There was one project, however, that I was determined to get done before Christmas.

Do you remember when we finished the playroom/family room? There was a large black box in the far wall. Otherwise known as the fireplace.


The one thing I wanted done before Christmas was a mantle. A place to hang stockings. A gathering stop for the bitter cold Iowa winter nights. A focal place in an otherwise rather bland (but always messy) room.

We started by tiling around the fireplace. We chose a beautiful travertine tile (which we could afford to do, since this particular color was on sale, and there wasn't that much to tile.)


After I tiled and grouted, Hubster installed the surround and mantle. Let me clarify. I came up with an idea in my head about what I wanted the surround and mantle to look like. Hubster then patiently listened and examined my drawings. He then made multiple trips to the hardware store and built our mantle from scratch. By himself. With me playing cheerleader and avoiding anything with a sharp edge.

(There were many pictures of all the steps from start to here, but that would have meant subjecting you to dozens of blurry photos. Which I wasn't going to do. Merry Christmas.)

(And please note Monkey's little wooden tool box at the bottom of this photo. He and his wooden hammer, nails, and screwdriver were helpful at every stage of this project.)

After the (surprisingly large) mantle was built, I then painted it the same antique white as all the trim in the house. And painted. And painted. Repeat this step several more times, turning what should have beeen a one weekend project into a two week project.

Regardless...

Two weeks later, instead of this...


We now have this...



And a beautiful mantle like this is just begging to be decked out for Christmas. Just apply stockings the boys decorated two Christmases ago, free pine branches from the local hardware store, and handfuls of pinecones that the boys are always collecting.


I think the result is just magical.


There was still something missing. Hubster rectified this with a trip to a bait-and-tackle shop by the lake, from which he returned with enough wood to fill half our shed.

Last night, we enjoyed our very first fire in our new fireplace.


It feels more like home and more like Christmas than I would have ever imagined.

The Day After

Friday, November 27, 2009

I have never gone out shopping on Black Friday. Not at 3 am or any other time. I once did go see a movie with my mom the day after Thanksgiving and kept wondering why it was so busy.

It could be that I'm just not that big of shopper. I am still trying to reconcile that I may have to pay more than $20 for a pair of jeans. It could also have to do with the fact that usually, that particular Friday rolls around, Hubster and I haven't even started our Christmas list. No reason to go stand in lines and fight off aggressive soccer moms when you don't have any idea what you are looking for.

But this year, with my December being consumed by a arduous surgery rotation, the only way Christmas would be successful would be to start early. Not to mention the need to ship most of our gifts 1200 miles, which meant putting things off until December 24th really wasn't going to work this year.

So, one week ago, Hubster and I, much to our complete bewilderment, found ourselves nearly done with our Christmas shopping. We had two gifts (not including each others) left to buy.

Reeling with the shock of this, we found ourselves wandering a department store, looking for winter coats for Bug and Monkey. We had finally unpacked their old ones, which we had thought was a good idea considering it has started to get below freezing overnight. However, upon unpacking said coats, we were a little surprised to find that our boys had grown in the last year. Seriously, who wound have thought? So, a Midwestern winter staring in the front window, we went looking for coats. As we wandered around, dropping overpriced coats as if we had been tazed, Hubster casually mentioned that he had heard this particular store opened at 4 am for Black Friday. Maybe they would have good deals on winter coats so we wouldn't have to turn off the heat to afford them. (Of course I'm kidding. We'd stop buying groceries way before we turned off the heat.)

We decided to check the Black Friday ads before we did any more coat shopping.

And that was the end of that.

I spent hours (okay...many 15 minute intervals) persuing sale advertisements. I was shocked. So this is what drove normally sane people to fight off the effects of tryptophan and stand in line in the dark and cold. We carefully looked for a few things and found that we could get our remaining two gifts and the coats at one store.

So, this morning, I set out early and headed to our selected store.

I thought that was all that was needed.

As I drove, I passed other stores, not opening for a hour, that had lines wrapping down the sidewalk and around the corner. Parking lots were packed to overflowing. People were parked on the grass. Of course, anything resembling a shopping cart or a basket was gone long before I ever showed up. The people surrounding me not only had lists of stores, what time they opened and the must have items at each of those stores, they also had maps of the inside of each store, letting them know exactly where each desirable item was.

I instantly felt under-prepared. I approached a helpful-looking employee. I just need to know where coats are. That's all.

I'm proud to say that I got through the entire ordeal in less than one hour. I did not elbow anyone; I was not run into by anyone else's cart. And most importantly, I left with the coats and the two remaining gifts (which, by the way, were completely gone when we went back this afternoon to return a purchase made earlier this week.)

Hubster offered to go out and do the shopping. I was tempted to let him, because after all, he is much bigger than I am. But, ultimately, I decided to let him stay home asleep while I ventured out. And because he doesn't read my blog, I can tell you the true reason I choose to go and let him sleep.

Because his gift was on sale, too.

Ugly Shoes

Tuesday, October 6, 2009

When Hubster and I first started dating, I loved everything about him. His humor, his honesty, his work ethic, the way he treated his mother.

Okay, I loved nearly everything about him.

He did own a gray and blue plaid shirt and a hideous pair of black loafers. Both of which he wore a little too regularly. Sometimes together.

I'm sure someone out there is going to shout, or at least think to themselves: Shallow! How could any one let clothes even be an issue?

I didn't. Obviously, they weren't that big of an issue, because I've been happily married to the man for 8 years.

But, seriously, if you could have seen these shoes and shirt, you would understand.

During the first year of our marriage, the black, now holey loafers, and plaid, now stained, shirt, somehow "disappeared." There is still no telling, even to this day, exactly what happened to them.

That shirt was not the only shirt to get lost, misplaced, or removed from the closet. Sometimes, Hubster knew. Sometimes he didn't. I justified the removal of holey T-shirts, lumpy sweaters, and strange patterned button up shirts with the fact that I replaced them with new, nice shirts. Gap, Eddie Bauer, and Express. Clothes any guy should love.

It took me two years to realize exactly what was going on. I was madly in love with Hubster. While not perfect, he was an amazing husband, and then father. He never complained. He never yelled, he worked hard, and whenever someone needed help, he never said no. Even with all that, I was falling into the trap that so many women do.

The hope we can change our husband.

Women who marry abusive men, who think if only they love the man enough, he will learn to be kind and gentle. Women who marry party boys, positive they can "domesticate" them. Women who marry workaholics, convinced that this is only a phase, that that someday, when they are successful, there will be time for children.

It also happens in the littler things. A woman wants her husband to be a reader of classic novels, or a travel enthusiast, or cooking show watcher. Women, who marry men with ugly clothes and think they can turn them into J. Crew models.

It took me a while to realize that I was trying to change Hubster into someone he wasn't. He was always going to be more comfortable in a pair of jeans and a old T-shirt than he ever was in a pair of khakis and a button up shirt with the sleeves rolled part way up. Fashion was never, ever going to be a big deal to him. I could have kept pushing. I could end up like the woman I knew who bought all her husband's clothes and laid them out for him each morning, because it was that important to her.

Or I could realize that I loved the person Hubster already was.

And that included his overly casual fashion (seriously...I've had to tell him that jeans were not appropriate for a wedding.) He continues to be one of the best people I know.

Even if he is still missing one pair of loafers.

Back of my mind

Saturday, July 11, 2009

When I was an undergrad, and then again when I was a medical student, I spent most of my times thinking about my children. Nearly every second was spent wondering if they were okay. How long Monkey continued to cry after he was dropped off at daycare? Were the other kids being nice to Bug? How did Bug's spelling test go? Did Monkey get his nap on time? What time was Hubster able to pick them up? Did they get dinner on time? It's bath night, did Hubster remember? Did they get read to before bed?

I resented every minute that medical school kept me away from my children and my husband.

Even when I took several months off and was home with the boys, I would think about Hubster a great deal. Wondering how his day was going, when he would be home, how that project or meeting went.

Since residency starts (a whole 11 days ago) I found myself realizing that I wasn't thinking of them as much.

I would have a quiet moment to sit down and get a drink of water and work on a patient's note, and suddenly realize that I hadn't thought about Bug or Monkey for several hours. Or nearly my entire shift.

And that realization bothered me.

Hubster and I have talked about this before. I would tell him that I thought about him and the boys practically all day long. And he said that he didn't. It wasn't anything against us or mean that he didn't love us or care about us. He just...didn't think us at work.

He thought about work.

I used to chalk this up as one of the many differences between men and women. That men were able to compartmentalize their lives easier than women were. That women worried more. That women were more attached to the people they loved.

And suddenly, I'm faced with the reality that that might not be true.

I've been trying to figure out why. Why, after I've spent years being angry about being gone and worrying about my children with every passing breath, am I suddenly not constantly fixated on how they are doing.

Hubster and I talked about this as well.

For the first time in my professional career, I'm actually responsible. I'm actually making decisions that can affect patients.

I'm also very busy. I've only had the chance to go eat lunch (or breakfast, depending on the shift) once out of my 10 shifts. I see 6-12 very sick, complicated patients a shift. And then there are the consults to call, the labs to order and review, the prescriptions to order, and the notes to write.

And, for the first time, I am the one responsible for providing financially for our family. It really makes a difference when you know that you are being paid for the time you put in. And not paying for it with student loans. There is a lot less resentment there when you are being reimbursed. (And I know, I know...I signed up to be a medical student, I asked for it, it was what I wanted. But that doesn't mean that it is a very difficult, degrading, humiliating, exhausting process.)

It could be any of those things. Maybe just one of them, maybe all of them.

Hubster agreed. He said that when he was doing his job, that's what he was doing.

But I thought of another thing. In the first time in 6 years, our children are being taken care of, at home, by someone who is truely invested in them.

I think that knowing Hubster is home with Bug and Monkey has taken some of the worry that constantly nagged at the back of my mind. He knows that Bug likes only peanut butter and not jam on his sandwich. That Monkey needs to take a 2 hour nap at 1:30. That Bug has a special shirt he likes to wear on Saturdays. That Monkey needs his stuffed dog to fall asleep.

To know that my children are safe and loved and happy takes a lot of weight off my shoulders. Weight that I didn't even recognize I was carrying until I noticed, suddenly, that it had disappeared sometime over that last 11 days.

I don't think this means I'm a bad mother.

I need to be focused at my job. I need to learn everything I can to be a better physician.

My children may not be in the front of my thoughts constantly like they used to be.

But they are always with me.

My boys are lucky

Sunday, June 21, 2009

Hubster is a great dad.

When I tell him this, he just shrugs and mentions the times when he gets frustrated with the boys, or is too tough on them.

I didn't say he was a perfect dad. Just an absolutely fantastic one.

He loves being the father of our two boys. He wants to share everything that he did as a kid with them. From learning how to shoot a slingshot, to catching caterpillars, to watching old cartoons.

One of my favorite things is to see all three of my boys on the couch together, giggling loudly to Tom and Jerry.

After Bug was born, and Hubster offered to take him for a diaper change, my mother-in-law stated she was surprised that he was so willing to be involved like that. I guess after raising him as a teenager that did everything he could to get out of chores, seeing her son willingly change diapers, warm bottles, and supervise bath time would be surprising.

But it has never surprised me. We love being a family together.

It may not have surprised me, but it sure makes me happy.

Happy Father's Day, Hubster!