Maybe I shouldn’t be so open in the company of thieves and scoundrels, but I’ll just go ahead and say it: I’ve got a pair of big freakin’ diamonds adorning my lobes. They’re beautiful, and extravagant to the point of ostentatious (at least, for me). They were a present given to me on the second Sunday of this past May. Mother’s Day, otherwise known as: Dear-God-Where-Can-I-Get-A-Brunch-Reservation-This-Late-In-The-Day-And-Do-You-Think-She’ll-Disown-Me-If-I-Just-Bring-Her-Burnt-Toast-In-Bed? You can forget birthdays, anniversaries, and even skip Christmas once every couple of years, but Mother’s Day? MOTHER’S DAY? Forget to buy a Hallmark for this one and you forever more live in peril. Or you at least will have to wash your own underwear from then on.
I’ve learned long ago that when I want things from men, I have to ask for them. Be direct, and as clear as possible. (The worst they can say is no; which is fine, because half the time, I don't even really want what I'm asking for anyway. Complicated or just confused? Meh. No matter.)
Anyway, the point is that when it became apparent that the Babe was waiting to make his entrance into this Cruel and Beautiful World sometime in April, as opposed to the end of March when his train ticket had originally been reserved for, I seized the opportunity to finally rid myself of the latest pair of cheap and rusting Shopper’s Drug Mart studs ($8.99) to slowly give me lead poisoning. “You know,” I purred to Adoring and Wonderful Husband. “April is the diamond. Maybe someday I could get a pair of your first born son’s birthstones for my ears to commemorate the fact that I will soon go through the most excruciating pain in my life ALL FOR THE SAKE OF YOUR FAMILY NAME, hmmmm?” (Stage director’s note: Character bats eyelashes and pouts.)
It only took about four centimeters of dilation before Adoring and Wonderful Husband was on the line with The Official Jeweler of Jason Spezza, because DEAR GOD, DO YOU KNOW HOW LITTLE BABIES COME OUT? I wasn’t surprised when I came back into bed after a morning pee that Sunday in May to find a little blue box tucked beside Boh as he lay sleeping in his bassinet on my side of the bed. I was surprised by the size of my newly found heirlooms, though: I had specified small diamonds, which Adoring and Wonderful Husband took to mean, Rocks As Big As You Can(not) Afford.
But I was sincere when I told him I didn’t want anything too flashy, just something small and dainty to remind me of my Favourite Little Guy in the Whole Wide World; something to keep the holes in my ears that my Baba took me to get when I turned five from closing up. Why? Because I’m scared. Scared of losing the things in this world that mean anything to me. Scared that if I let myself get too attached, I will wake up one day to find that one of the backings has fallen away, and that I’ve lost my treasure forever. Scared that people who don’t like diamonds will judge me for putting value in them myself.
Scared that I’m not worth it.
Slowly (well, not so slowly) I got used to my first ever Mother’s Day gift, and I no longer compulsively check to make sure the earrings are still there. And when I’m scared that I’m not worth it, all I have to do is look in the mirror and be reminded that there are people in this world who think that I am.
Bling, bling baby.
Showing posts with label Adoring and Wonderful Husband. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Adoring and Wonderful Husband. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Saturday, September 30, 2006
Friday, September 22, 2006
Thursday, August 31, 2006
on rolling snake eyes at the Monte Carlo casino
Four years ago today I married a man who is so retentive he stacks the salad forks facing one way in the cutlery cabinet and the dinner forks parallel, tines North instead of South, as is the case with the smaller variety. This is the same man who could not close a clothes drawer or an armoire door if his life depended on it, thus allowing the cats free reign to peruse and play and jettison their dander over every pair of black pants I own, which is a lot, since we all know black is the most slimming.
Four years ago today I married a man whose pleasant nature and heartfelt sincerity can be witnessed in every picture in which he gives the “thumbs up” (even the one where he is drunk, at the bottom of our jet tub at the Percy apartment, just having fallen in it. The guy can’t stand, but apparently can react so quickly upon seeing a camera point in his general direction that he remembers to offer his signature pose. Amazing.) This is the same man who cannot watch a scary movie for fear of nightmares, but on the day his son was born, braced himself on the hospital bed rails, held my hand, and witnessed the birth of his first child, a child who in a solitary moment took us from being a couple and made us into a family.
Four years ago today I married a man who, if there was any doubt that he could be called a man back then at the tender age of 26, can surely be called one now. A man who slaves and strives everyday to better himself so that his family has the best that life can offer, a man who rushes home every night for kisses from his son, a man who treats his wife better than she deserves to be, who makes her feel that she is loved unconditionally, who makes her weep with gratitude at the thought of what their family’s become, what their family promises to someday be.
Four years ago today I married a man who is my best friend, and it was the best thing I’ve ever done with my life.
Four years ago today I married a man whose pleasant nature and heartfelt sincerity can be witnessed in every picture in which he gives the “thumbs up” (even the one where he is drunk, at the bottom of our jet tub at the Percy apartment, just having fallen in it. The guy can’t stand, but apparently can react so quickly upon seeing a camera point in his general direction that he remembers to offer his signature pose. Amazing.) This is the same man who cannot watch a scary movie for fear of nightmares, but on the day his son was born, braced himself on the hospital bed rails, held my hand, and witnessed the birth of his first child, a child who in a solitary moment took us from being a couple and made us into a family.
Four years ago today I married a man who, if there was any doubt that he could be called a man back then at the tender age of 26, can surely be called one now. A man who slaves and strives everyday to better himself so that his family has the best that life can offer, a man who rushes home every night for kisses from his son, a man who treats his wife better than she deserves to be, who makes her feel that she is loved unconditionally, who makes her weep with gratitude at the thought of what their family’s become, what their family promises to someday be.
Four years ago today I married a man who is my best friend, and it was the best thing I’ve ever done with my life.
Monday, July 31, 2006
density
Climbing under covers still warm with the heat of the evening’s setting sun, and into a seasoned sleep routine focused on, well, sleep, I close my eyes and lie stiffly until sure the Sandman won’t be interrupted by the sound of a baby crying, by the sniff of a puppy yet to pee, by the thirst of a body that’s forgotten to drink. With none of these to call me up, I settle into the dusk ever more smoothly, with eyes still closed, and a mind inspecting its nighttime map, choosing its travel to Dreamland.
To tired to cross the bed to kiss the person next to me, my husband, after realizing this had been ignored, I instead recall the moment of newness, the lightness, of a goodnight kiss that in the early days took my breath away each and every night, that made my heart beat outside my body, next to my skin, every inch of it, as though that kiss were all I needed to live, the oxygen of his life breathing into mine. A pang of sadness convinces me to roll over, press my lips briefly to his, feel better, but still long for the lightness of unfamiliarity that made me addicted to him in the first place.
Ahh, the lightness…
the lightness…
the lightness…
Eyes still closed, heart full (if a bit heavy), I let him stroke my arm in the darkness, singing me to sleep, shoulder to elbow…elbow to shoulder.
And back again…
back again…
back again…
“Have you been drinking orange juice lately?” he asks, stopping on my shoulder blade, hand throwing an echo through my skin to the bone, the pulse measuring density, thinking about the future, concerned for loss, for weakening.
“Sometimes.”
“Because I buy the kind with calcium just for you, you know.”
“I know.”
Eyes still closed, I smile into sleep.
Ahh, the density…
the density…
The Density.
To tired to cross the bed to kiss the person next to me, my husband, after realizing this had been ignored, I instead recall the moment of newness, the lightness, of a goodnight kiss that in the early days took my breath away each and every night, that made my heart beat outside my body, next to my skin, every inch of it, as though that kiss were all I needed to live, the oxygen of his life breathing into mine. A pang of sadness convinces me to roll over, press my lips briefly to his, feel better, but still long for the lightness of unfamiliarity that made me addicted to him in the first place.
Ahh, the lightness…
the lightness…
the lightness…
Eyes still closed, heart full (if a bit heavy), I let him stroke my arm in the darkness, singing me to sleep, shoulder to elbow…elbow to shoulder.
And back again…
back again…
back again…
“Have you been drinking orange juice lately?” he asks, stopping on my shoulder blade, hand throwing an echo through my skin to the bone, the pulse measuring density, thinking about the future, concerned for loss, for weakening.
“Sometimes.”
“Because I buy the kind with calcium just for you, you know.”
“I know.”
Eyes still closed, I smile into sleep.
Ahh, the density…
the density…
The Density.
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Happy 30th Birthday Adoring and Wonderful Husband!
Okay, sweetie, I am soooo technically illiterate, and I have been neglecting the Babe for the better part of an hour trying to post this slideshow I made for you for your birthday. It needs to end NOW, before I throw this laptop into the street and wait for the garbage truck to run it over. To see it you will have to click "view" below.
Boh and I love you so, so, so, so, so much! Have a great day! XOX
View
Boh and I love you so, so, so, so, so much! Have a great day! XOX
View
Sunday, July 23, 2006
hable más despacio, por favor
The birthday boy gives a big thumbs up.
Kimu and the Cutest Baby Ever.
Adoring and Wonderful Husband, Chris and Samy.
Chris.
Lesley.
D-Man.
Samy and B-Rad.
a party in pictures
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