You'll Eat It and You'll Like It

Today I am going to write about something that has nothing to do with cancer (yay!), but has everything to do with my sanity (or lack thereof) as a human being. Today's topic: Meal Planning.

Up until the day I moved in with my husband, I only really ever had to worry about feeding one mouth. Mine. So, between...what say...1995 and 2010, I pretty much did whatever I wanted in regards to breakfast, lunch and dinner.

Thinking back...I went through many different phases. Healthy phases...where I ate spinach salads and whole grains mixed with more vegetables day in and day out. Unhealthy phases...like the time I ate Lucky Charms morning, noon and night for a couple of weeks. (I do not recommend this. It did some funny things to my umm...poo.) Sometimes, I would cook myself elaborate multi-course meals, usually with a glass of wine between each course (I always seemed to end up pretty sloshed by the end of those nights). Then, there was always the old standby of "breakfast for dinner". Bacon and eggs. Waffles. Pancakes. French Toast. Hash browns. All those glorious breakfast foods that a working girl never really gets to eat. Mmm.

Before I moved in with my husband, I was pretty much eating Lean Cuisines or spaghetti or stir-fry every night. Shopping was easy. Planning was easy. And, if I wanted to eat spaghetti for dinner 7 nights in a row...more power to me.

Then, I moved in with The Hubs. And life, as we know it, changed in ohsomany ways. I lived with my husband for about 6 months before we actually got married. And I have always been grateful that I did, because it was HARD and I think if I had just officially and legally tied the knot and THEN went through those first 6 months...I may be locked up in a mental institute somewhere today. Seriously. But, I digress.

I think that, at first, I was really excited about the prospect of this new "role" in my life. My new responsibilities as the "domestic goddess" of the household. It was a new opportunity for me to plan and organize and find new and added purpose in my life. An opportunity for people to count on me and appreciate me (hahahahahahahaha).  Sigh. I had so much to learn.

With my stepdaughter in the house for 50% of our dinners, meal planning took on an added challenge. I wanted to eat healthy (and lose weight for my wedding), but I wanted her to actually eat what I made without too much fuss (hahahahahahahahaha). Sigh. Again...I had ohso much to learn. (During that time, I also learned that my adult self-esteem wasn't all that solid because I did, indeed, feel hurt and sad when my meals were rejected by a then 6 year-old).

Eventually, I started to develop a system. We had a repertoire of dishes (that I TRIED to make healthy) I could count on each week. They all needed to be relatively easy, as I did work a full-time job and my stepdaughter's bedtime was fairly early...we didn't need her eating dinner in the bathtub.

During this time...we pretty much counted on a few things for nights we had my stepdaughter: mac and cheese; tacos; hot dogs; chicken with rice and broccoli. Every weekend, there was some sort of slow cooker meal. Every Tuesday was "Taco Tuesday". I loved this. I didn't have to think about it and I didn't have the usual "What are we eating for dinner?" interrogation <insert whiny tone here> the minute that my husband and stepdaughter walked in the door.

Then my husband, who had been fairly quiet and accommodating to my meals, decided to start having an opinion. The nerve. I can't remember if this happened before or after the official knot had been tied. My guess would be after...once he legally "had" me. LOL. So, one Tuesday while I was happily constructing a taco (and mind you...I changed it up a bit here and there...using turkey or chicken or fish, soft shells, crunchy shells, etc.) and he says, "I am sick of tacos. We need to stop the tacos for awhile." WHAT!? This was one of the few mindless things I had going on in my life and he wanted to take that from me? Sigh.

So over the past 2 years, I have experimented with the meals and with the "rotation". Sometimes successfully. Sometimes, notsomuch. But, we all eat every night and so far no one has died of starvation or food poisoning. Yet. (I also have learned to lower my domestic goddess expectations). But, in all honesty, I really feel no joy in this task. Some meals incur grumblings and complaints, while others bring quiet indifference. Very rarely is there an acknowledgement of how awesome a meal is. Ha. It happens. And its usually by me. But...really.

How did this become my responsibility? What would happen if the responsibilty was turned over to my husband or to my 8 year-old stepdaughter? Does anyone enjoy this task? Does anyone have a trick? Sigh. I hope I can find a way to enjoy the planning of the meals....

Until then, I will continue with my favorite new line: As my husband skeptically questions what he is about to put in his mouth...."It doesn't matter. You'll eat it and you'll like it."

So there.

What's for dinner? Vashni

"Ikea: Selling furniture for college kids and divorced men..."

As many of you know, I took my husband to IKEA this past weekend. I was so excited that he agreed to go...after all..."the bookshelves aren't going to buy themselves, you know, honey"? While riding in the car on the way there, I kept babbling about the prices and the food and the showroom and on and on. And he kept making these frowny faces and bitching about the traffic. LOL.

When we entered the parking lot and he could see how many cars and people were already in their IKEA glory, he muttered something along the lines of "Oh, hell no". But, we proceeded. As we walked the 4,000 football fields through the parking lot, I point out the Swedish meatball sign..."Look, honey, the meatballs!! Only $2.99"! To which, he responds with a "hmph". My enthusiasm is quickly waning.

Once inside, I tried to get my bearings. IKEA can be overwhelming even on a good day and now I had to contend with Saturday crowds and a husband who hates both shopping and people. I knew I had to find those bookshelves and I had to find them fast. But, as anyone who has ever been to IKEA knows...there is no fast way to get to anything. The store is a complete labyrinth...only in this case, once you reach the center, there is no inner peace. No...not with my husband. By now he was grumbling obscenities every 42 seconds and I was starting to sweat and push people. I decided that the best course of action was to shut everything out and follow those damned floor arrows to the bookshelves. Then, again, shut everything out...head down, ears averted and follow those damned floor arrows to the self-help furniture warehouse. Never in my life have I been so discontent inside of IKEA. This was not your usual IKEA shopping experience. There was no time to even eye the prices and happily gasp "look...only $34.99...for all of that"! Nope. Not with my husband. :o)

We did eventually purchase our shelves, load them in the car, drive them home, unload them and recover. The IKEA store is approximately 25 minutes from our house. We made it there and back, with the getting stuck in traffic, the running through the store and the purchasing of the shelves, in a little over an hour. Record-breaking. Never again. IKEA cannot be experienced this way. It is against the Nordic tradition. You win, hubs. Next time...I go alone. LOL.

My husband and I once constructed a futon. It's a great futon and looking at it, you would never know the blood, the sweat, the tears that went into it. The process wasn't pretty and if we weren't so exhausted from the act of getting the futon into an operable functioning condition, we may have murdered each other with the wooden slats that hold that lovely piece of furniture together.

That being said, I build all of our assembly-required furniture myself, alone, now. It's safer for everyone that way. I love building IKEA furniture. The little drawings that you have to decipher. They make me laugh. Sometimes they make me curse. But, in the end, once I build something...I feel like I am amazing. Amazing. I built bookshelves. I rock. I am woman, hear me roar. Damn...I want some meatballs.

And...Thanks Jamie...for your viewing pleasure.... IKEA by Jonathan Coulton

Jamaica-Mon

Hello! The winter solstice has come upon us!! I learned in high school that the winter solstice means that the sun will now progressively makes it's way closer to us. It's my glass-half-full approach to the winter blues and it has served me well for over 20 years. 

In addition to the sun moving closer to us, I (and my hubs and step-daughter) will be moving closer to the sun for 4 days between Christmas and New Year's as we embark on an adventurous family journey to Jamaica...

Yah. Jamaica-Mon.  Can you dig it? (I don't know if that last part is Jamaica-speak or just 80's, but it's fun to say).

I would be lying if I said I wasn't feeling a bit...umm...insecure with my pale skin, bald head, and prednisone-inflated face, neck, back, belly and butt. I have been wrestling with this issue for several weeks now. But, I realize that when it comes down to it...this vacation is about rest, relaxation, rejuvenation, vitamin D and being with my family...who love me bald, fat and pale. Everything and everyone else in Jamaica is just supplemental or scenery. Will I feel awkward the first few minutes I reveal my baldness to the other guests before dashing down the Pirate's Cove waterslide or swimming head first into the ocean? Yup. But, you know what? Meh. I'll get over it. They'll get over it (or have a lot of explaining to do to their kids...hee hee hee). And everyone will still have a great time.

On top of this insecurity...I was advised by my doctors and nurses that I should wear a mask on the plane...along  with frequent hand-washing and care with what I put in my mouth. Surgical masks on airplanes make me nostalgic for SARS and bird flu. What ever happened to those? Anyway...I will do the mask part because I don't really want anything to ruin Jamaica...but OY...it's not easy looking like a sick person when you are trying to just BE and FEEL normal!

In the past, I would have been doing everything I could in the preceding weeks to make myself look as much like a Victoria's Secret model as I could before unveiling any part of myself at a Caribbean resort. I would be trying hard to look like the most put-together Carrie Bradshaw-style traveler on the plane. I suppose my priorities have changed. And I think it's actually probably a good thing.

Anyway...we fly out in the morning...and underneath all the insecurity...I am BOUNCING OFF THE WALLS with excitement! Sun, sand, pina coladas, zip-lining, river tubing, food, fun and the vast open sky and ocean...await me. What better place is there to sit and meditate on the amazing-ness of life?

I bought my stepdaughter clip-on "mood" earrings for Christmas. She has been wearing them around all afternoon asking "What color are they"? When we say "purple", she responds with "That is because I AM SO EXCITED"!! Me too, little one, me too!!

Look out Jamaica...the DePaz's are about to tear things up!!

Conversations with My Husband

Him: You smell like olives.

Me: Really? Like pickles?

Him: No, like olives.

Me: What exactly do olives smell like?

Him: I don't know.

How can I smell like something he doesn't know the smell of?

Conversation continued after he read the above:

Him: Hmph. I know what olives smell like. I just can't explain it.

Me: The only olives I can think of smell like pickles.

Him: No. They don't smell like pickles.

Me: Do they smell good or bad?

Him: I don't know. Hmph. You should be making fun of yourself for not knowing what olives smell like.

Deep sigh.

Him: The wreath shed pine needles all over the front entrance.

Me: Yup. 

Him: We should clean that up.

Me: Yup. Why don't you bring the vacuum downstairs with you?

Him: I didn't know the vacuum was upstairs.

Me: Do you even know where the vacuum "lives"?

Him: Of course.

Me: Where?

Him: In the closet?

Me: Which closet?

Him: The hall closet?

Me: Nope.

Him: Hmm. Then I don't know where the vacuum "lives".

How long have we lived in this house? Sigh.

Lost and Searching

So...back in August, I wrote a blog post about feeling kind of "lost" and "disoriented" as I entered this new phase of adulthood...that phase being marriage, stepmotherhood and relocating for the benefit of my spouse's career and happiness and our family's financial stability. You know...life beyond just Vashni.

When I met my husband, I was 34, independent, knee-deep in forging a "career" in "something" (I have never been very good at knowing what I want), and fairly happy being single and able to live my life for me.  My husband knows all too well how difficult it was for me to let someone into my well-established me-oriented world, but he was ever so persistent at breaking down those walls that I had spent many a year building around my safe little haven of Vashni-hood. I recall at some point in our courtship realizing that for, perhaps, the first time in my life...I was in a relationship in which I could fully be myself. Vashni was still here and this man seemed to like her and I wasn't pretending to be someone else to win his love. I was me. And he liked me. Whoa. I guess that is when I knew...it was ok to let this thing unfold and let my life mesh with someone else's.

Then I got married. And I got very confused. I suddenly felt this "need" to be something or someone that I wasn't. I felt like I had to be this great wife, housekeeper, stepmother, domestic diva/goddess, etc. Granted this was my expectation of myself, not my husband's. I brought this identity crisis on all by lonesome...though, I suppose, there have been plenty of moments I have wanted to and probably have laid the blame on him. It's not his fault. It's my own doing. But, anyway...somewhere between "I do" and the present moment...I really lost my sense of self.

Then we moved. And even though we discussed this beforehand and I was on board and excited for change, I started to feel even more lost and confused and kind of...powerless (?). I left my job, which while I complained a great deal about said job...I really did find a lot of satisfaction in it. I was "going places" in the company. I was valued and appreciated. And now...I lost that on top of everything else I felt so lost and confused about.

There is a point to this whole schpeel, I promise. I was reading back in my journal from the days shortly after we moved. During the time when we had 3 of us in a 1-bedroom apartment to be exact. During the time when I was definitely not handling this change well at all. And in my journal I wrote "This is killing me! Soon there will be nothing of ME left." Wow. How prophetic of me. Ha. 

The nugget here that I am getting at...is that some part of me feels that my reaction to all this change...my sense of loss of The Vashni...somehow contributed to the actual dis-ease that has planted itself in my body. I know I cannot hold myself responsible for "getting cancer". That is silly. But, I keep reading about all these cancer survivors who also got cancer after going through major life change. Of course, not everyone going through major life change gets cancer, but seriously...there is a trend. There is some connection to the way we handle life's stressors that affects our body's ability to fight off these rogue cells. But, I am thinking...in that same manner...there has to be some connection in how I handle this diagnosis that will contribute to my healing and surviving. Yes..I lost my sense of self and my sacred personal power (how ironic that my tumor is in my sacral space) but perhaps finding myself again and my purpose and my Vashni-mojo will help me heal and bring me back to life. Back from the brink of "soon there will be nothing of ME left" to "here I am"!

And so...the quest begins...my new life purpose right now is to find Vashni again. We already know that Vashni is not her hair (LOL) and Vashni is not a domestic goddess (let's just be real and stop pretending). Vashni is a writer (I love to write and I thank you all for your positive affirmations about my writing). Vashni is a fighter. Vashni is good enough just the way she is and so are you, my friends. Don't ever let anyone (or yourself) make you feel any different!

One last thing I want to say today...just to be clear. My husband has been nothing but supportive. He is allowing me the space to heal and grow no matter how bizarre the approach I try. While there have been times that I have surely insinuated that this disappearance of the Vashni is all his fault, I truly know that it is not. We made these decisions together and in the best interest of our lives and futures. And in the same way that he didn't break me, he can't fix me. I am really glad though that he is here to be by my side while I work on fixing myself (along with doctors, therapists, alternative healers, besties and family, etc). Hopefully, when all this is over and I am feeling all whole again, our relationship will be stronger than ever. I know it will. It already is.

The Unacknowledged Sneeze

So today in church, I sneezed. Big deal. People sneeze all the time. But, whilst I sneezed, my husband sat beside me...stone-cold silent. Really? I can't get a little "bless you"? "Gesundheit"? Not even a whispered "you are SOOO good-looking" a la Seinfeld?

On the ride home from church, I broached the subject of The Unacknowledged Sneeze. 

Me: Honey, I sneezed in church today and you didn't say anything.

Him: You sneezed? When?

Me: During the sermon.

Him: Oh. I never bless anyone. I don't see the point.

Me: But, we were in church. In front of people. Now people know that my husband doesn't bless my sneezes.

Him: I don't see what the problem is. 

Me: But it is rude not to bless someone when they sneeze.

Him: Why? Because it is important for me to acknowledge that you got a piece of benign dust up your nostril and expelled it?

Me:  Don't you appreciate it when someone says "bless you" after you sneeze?

Him: No. Because after someone says "bless you", I feel obligated to say "thank you" and that is just silly cause I don't even really know what I am thanking them for.

Me: <Heavy sigh>

After this exchange, we went on to further debate the merits or lack thereof of saying "bless you" or "God bless you" after another person sneezes. My take is that, regardless of its origin...whether it started as a response to the need to bless those suffering the bubonic plague some 1500 years ago or a shield against the entrance of evil into your soul as your heartbeat stopped during a sneeze...it is now, in this day and age, all a matter of etiquette. Pure and simple good manners.

After a quick search on The Google; however, I find that this is not an uncommon debate. While there are a lot of people who are offended by a lack of "bless yous" and feel that it is simply rude not to say it, there are an equal number of internet users who have sentiments similar to my husband's. Here are some of their comments:

• "You sneeze, spreading your germs all up and around and on me and I am supposed to thank you by blessing you?"
• "I could care less whether someone sneezes or not."
• "No one says anything when you cough, so why should they say anything when you sneeze? It's the only bodily emission that apparently deserves public comment."
• ""Jesus Christ, why the f@ck don'tcha cover yer goddamn face you pig" always works for me. Guess it depends on the crowd you hang with."
• "My boss has the annoying habit of saying Bless You everytime I sneeze, and I feel I have to say thank you and excuse me at the same time. Or she will say GodBlessYouGodBlessYouGodBlessYou really fast to cover the three sneeze progression...it annoys me no end. The blessing isn't what bothers me...it's the unnecessary calling attention to the sneeze. I'd rather people just ignored it."
• "I've been in the grocery store, late at night, the only soul for aisles, and sneezed, and had someone halfway across the store shout out "Bless You!" and I have to shout back "Thank You!". Very annoying."

Gosh...I have always been THAT person who says multiple "bless yous" to multiple sneezes or will shout a "bless you" across a room. I just feel like its friendly and kind of me. Now I feel confused. I am rude and annoying for calling out a sneeze?  If so...I don't think I can stop.  I can't. I HAVE to say "bless you". It's just there. I have to. Please don't hate me for acknowledging your sneeze.

By the way, after arriving home, I sneezed twice in the house. 

My husband: Bless you. Bless you.

Me: Ohmygosh...THANK YOU, honey!

Him: You realize I was being ironic, right? Those were "ironic bless yous".

Me: <SIGH>

Man's Field of Vision

I have been pondering this morning my husband's (and perhaps other men's) inability to see things that are RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIS FACE. What IS the deal here? This morning, for example, I noticed that my husband was eating two pieces of dry toast for breakfast.

Him: We need milk.

Me: There is a brand new carton on the bottom shelf of the refrigerator.

Him: Oh. We need syrup.

Me: There is a brand new bottle of syrup right behind the almost empty syrup bottle.

Him: Oh. Hmm...how 'bout that!

I shared this story with my mother on the phone later and she, in turn, shared a story about a conversation she and my father had today because he couldn't find the mail key...which was hanging IN THE SAME PLACE it always hangs, but because the attached key chain was turned backwards, and he therefore could not recognize the insignia, he determined that the mail key was in fact missing. And that, of course, this was my mother's fault. 

It got me thinking about some other recent conversations with my husband. 

During dinner Sunday night:

Me: Why did you get a clean spatula out to serve yourself the roasted potatoes? What is wrong with the one I used while cooking?

Him: Oh. I didn't see it.

Me: You didn't see it? It's RIGHT NEXT TO THE BAKING SHEET. (*It was TOUCHING the baking sheet*)

Him: Oh. You should have put it ON TOP of the baking sheet.

Me: <eye roll>

During another recent evening meal:

Me: Aren't you going to put dressing on your salad?

Him: Oh. But you didn't set any dressing out on the counter.

Me: Heavy sigh.

It leaves me wondering how these men could possibly function without a woman in their lives. Granted, when my husband was single, his refrigerator was more of an empty vessel of cold air than a storage place for food and beverage, so it wasn't hard to lose anything in there. But, the sheer number of times he has stated "I don't know how...can you do it for me" or advised me that we needed something that was present in his DIRECT LINE OF VISION leads me to believe that without women, men may just very well wither away...un-fed, clothes un-laundered (does my husband even know where the laundry room is?), clean dishes on the counter because they can't figure out where to put them in the cabinets and drawers. Unable to pack up leftovers because after 18 times of SHOWING them where the food storage items are, they still can't find them....sigh.

So...I love my husband and he works hard to bring home the bacon (mmm.....bacon), but how did he survive on his own? Was he completely capable as a single man and then suddenly forgot basic observation and survival skills when I entered his life? Why was he able to prepare and cook a delicious meal on the night he proposed, but now married cannot turn on the oven without it catching fire? Why can't he see things? Does anyone have the answers to these perplexing questions? Is it just me? Or is this a mystery to all women?