New York, New York

As the husband and I quickly approach our 2 year anniversary, it reminded me of our 1 year anniversary. And, as I've mentioned before, the husband and I went to New York to celebrate our 1 year anniversary. Neither of us had ever been and I was dying to just go and walk around everywhere. (Living in southern Cali doesn't promote positive pedestrian atmospheres.) We had many activities planned like going to see Chicago on Broadway and seeing Ground Zero.

Before heading out I started getting pretty nervous. I of course blamed this on the husband. All the other trips I have ever been on I have been excited to go and then the husband starts asking questions.  Did you remember to pack this?  Did you book the tickets for Chicago?  When does our flight take off?  Seriously, it's like he can't do any of this himself and I am left stressing over the details.

I have many reservations about traveling.  Sure I love the idea of traveling.  the thought of going somewhere foreign and exotic always sounds so appealing.  But then comes the planning and the worrying. First of all, the husband and I don't really travel by air too often. We make sure to go with the family to Arizona a few times in the summer, but using a plane to get us to the next destination is a little nerve-racking. The airport in general is a scary and unknown place for me. I always worry about getting there far enough in advance, but also worrying about not getting there too early. (Who wants to sit in the airport for longer than necessary?) Once you get there you have to find where to actually go. Are we supposed to check in at a kiosk? At a self-checkin station? Wait in line for the airport-checker-inner? And what are we supposed to do with our bags? Where do those puppies go? Then there's security where you have to almost completely undress and then re-dress. I'm not a big fan and the mere thought of going there gets my stomach all gurgly and topsy-turvy.

To make matters worse, the most recent air travel experience before New York was a disaster. We went to San Francisco shortly after we got engaged and decided to fly. (It's faster and less of a hassle because have you seen San Francisco? All those one-ways and no places to park?!) Also, the husband hates road trips, so flying seemed like a decent alternative. I have learned many important lessons from flying to San Fran.

#1 Most important thing to check on? What your luggage tags say. Because when they say Fort Lauderdal, Florida and you are going to San Francisco, California you have a problem. A big problem. Because, as it turns out, they send your bags to wherever those tags say. So our bag? Yep, ended up in Florida.

#2 When the airline tell you that you get up to $100 a day to replace your belongings and don't worry they will refund you as long as you have receipts, that doesn't include certain items. We had food and toiletries and face wash and my hair dryer in our bag. So when we went to the store, we bought things that we felt we needed, like breakfast foods so we didn't have to go out to eat every single meal. Guess what the airline said. No food items. But when did they tell us this? When we faxed in our receipts to get reimbursed. But not right away, mind you, weeks later.

#3 American Airlines does not list their phone numbers on their website. So how in the heck do they expect us to get a hold of them? Fax. or E-mail. And when they don't respond there's nothing we can do to get a phone number to talk to a real life human being.

#4 In short, I will never fly American Airlines again. I got back barely half of what I spent and a voucher for $100 to use on a subsequent plane ticket that expired in a year. Guess what we didn't do in that year? Travel.

So I was worried about New York posing some sort of awful experience as well. But as it turns out, I love this city and try on a regualr basis to convince the husband that we need to move there. He is not having it.

Here are some highlights from the trip:

Sweet Innocence

I know it's been quite a while since my last post, and for that I have a few reasons.  Of which, work has kept me extremely busy this year, including trying constantly to find a full time teaching position as well as trying to expand my credential which means taking a really annoying and time consuming English course.  Probably the most time consuming and exhausting reason is that I am pregnant.  Yes, me, the lady that devoted an entire post to how I do not want a baby is pregnant.  And I want the baby.  And it wasn't an accident.  And we are having a boy due May 7 (which means I am 7 months pregnant and counting down).  It's a really exciting time, filled with 5+ months of morning sickness, lots of weight gain and jabs in the middle of the night resonating from within my belly. 

Turns out, there is a lot that comes with being pregnant.  Take for instance the amount of doctors visits a woman must attend, and the number of times she must go get blood drawn for one test or another.  I have been to the lab to get no more than 6 blood samples and various other testing, like glucose and thyroid testing.  Not to be outdone by the amount of pricks my arm has endured, since I found out I was pregnant, I have had to go to the doctors every 4 weeks.  And recently my doctor informed me that since I am now 7 months they want to monitor my progression more closely and I must come in every 2 weeks.  That is a lot of time spent in the doctor's office, not to mention a lot of co-pays.  And I almost forgot the ultrasounds.  Although there were only 3 of these, and I actually wish there were more ordered so I could see my lil guy.

Not only have I spent my time at my obgyn's office, I have spent time looking up baby articles and reading baby magazines and of course reading "What to Expect When You Are Expecting"  My world has flipped upside down  and now revolves around my unborn son and everything I need to do to prepare for his birth.  I have registered, researched pediatricians and talked to every mom I encounter about what to expect during labor.

As my belly has grown and my sickness has subsided, I get many questions from other moms about how baby is progressing and even more questions from my students.  Just the other day, a class of Kindergartners were ery excited that I was growing a baby in my belly and had question after question.  Their cute little faces and curious eyes peered up at me while I confirmed. "Yes, I am growing a baby in my tummy."

Them: "Are you growing a baby boy or girl?"

Me: "I'm going to have a baby boy/"

Them: "What is his name?"

Me: "We are going to name him Liam."

Then, one knowledgeable little girl announces "Yea, and her baby is gonna come out her vagina!"

I blankly stare at the kids as a little boy quickly asks: "What's a china?"

All I wanted to do was laugh, but instead I replied "All right, we are going to read this story about the tooth fairy!"

The one thing I have learned working with such young children is they will tell you how it is and they aren't shy about it.  Oh, the joys of children.  I can't wait to hear what my son will say to his teachers.

Table for Two

The husband and I don't go out to eat very often. For a few reasons: 1. We like cooking together 2. Cooking at home saves money 3. We have a hard time deciding where to go 4. It seems to be hard to choose a healthy dish to eat when dining out (and the husband and I like to eat healthy) So, since we don't go out too often, it makes it fun and more exciting when we do decide to dine out. Funny things happen to us when we eat out, though. Funny things that make eating at certain places more memorable and bring a smile to my face when I think about it.

It is always a bit of a task trying to decide where to go to eat. We usually start by checking our gift cards to see where we can go eat for free (because really, who doesn't love a free meal?). If we find a gift card yo a restaurant that sounds appetizing, we then have to think about where it is located in realtion to the new home. (Because living here for a year does not mean that I remember where anything is besides the grocery stores.) Then we have to decide upon a time that we want to go. And really, even reading back over this it sounds ridiculous. As you can tell, we aren't a "fly-by-the-seat-of-our-pants" couple. We like to plan and then execute.

A couple years ago, we got a gift card to Chili's. And a special occassion came up and we decided to go out to eat. It was a weekday and we went for an early dinner, so the place was on the empty side. Which doesn't bother me at all. That just means we get extra attention. The host was a guy, probably between 17 and 20. He was very nice and friendly.

Host - How many?
Husband - Two.
Host - Okay, right this way.
Husband - Thank you.
Host - So how are you guys today?
Husband - Good thank you.
Host - How is the weather outside? Nice?
Husband - Yes, actually not too hot but warm.
Host - Great. Here's your table and your waiter will be right with you.

He hands us our menus and walks away so we can get an idea of what we might want to order. We busied ourselves with trying to decide what to eat when our waiter came up.

Waiter - Hi, my name is John, I'll be your waiter for today.

At the sound of his voice, the husband and I looked up. And we were completely confused. The waiter looked like he was between 17 and 20, very nice and friendly. He was acting like he had never seen us before, but he looked so familiar.

Husband - Aren't you... the. same.... Aren't you the same guy who just... seated us?
Waiter - Yea. It was a joke.
Husband - Oh.

At this point, I completely lost it. I had to look away or I would have burst out loud laughing hysterically. I felt bad because this poor guy was completely embarrassed. I'm sure was bored and was just trying to spice up his work time by having a little fun. But it was entirely weird. And so funny. The husband and I still think back on this experience and still laugh about it. I don't know how we do it, but we always seem to attract the crazies.

A Complaint to My Neighbors

When the husband and I got engaged, the husband had it all planned out. He is very much a list person. One of those that makes a list for virtually everything and then checks it off as he completes his tasks. Although he did not have an actual list, I know that he had a virtual list in his mind of things that must happen in his life before other things were allowed to occur. For example, he made it a point to have a permanant, full time job in place before looking for a house to buy. Also, he bought a home before proposing to me so that when we got married I would be fully provided for. I love this aspect of my husband. He is a planner and for that reason we are able to live in a brand new neighborhood.

Part of the perks of being a brand-new-home-homeowner is that everything is new. The house, the appliances, the carpet, the grass outside and the pool. Did I mention the grass is new? Now, don't get me wrong, our neighborhood is mostly comprised of homes and not so much grass, but there are grassy areas for kids to frolic in and for dogs to sniff at. However, we have noticed a growing problem in our growing community.

Almost everyone who lives here owns a dog. While this is not necessarily a bad thing, it definitely has it's downsides. And for me, those downsides far outweigh the upsides. Which is why the husband and I don't own a dog. That, and we don't feel that we have enough room for a dog. The husband and I have noticed a few things about the said brand new grassy areas since the community dog population has grown. One of which is that the grass is now dying in more than a couple of areas around the neighborhood. I understand that dogs need to relieve themselves, but please for the love of everyone who wants to enjoy nice, brand new grass, vary the locations on which you allow your furry creatures to pee-pee. It's so sad that our green grass now has patchy dead areas.

We have not only noticed that dog owners are actively allowing their pets to kill our neighborhood grass, but we also find that a lot of those said dog owners refuse to pick up their dog droppings. Yes, their dog poo is all over our small grassy areas meant for everyone to enjoy. And instead of everyone being able to enjoy them, only the dogs who don't care that they are about to step in stinky masses dare to venture onto the grass. This problem has only grown in the past few months. More and more people find it perfectly acceptable to leave their dogs leavings behind. Without so much as a look back.

And then there are those who pick up their dog's poo, tie it up in a bag and then toss the bag into the bushes. This really confuses me. I for one, can completely relate to not wanting to pick up hot, steamy dog poo. (Another reason I don't particularly want a dog.) But what I cannot fathom is why anyone would pick up the poo and then throw it in the bushes. What is the point of this? If I ever see someone do this, I will personally ask them why that is better than leaving it in the first place. Now we have bags and dog poo and dying grass. All over our new neighborhood.

So, the association decided it would be a good idea to put in a bunch of these

all over the neighborhood. I for one think this is a fabulous idea. They not only have the little baggies that every dog owner needs in order to pick up the poo, but it also has a trash can attached so that they can then dispose of their dog waste in an actual trash can. But, this has not helped our issues. And apparently, other neighbors are tired of this phenomenon as well because on coming home one afternoon, the husband and I spotted this sign.

As you can see, there are two piles of dog poo on either side of the sign, and the sign itself has a doggie poo-poo bag attached to the side of it. What's worse is that directly across the small side street in our neighborhood is one of those trash-can-with-doggie-poo-bags-attached signs (pictured above... what does one call those things anyway?).

I loved this sign so much that everytime we drove by it I would ask the husband if he thought "Our Sign" was still there. Yes, I lovingly referred to it as "Our Sign" because I think it is that awesome and I secretly wish I had had the nerve to create such a masterpiece.

Spatulas and Spiders

Before the husband and I met, I didn't cook. At all. I had no desire and my mom would do it for me. Where was the need? It became apparent shortly after we started dating, however, that the husband wanted a wife that would cook. He loves cooking and thinking of new things to add to existing dishes or creating eniterly new dishes.

When I didn't instantly jump at the idea of being able to be in the kitchen, he was a little sneaky about getting me in there. He would casually ask me to stir this or that while he cut something else. This eventually turned into him giving me complete tasks that I could handle on my own. Like cooking pasta while he cooked the chicken and sauce.

Then one day he called and told me he had a surprise for me. I was excited, but no matter how much I pressed, he wouldn't tell me what it was. When I saw him later that day he handed me my present. Let me preface this by saying that I hate opening gifts in front of people. Not because I am selfless and don't like getting gift. I love presents. I love getting things that make me feel special. I hate opening gifts in front of an audience because I cannot hide my emotions. Whatever I am feeling is always plastered all over my face. There is never a question as to how I am feeling, all one has to do is look at my face and they will know instantly. I can only imagine what my face looked like as I opened my gift: a cookbook. And that was the beginning of the end.

I now am getting to the point where I like to cook. Sometimes. It does really help that the husband loves to cook and will always get in the kitchen with me. We cook side by side a few times a week. It's nice. The other day I was cooking and the husband was helping. We had just finished with the stir fry vegetables and chicken. As the husband was holding out the plate, I started to scoop until I stopped.

I started backing away as fast as I could without running and trying to spit out that there was something I was backing away from. I couldn't quite communicate what I saw because I was hyperventilating. The husband was a little freaked. He thought something was really wrong and was asking me what was wrong. He must have asked 10 times before I was able to answer. When I finally caught my breath I told him there was a spider that had dropped down from its web and was floating dangerously close to the food.

He couldn't see it at first because the spider was black. But when he finally did see it he grabbed the spatula I was holding in my hand to smash it against our counter. But before he did smash it he flipped it over and found the red hourglass. Yep. There was a black widow that tried to have dinner with us. I immediately grabbed disinfectant and cleaned the spatula and the counter. When thanking the husband for coming to my rescue I also asked that next time he not use our spatula to smash it.

And now I have a recipe to share. This has become one of the husband's and my favorite recipes. It is a chicken and vegetable pizza on whole wheat garlic and herb dough.

Ingredients: (The vegetables change every time we make it based on what we have. This time we included:)
2 Boneless Skinless Chicken Breasts, cubed
1 Roma Tomato
Onion
2 Tablespoons Minced Garlic
2 Tablespoons Butter
8 oz. Provolone Cheese Shredded
Pizza Dough (We like the garlic and herb dough from Trader Joe's)
Broccoli
Fennel
Bell Pepper
Carrots
*The amounts of vegetables we use varies, but it is usually between 1/2 cup to 1 cup of each

Cut up vegetables of your choice. Set them aside and cook the cubed chicken. Set the chicken aside and saute the vegetables (all except tomato) in minced garlic and butter until they are cooked to your liking. The husband and I like them slightly crunchy. Add the chicken to the veggies for the last minute to add the butter and garlice flavor.

While the vegetables are sauteing, roll the pizza dough out to desired size and shape. Heat the oven to 350 and cook the dough for about 10 minutes.

Take the dough out and add the sauteed veggies and chicken. Be sure to spread the butter and garlic over the veggies on the dough as well.

Add the provolone cheese.

Top with tomatoes.

Bake for another 20-30 minutes, until the dough is slightly crispy on the edges and the cheese is bubbly. And enjoy!

So It Wasn't My Finest Moment...

I am not a bug person. I have, however, gotten better over the years. Instead of screaming at the top of my lungs and sprinting as fast and as far as I can from whatever insect that is trying to invade my space, I slowly back away and almost kind-sorta hyperventilate while still trying to alert the nearest somebody that there is a bug of some sort that needs to be destroyed. Immediately.

And I've been even better than that lately. As you will recall, the husband loves to keep the front door open. And since we have terrible cell phone service in our home (and no, we do not have a land line, do people still get those these days?), he is confined to our front patio while talking on the phone. And since he is on the patio, the front door must be open. It's a rule he has.

One night he was chatting away on said cell phone in said patio and a huge, behemoth of a moth comes barreling into our home through our said open front door. Perfect. And what does the husband do? When he knows I am terrified of any such creature? He comes in to tell me that a moth just came in the house and closes the front door. He trapped me inside the house, with no other way for me the moth to escape and continued his conversation on the patio. With the door closed.

After a few moments of me backing as far away from the moth as possible, I had a thought. It's just a moth. A stupid moth that just wants to be near the lights. And that's when I grabbed the husband's magazine. I wasn't about to use any possession of mine. Moth guts on my things? No. Thank. You. So I wad up the magazine as best as I can and slowly approach the moth. By this time he has landed on the top of the wall near the ceiling. I drag a chair over to the spot and carefully climb up, making sure to keep an eye on the moth at all times. Afterall, there is no telling what this moth is capable of.

Finally on top of the chair, I ease my way to a fully extended standing position so that I can reach the moth. Scared as I was, I took a swing at the moth with the magazine. And miss. The moth did not appreciate the attempted swing and in defense swoops down and tries to dive bomb me. I, in the mean time, have jumped off the chair and dashed as far away as possible while screaming in terror. I am now being chased by the most malicious moth I have ever encountered and the husband is still on the patio talking. Did I mention the door was closed?

The same scenario happened again in the bathroom. As I finally worked up enough nerve to smash the moth, I only got a portion of him. (I've never been good at baseball, go figures I'm also terrible at swinging a magazine.) So instead, I have a wounded moth chasing after me. And this time I can't find where he went.

The husband got off the phone around the time that I was searching for the partially wounded moth. And did he help me search for it? Of course not. He found it much more entertaining to tell me how he saw my attempts at killing the moth through the front window and how he was laughing and retelling my story to his friend that he was talking to on the phone. He also insisted on reinacting my peril by standing on the chair and then jumping down screaming and waving his hands in the air. I have such an understanding husband.

Eventually he did help me search for the moth. And we didn't find him that night. We finally did find him on our counter top a few days later. Dead. I immediately got out the antibacterial disinfectant and sprayed that spot down. At least I killed him right?

ZZZZ.....

I've mentioned before that the husband and I are pretty much polar opposites. We have a lot of opposite tendencies. For example, he would rather simultaneously cook and clean so that after eating dinner there are only a few more dishes left to wash. I hold the mentality that it is less work if I do all the dishes all at once and he would rather do them a little at a time. The same is true with the housework. I would rather spend one day cleaning the entire house, while the husband prefers to do a little each day. We clearly have a different way of looking at things.

And it doesn't just stop with the housework. It is particularly true with sleep. The husband is one of those people that can live off of only a few hours of sleep each night. He actually prefers to get up early so that he doesn't miss out on any part of the day. I of course have a different view point. I love my sleep. I could sleep until 11 or 12 everyday if given the opportunity. And actually, when we met in college I did sleep in until 11 or 12 whenever I could.

I always knew the husband was a morning person. He had no problem telling me that he thought I slept too much. Really, can there be such a thing?? And then he made it one of his missions to 'help' me out. When we were still dating, he would call me on the weekends to get me up and going. It started with a sweet "Hey babe, where are you? When are you coming over?" call at 10 or so. I would get out of bed feeling all loved and ooey inside. It wasn't long before he was calling me earlier and earlier and the conversation was less mushy gushy and more "When are you getting out of bed? It's already 8." I wasn't enjoying this transition into an earlier and earlier morning.

But I did eventually get to the point where I would be up and about at 8 or so on my own. And then we got married. And then it got worse. As I've said, the husband likes to get up early everyday. And by early I mean 5:30. 5:30!!! Even on Saturdays and Sundays! He now marches into the bedroom anywhere between 7 and 8 (usually 7) touting "Wakey Wakey, Eggs and Bakey!" I am unclear about the meaning of this, because we never have bacon in the house and we don't usually eat eggs in the morning. When asked he just replied that it's a morning food and it rhymes. Such a guy. After rousing me with his morning rhyme, he informs me that I, since I am so good at making coffee, should play barrista and make some coffee for us. Since I want coffee too, I oblige. And most of the time I don't mind.

There are those mornings, however, when he isn't so sweet at waking me up. As I've said before, I am not a morning person. I do not wake up easily and when I first wake up I need some time to actually get out of bed and get going. I am grumpy too. Very grumpy. (see below)

He finds this funny. So funny, in fact, that he has tried on numerous occassions to simultaneously wake me up and snap a photo of the develish scowl that crosses my face as I emerge from sleep. So. Not. Funny. Or, he'll knock on our bedroom wall from the opposite side while he's playing his computer game, tickle me or throw the covers off me. All of which he finds hilarious and I find maddening.

As if this weren't torturous enough, he also terrorizes me as we go to bed. All I want to do by the time 9pm rolls around is go to sleep. Since I now wake up around 7, 9pm is a perfectly acceptable time to go to bed. In my mind, at least. According to the husband, 9 is way too early. So what does he do? When we get in bed he does everything he can to keep me awake.

He will sometimes run up the stairs only to turn around and jump out at me to scare me. Then, when I'm not scared because of how often this happens, he runs into the bedroom and pounces on the bed like a panther. He cirlces on his hands and knees and hisses at me. If I try to get in bed, he instantly jumps on me and starts tickling, or wresting with me or biting me. Love bites he calls it. All the while I'm whining at him to "Stop babe. Pleeeease. I just want to go to sleep. I'm tiiiiiired!" Which he only finds more amusing. And if I crack a smile at all, even in the least, he takes it as a challenge. He keeps at it until I finally get really mad and then he finally gets really mad. I can tell when he's mad because he always turns away from me to lay on his side.

And then I feel bad. I mean, he was just playing around afterall. So I cuddle up to him and mock him for being mad. At which point he turns back towards me and starts at it again. Oy! Clearly, I can't win.

So not only do I deal with him waking me up early, I also deal with him keeping me up at night. And in the morning when I complain that I'm tired he still claims it's because I sleep too much. I'm still not convinced that there is such a thing.