I'll Take What I Can Get

When pondering if it was appropriate to do this post on the 10th anniversary of 9/11, I had to think that it was. You see, last night the Husband and I were honored to be a part of the wedding of The Star-crossed Lovers (background: like us, The Star-crossed Lovers have known each other since high school but up until a year and five days ago from yesterday, always missed the chance to be together. Once they did, however, it became very clear that there would never be another for either, hence yesterday's nuptials). Husband played groomsman, I played bridal b@#&%^, doing everything from making sure the bridal party had food while getting their hair and makeup done to wrangling the bridal party every time one of them tried to get away while taking pictures (the phrase "electric cattle prod" came up several times over the course of the day).

Now that I am married (two years and counting!), weddings have become a time when I ponder my own and I think about all the reasons why I ended up at the altar in front of my paternal unit with a man who's collection of Harley-Davidson t-shirts takes up more closet space than my entire wardrobe. Luckily, he gives me new reasons everyday that affirm my choice and yesterday was no exception.

Reason #1: At some point in the reception, while waiting for further orders from the bride, it donned on me that I was starving. I didn't want to leave my post, though, and after answering yet another question from someone, I turned to see Husband coming to me with a plate and a beer. Everyone was eating at that point and I figured he was just getting up to throw away what he couldn't eat (starving kids in China!!). Instead, he held out the plate to me with a burrito ("It's chicken," he said, most romantic words ever); I took a bite (I don't remember chewing it at all) and went to hand the plate back. He refused to take it back and made me eat the rest of it, allowing me to share his beer with him (in case you missed that, HE SHARED HIS BEER WITH ME. That's love).

Reason #2: Knowing I like some alone time with him at weddings, Husband disappeared for a few minutes and found a spot out in the middle of some field, where under the full moon, he and I could have a moment. It was a good moment, we'll leave it at that.

Reason #3 (the one that made me go "Awww babe"): When it was the Best Man's turn to give his speech, he mentioned that he knew the Groom kicked himself everyday for letting the Bride be the one that got away (almost). Not two seconds later, I heard Husband say, "Where have I heard that before?" and he looked at me and looked away. I know babe! I know where you've heard it! Those were the exact words Husband used when he told me that I was the one. And just like the first time I heard him say it, I was speechless. Oh and deliriously happy. He has that affect on me.

Reason #4: Which is clearly the most important-He's just so HOT!!

So tragedies, like the fatal attacks that took place September 11, 2001, happen and my heart still grieves for those who lost loved ones, who will never get to hear the sound of their voices or the reassuring breathing you hear in the middle of the night. To The Star-crossed Lovers in my life, may your life together never know pain and suffering, but if it does, I pray that you'll be able to face it together with determination and the oh-so-important love.

I brought you into this world...

Today, Husband was incredibly thoughtful and sent me a text saying "Happy Mom's Day." Even though they're only fur kids, the girls have kept me on my toes with potty training, putting things in their mouths, temper tantrums. In fact, while driving to the dog park, I think I've heard myself say, "Don't make me come back there!" Sometimes I wonder why we didn't just get a guinea pig in the first place.

I think there were probably days during her childrens' childhoods when my mother thought, I should've stopped with one. If one child wasn't breaking another's leg in two places, the third was getting tickets for not wearing his seatbelt. If one wasn't wrecking her first car, another was joining the air force at 17. Basically, if it wasn't one kid, it was another. There were terrible grades, bad choices in dating and sports related injuries. Each kid's birthday celebrated was one step closer to freedom.

At eight years old, I was sledding of shed roofs and riding my bike through rose bushes. Sometimes, I fell in the creek in subarctic temperatures. I fought with my brothers and began to secretly hate chicken cacciatore. Junior high started a new school AND bodily self loathing. High school was just as rough, especially when my grades failed or I failed to communicate my location to my parents. When I graduated, I'm pretty sure my mom was skipping in the streets. I know I was.

As big a screw up as I was, I NEVER felt like my parents weren't behind me 110%. Sure, bad choices were made (and subsequently blocked from memory), voices were raised, doors were slammed. A little while later, though, mom could be found sitting on the couch with her newspaper and if you put your head under her arm, she'd say, "you know I'm right," you'd sigh and say yes. Then she'd ask you to get her a glass of ice water (ice water was my mom's vodka) and everything was right with the world again. That was it. End of story. Once you'd made up with mom, you were golden, because dad, well dad had already forgotten and wanted to know if you wanted to watch golf with him. Dad was ready to buy you pizza and give you chocolate cake. Dad was THE man.

Now as a wife and domestic failure, I totally understand why mom was such a hardass. I'm just like her. Apparently stubbornness is encoded into my X chromosome. Stubbornness and great legs. Stubbornness, great legs and the desire to eat my body weight in chocolate.

(Happy Mother's Day Momma! Sorry I robbed you of your body, sanity and ability to sleep soundly)

TUDG (The Undomestic Goddess) Does Pizza

Pizza is good, a gift from the gods. We eat enough pizza to keep a cabin full of junior high boys happy for a week. And we eat it from everywhere. Pizza Hut. Papa Murphy's. Homemade. Luigi's did reign supreme until Papa John's moved in, so now we have two favorites.

Tonight it's Papa John's. Half cheese, half pepperoni & mushroom (I cannot wait to be able to eat red meat again). Top it off with a BudLight Lime. The second to last one. And if SHH (scorching hot husband) doesn't get home soon, there will be no BudLight Limes left.

Eating pizza with my husband takes me back to our days of dating in high school. Date night consisted of mushroom and pepperoni pizza with a garlic crust from Hungry Howie's. Husband had them on speed dial.

Pizza also makes me think of my parents. My father is the quintessential New York pizza lover. If it's not New York style pizza, it's not pizza. I have spent my life in search of the perfect pizza outside of New York. Interestingly enough, it's in Parkersburg, West Virginia. My parents took my brothers and I there when we were little, and when they want to go for a drive, it's still to that great pizzeria. I don't even know the actual name of the restaurant; we just always referred to it as "Parkersburg Pizza."

When we wanted local pizza, though, my dad always trekked to the Adrian Small. He loved mall pizza and it was a pretty good deal. They knew us by name and it was always the same order: large pepperoni. It was soooo greasy and so big and soooo good.

In college, the only time I got pizza outside of the caf was when the parental units came to visit. We'd go to Round Table (good pizza, ridiculously overpriced) and we would order a larger pizza than we could eat, so I could have leftovers. Mom was always worried about me eating in college, especially after I went through a period of time where I couldn't eat certain foods. Pizza she knew I could eat, so pizza I was stocked up on (including those $1.00 Totinos pizzas from the frozen food section).

Someday I would love to travel to Italy to have authentic pizza. I understand it's really different, but I'm no pizza snob. I prefer to think of myself as a pizza connoisseur.

For now, we buy our own pizza because I cannot make it to save my life. I mean I can but it just isn't the same. If I use premade pizza crust from Winco, it's much better. But on a Friday after being screamed at, cursed at, hung up on and generally just annoyed, I need to NOT be in the kitchen. Shoot driving to pick up the pizza is already too much work. And recently I discovered I can order online, pay and then pick up. I know, it's screams lazy, but again, you spend 40 hours a week at a collection agency and then come home and see how you feel about cooking. So you keep your high and mightiness and I'll point and click my way to dinner.