Blame it on the mom

well. we did it. we lazied away the days in Roman sunshine. everything you imagine about living in Italy, we had: the pizza, the gelato, the ancient spin on it all, the cobblestone and vespas, plus a bunch of the nitty gritty of Roman life. we wrote about it here.

and now we're back.

and back to the issue of....kids. procreation. offspring. the "one woman's bundle of joy is another woman's burden." while friends of my past and present blog and post about co-sleeping pros/cons and swear by Trader Joes organic baby food nonsense, complaining about no life and ironically posting every minute of it on Instagram, this is where i let out the sigh and punch my womb.

mothers of today are why there will be no mothers of tomorrow.

Nove giorni

I never regret when I write. Well, at least that's what I thought before I logged in to this site and then read that last thing about waiting and boo-hooing til vacation and counting down the days til Rome. Rome is full of cliches, by default of location and significance, and so is everything I write about it. Oh well, it's for me and Nick anyways.

I'm home early tonight. I'm keeping myself from packing more. I'm watching TV and loving that soon this won't even be an option for me. I'll miss the new season of the Bravo show with the arrogant young real estate guys. boo hoo. There's so much I won't miss, things that don't matter. The pile of decorative pillows on the bed, the ton of shoes, the constant presence of the dumb smart phone. There's so much we really don't need.

And so much we do. To not take love for granted. To not count it ordinary. Or friendships for that matter. To slow down and consider. To listen deeper to the words spoken and choose slower the words we speak. To stop complaining about the woes of life and find what, in this day, can be enjoyed as a gift.

It sounds like the stuff a cancer patient would say; the words of someone who knows her days are numbered. Truth is, the days are. I squander mine away, along with friendships and sunsets and a whole host of better things that are never realized until passed.

Rome is in nine days.

Without the Waiting

Mi fontana di Trevi

I write again. Few will ever read this, but Nick loves when I write. So I write again.

But I really don't have anything to say. I need to order that book on Roman life by Marcus Aurelius. I need to get the rest of my citizenship papers in the mail. I need to pay bills. It's just another day of grey Pacific Northwest skies. I'm waiting for the work day to end. I'm waiting for our Mexican vacation to start in 10 days. I'm waiting. I'm waiting. I'm waiting.

But today while I'm waiting I'm letting out a much needed sigh of relief. The days of being in Rome are getting closer. The days of waking up to sunshine are just a countdown away. No one sets out on life hoping to wake up early, head into traffic for an hour commute, be stuck at work for 14hrs (yes, fourteen hours), and repeat, repeat, repeat. This is how wrinkles are made, and stress, and bad hair and living in leggings and boots and eating jello for dinner. Well, at least that's how it's translated into my life. Why wait until the effects of that lifestyle set in (ie. retirement) to get around to changing it? We're retiring from the idea of living that way.

We're waiting to live the life of our dreams, and fortunately, that wait is just about 65 days away, rather than when we're 65.

Life sucks right now with tiresome days of a pathetic existence and long work hours and a ridiculous to-do list. I've never been so stressed. I feel the anxiety of work consume me each morning. I don't sleep well because of it. But no one cares about my problems, because everyone knows that "Nick and Nicole are moving to Rome." I can't blame them. We are, indeed, moving to freaking Rome. Where the wine is cheaper than the water. Where the days are spent strolling through the Sistine and sunsets watched from the Spanish Steps. Where we won't have to wake up and leave each other. Where la Fontana di Trevi can be enjoyed with leisure, with heels on, feeling alive and beautiful and only in love. Where days will end faciamo la passegiata and sipping limoncello. Where everything will be new and without duty and without the waiting.

While I wait, I'll remember the words one Roman said, "Dwell on the beauty of life. Watch the stars, and see yourself running with them." Marcus Aurelius 

Happiness, thy name is Sells!

Well, actually, it should be Sellses, but that just looks dumb.

Yesterday morning while "watching" Millionaire Matchmaker (can it really be considered watching if it just happens to be on while doing housework?) a haughty, 40-year old gay man was semi-lamenting the fact that he had no one with whom to share the sentiment "remember when..."

And since comparison is the social tool of life satisfaction not to be under-rated, I rightfully engaged.

Nick and I have so many "remember when" moments it's practically unfair to the rest of the world. Just this past weekend while in Cannon Beach, OR to show off our master sculpting skills in the 2011 Sand Sculpting Competition (oh the places you'll go without kids!), we visited our favorite lookout point. The sun was setting brilliantly on Haystack Rock, the sand was windswept and cool on our feet and I even think we skipped hand-in-hand at one point. Nick tried to take pictures of me, just as a lover would, but he's no artist and that makes his attempts all the sweeter. We walked up to the lookout where last year, our 1 year anniversary, he got down on one knee, said it'd been the best year of his life, and gave me ANOTHER diamond ring. I cried. He cried. And that place became ours.

Along with all of Italy, a certain driveway in Tuscany, sweet pea flowers, peach roses, the first spring daffodils, first class seats, every beautiful sunset, wish flowers, the smell of basil, cold bottles of Reisling, pictures of the Colloseum, blue eyes and blue skies..and the list goes on.

Everywhere we go, we love each other. In big ways, ordinary ways, silly ways; with a joke, a sacred thought, a song or even an uninvited turn of events where I cop my Italian attitude and Nick tries to diffuse is with slow words and reason. Not on purpose, we've documented our love in millions of memories. On sad days, happy days, boring days and ordinary mornings, we remind each other of that particular "remember when..." and the thrill and love of that place enters the moment like it is happening once again. And I love that about our love.

I know, I know. Mushy, gushy love and sunshine. You may gag now. We'll just be basking over here...

how few the years

after two hours of Italian studies last night, i got to thinking that maybe yesterday's "hurrah!" was a bit, well,...mean. i'm sure there's a better word for it, but i'm too lazy to sit here thinking of its double. let's just say i was (and granted, still am) drunk on love for my own life.

on the drive home late last night, i thought it over. it is not mean or wrong to feel the way i do. why should it be wrong to communicate it? mothers unashamedly post thousands--literally--of baby cutesies, taking no thought to those unfortunate women out there who are unable to conceive. why should i hold back my take on things? why should mothers have the loudest voice?

really. think about it. in comparison to life as a whole, most people have few years single; the moment marriage comes, singlehood is cemented in the past and a new duo commences. just the same, most married couples have few years just married. the moment a child comes, your marriage is forced to change (don't even try to tell me it doesn't) and the days you once knew and loved are traded in. how short the years for "married without kids." i recently read an article in the New York Times about a new stage to the traditional four (childhood, adolescence, adulthood, old age). they're calling it the Odyssey years. you know, that 1-2 year break all the cool kids take between high school and college to travel the world and do what they want before settling into education/career.

my vote is for another addition, maybe the Shakespearean years, that time when you're married and so in love with spouse and life and you don't want anything to ruin it. Sorry, but there just isn't a better way to say it. Kids would ruin what we've got goin'

why in the world--if we are so in love as we like to believe we are when first married--would we speed those few unique years along and away! i have the love of my life sharing my thrill for life! why follow the M.O. of saving for a home purchase and landing a job with good medical insurance so we can start family planning? to each his own, but i'm gonna go ahead and live it up until my definition changes.

the easy insult is that this is all just fancifully childlike. afterall, we are of 'grown-up' age (30 and 32). but who cares! children never die of stress-related heart attacks, so i'll join their team (see, i don't hate kids). why not?

life sans

today was the day my life almost died.

true story.

i've never been so thrilled to see red, never embraced the sharp twist of my insides. it was as though they were twisting in celebration within me, a happy jig that they, too, could carry on without carrying an addition. no changes, no baby. nothing like a good pregnancy scare to make you love your life!

i know i'm disgusting a few women right now, and disgracing those sacrificial mothers everywhere in the world. please don't get me wrong. i love mothers and babies. chances are i love your baby. one day i will join your ranks willingly and with the better celebration of life. until then, cut me some slack and let me glory in my freedom, travel the world i love and sleep in until 11 on saturday in my house sans toys.

so consider this my toast. i raise my fine glass of life high to the sky and cheers to my lover and my life. we will drink deep the years before us and remind everyone else what unencumbered living is like!

that's why this is not a mother's blog; no recipes, no crafts, no lengthy expositions of how i handled the lady at the park with the unruly kid; no cutesy photos of billy and girl baby. and what is it about becoming a mother that makes an ordinary girl uber-opininated, littering the blogosphere with dogmas of diapers, food preparation and conflict resolution. i thought mother's were tight on time? what the what?

to all my friends who are mothers, you know i love you.
even more, if this blog hasn't already outed me, i'm not ready to walk where you tread so gracefully.