This article first appeared in the Christian Science Monitor
Let me lick your finger," my Grandma demands as she reaches for my right hand. My fingers are sticky with a mixture of raw meat, eggs, rice, and spices. We are making stuffed peppers.
"Grandma!" I yell, even before I realize what she is about to do. "It's raw meat!" Her tongue touches my index finger and, not being sure of the result, she licks it again. "How else am I going to tell whether it's salty enough?" she scolds. Then, softly clicking her tongue, she adds, "It does need more salt."
I spent several afternoons in the kitchen with Grandma after my wedding last winter in Budapest. She came to my parents' apartment in the afternoons so that dinner would be ready by the time they got home from work.
It was my idea that Grandma should give me cooking lessons while I waited patiently for my green card. I have already mastered the three most important dishes of Hungarian cuisine: gulyas soup, chicken paprika, and the beef stew called pörkölt. I imagined my husband surviving on these three alternating dishes.... I needed help.
It was the first time in a while that I had Grandma all to myself. Sure, I was the first grandchild and Grandma spent hours with me while I giggled in my crib as she pointed to the figures on my favorite blanket. During longer road trips, Grandma would recite a nursery rhyme about a bear that drifts away from his family on a block of ice and finds new friends in the city.
When I was a little older, she indulged my love of figure skating by sewing skating outfits for my Barbie dolls. And she was my most understanding ally when my parents didn't let me go to a rock concert.
When I left for college in the United States, Grandma handed me three embroidered handkerchiefs at the airport. "Sometimes one just has to have a good cry," she said.
My brother stayed at home, and during Grandma's weekly visits he was the one who spent hours in the kitchen while she baked cookies. During my summer and Christmas visits, I could never seem to find the old connection with Grandma.
Now that I was married and in charge of a household, Grandma and I found a whole new connection.
The best part about cooking with Grandma is listening to her stories. She had a difficult life, but her anecdotes are always cheerful.
Her stories always start with "You know, the way it used to be ..." Members of her family weren't very imaginative with names. The men are named Sandor (Alexander) and its variations (Sanyi, Sanyika, etc.). The women are Terez (Theresa) and its variations: Terka, Terike, etc. Thus, Grandma's stories are always confusing. But it doesn't matter. The tales of her small village, her many siblings, and the hot summer days she spent working on the fields are fascinating.
Like the story about how much she loved school and how sad her teacher was when my grandmother dropped out in sixth grade. "I was my teacher's favorite," she says. But after her mother's death she had to stay at home and help with her seven brothers and sisters. "I had the most beautiful handwriting," she goes on, "and the teacher asked me to correct older students' tests." The teacher recognized her 20 years later as she sat on a park bench, her son (my father) in a baby carriage.
She graduated from eighth grade the day I was born in 1976.
Grandma has a large library of knowledge, but not because she went to school or has degrees. She solves at least five crossword puzzles a day and seems to know everything about history, geography, politics, and biology. She knows how to cook, how to bake.
She is also an avid sports fan, even though she doesn't know how to swim or ride a bike. Her favorites are winter sports. She can name the members of the 1986 Swedish giant slalom team. I think she secretly learned English as well, because she seems to understand every word on EuroSport and knows when to tune in to see the women's biathlon.
While we are waiting for the water to boil, we watch television together and root for the Finns, Grandma's favorites.
During commercials we check on the food and Grandma dispenses marriage advice. "You are not going to get mad at me, are you?" she asks before passing to me this secret to marital bliss: "Discuss everything with your husband and make him feel like he is the master of his house, even though quietly you are doing things your own way.
"That is all I am going to tell you," she assures me as she measures salt into her palm.
Later we move on to making desserts. My first attempt at rolling dough fails and Grandma grabs the rolling pin out of my hands.
"The problem," she says, "is that you are trying too hard; you want it to be too good." I wipe away a few tears. I can't even roll dough. What kind of a wife am I going be?
"Don't worry, you will learn when you are a grandma," she encourages, and I feel strangely comforted.
Showing posts with label Marriage. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Marriage. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Thursday, May 22, 2008
There is a period missing at the end of that sentence
Warning: I am going to do a bit of oversharing in this post.
So, my period was late. Very late. So late, that I started to think, well, maybe this is it.
It was a funny feeling. There was none of the panic of college years when every day past the due date I said a little prayer: "please don't let me be pregnant, please don't let me be pregnant." I was always responsible, but you just never know, right? So I almost had to remind myself not to panic, that this was a good thing, that this was what I wanted.
Then, once I realized I didn't have to panic, came other disturbing thoughts and phantom symptoms. That twinge of nausea while I was brushing my teeth in the morning - was that pregnancy, or the seafood from last night, or was I sticking the tootbrush too far down to reach my back teeth? Are my boobs tender, or is my bra uncomfortable? Are my jeans a little snugger than usual because of the chocolate cake for dinner, or you know, from a fetus growing inside?
I actually had to stop myself from feeling giddy, from thinking about baby names, from running out and buying baby furniture. But my thoughts ran wild without my permission. Baby Porter or Fiona (although I am still not sure about Fiona - it makes me think of Shrek's wife...) will have my curly hair and Drew's button nose and blue eyes. He/she will be a good baby, not much crying, above average intelligence, good manners, good grades, etc. I will be working from home - maybe? - and we'll have a little house with a little garden where we'll plant tomatoes and beans with the kids.
OK, OK, stop!
But if I wanted to be honest with myself, I knew that I really wasn't feeling any different than usual. Then my Mom assured me that if I were pregnant, I really wouldn't feel anything at first. That just added fuel to the fire and I could barely sleep that night. I am not feeling anything = I am pregnant!
I had a sudden urge to do major spring cleaning that Sunday - was the apartment dirty, or was I nesting? - and when my period made its entrance between scrubbing the kitchen floor and vacuuming, I was miffed. Disappointed. Felt really stupid for thinking I could be pregnant. I promised that I would not drive myself crazy every month, but now it was happening.
That is the weird thing about trying to get pregnant. When you start out, you don't think it really matters whether it happens or not, whether it happens now or a year from now. You are just trying because, well, because that's what you do. But as soon as you start trying, the baby project becomes more important than you ever thought possible. And now here I was, just like other women, waiting anxiously every month, feeling let down, angrily shoving furniture out of the way.
I popped a couple of Tylenols to curb the cramps that were swirling in my tummy and watered the plants. I watched my favorite Danielle Steele romance of Oxygen - the one about the German woman who escapes to America carrying the baby of her Nazi officer lover. I made dinner.
There is always next month
So, my period was late. Very late. So late, that I started to think, well, maybe this is it.
It was a funny feeling. There was none of the panic of college years when every day past the due date I said a little prayer: "please don't let me be pregnant, please don't let me be pregnant." I was always responsible, but you just never know, right? So I almost had to remind myself not to panic, that this was a good thing, that this was what I wanted.
Then, once I realized I didn't have to panic, came other disturbing thoughts and phantom symptoms. That twinge of nausea while I was brushing my teeth in the morning - was that pregnancy, or the seafood from last night, or was I sticking the tootbrush too far down to reach my back teeth? Are my boobs tender, or is my bra uncomfortable? Are my jeans a little snugger than usual because of the chocolate cake for dinner, or you know, from a fetus growing inside?
I actually had to stop myself from feeling giddy, from thinking about baby names, from running out and buying baby furniture. But my thoughts ran wild without my permission. Baby Porter or Fiona (although I am still not sure about Fiona - it makes me think of Shrek's wife...) will have my curly hair and Drew's button nose and blue eyes. He/she will be a good baby, not much crying, above average intelligence, good manners, good grades, etc. I will be working from home - maybe? - and we'll have a little house with a little garden where we'll plant tomatoes and beans with the kids.
OK, OK, stop!
But if I wanted to be honest with myself, I knew that I really wasn't feeling any different than usual. Then my Mom assured me that if I were pregnant, I really wouldn't feel anything at first. That just added fuel to the fire and I could barely sleep that night. I am not feeling anything = I am pregnant!
I had a sudden urge to do major spring cleaning that Sunday - was the apartment dirty, or was I nesting? - and when my period made its entrance between scrubbing the kitchen floor and vacuuming, I was miffed. Disappointed. Felt really stupid for thinking I could be pregnant. I promised that I would not drive myself crazy every month, but now it was happening.
That is the weird thing about trying to get pregnant. When you start out, you don't think it really matters whether it happens or not, whether it happens now or a year from now. You are just trying because, well, because that's what you do. But as soon as you start trying, the baby project becomes more important than you ever thought possible. And now here I was, just like other women, waiting anxiously every month, feeling let down, angrily shoving furniture out of the way.
I popped a couple of Tylenols to curb the cramps that were swirling in my tummy and watered the plants. I watched my favorite Danielle Steele romance of Oxygen - the one about the German woman who escapes to America carrying the baby of her Nazi officer lover. I made dinner.
There is always next month
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
You are what your spouse eats
We are all familiar with “Freshman 15” — those extra couple of pounds new college students pile on during the first year of school. But a lesser-known phenomenon is the “Newlywed 20” — or 30, or 40 — that pile on during the first couple of years of newlywed bliss.
I admit that I don’t have the healthiest eating habits. I grew up on chicken paprika and Wiener schnitzel and lots of other pork parts with potatoes or gnocchi. At home, my parents cooked with lard, or if they wanted to be “healthier” they used goose fat. While delicious, it was certainly not the American Heart Association approved diet.
But when Drew bought Steak-Ums for one of our first dinners together as a married couple, I knew that we were going to have to do some negotiating about what goes into the fridge and into our bellies. Thankfully, we have similar tastes and no food allergies, so we didn’t have to spend a lot of time figuring out what the other can or can’t eat. I try to avoid hard-boiled eggs and tuna because Drew doesn’t like them, and Drew tries to dial down the hot pepper flakes in his cooking, but other than that, everything else is fair game.
Over the years, I branched out in my cooking away from Hungarian cuisine and into seafood and Italian dishes. Drew is staying away from the processed meat-like products and experiments with more fresh and low-fat ingredients. His staple seasoning is still beer — but once you try his burgers steamed in beer, you’ll understand that that’s not a bad thing.
Unfortunately, all this negotiating paid off a little too well, because five years later we are still carrying around that “newlywed 20.” We love to cook and eat together every night. We like to nosh on some hummus and pita while there is a nice pork chop in the skillet with some couscous in the pot. We love to sit and talk for hours at the dinner table over a glass of wine. We enjoy a $200 meal as much as we do burgers from Rapid Ray’s in Saco.
While we don’t want to weigh 600 pounds each on our 10th anniversary, I don’t think we’d ever want to change the basics of the way we enjoy food. Everything just tastes so much better when we eat it together. Food is something we bond over, just another part of our lives that we want to share. Cooking and eating involves all of our senses — the sizzle of the grill, the smell of the wine hitting the pan, the smooth skin of a fresh mushroom, the crisp crunch of an asparagus on the tongue — and watching Drew cook is incredibly endearing and fun. He is a very messy cook with lots of spices flying and sauces splashing around the kitchen, but I never mind the clean-up.
Sitting down together every night opens up lots of opportunities to talk and share things that happened during the day, to talk about things that might be uncomfortable under other circumstances, or just have a spirited discussion about politics or religion. Sometimes I think some of our dinner guests might think that we are crazy — but we really do debate and argue serious issues over dinner. It helps our digestion.
Realizing that getting so much pleasure out of eating might cause problems down the road, we’ve made some changes in our habits; we walk more, instituted salad days, banned canned or boxed meats a long time ago, and, weather permitting, we walk a few miles to Rapid Ray’s when the craving hits.
I don’t know if we’ll ever lose our “newlywed 20.” But I hope that we will never lose our need to spend our evenings together over a plate of good — and somewhat healthy — food.
And of course, dessert.
I admit that I don’t have the healthiest eating habits. I grew up on chicken paprika and Wiener schnitzel and lots of other pork parts with potatoes or gnocchi. At home, my parents cooked with lard, or if they wanted to be “healthier” they used goose fat. While delicious, it was certainly not the American Heart Association approved diet.
But when Drew bought Steak-Ums for one of our first dinners together as a married couple, I knew that we were going to have to do some negotiating about what goes into the fridge and into our bellies. Thankfully, we have similar tastes and no food allergies, so we didn’t have to spend a lot of time figuring out what the other can or can’t eat. I try to avoid hard-boiled eggs and tuna because Drew doesn’t like them, and Drew tries to dial down the hot pepper flakes in his cooking, but other than that, everything else is fair game.
Over the years, I branched out in my cooking away from Hungarian cuisine and into seafood and Italian dishes. Drew is staying away from the processed meat-like products and experiments with more fresh and low-fat ingredients. His staple seasoning is still beer — but once you try his burgers steamed in beer, you’ll understand that that’s not a bad thing.
Unfortunately, all this negotiating paid off a little too well, because five years later we are still carrying around that “newlywed 20.” We love to cook and eat together every night. We like to nosh on some hummus and pita while there is a nice pork chop in the skillet with some couscous in the pot. We love to sit and talk for hours at the dinner table over a glass of wine. We enjoy a $200 meal as much as we do burgers from Rapid Ray’s in Saco.
While we don’t want to weigh 600 pounds each on our 10th anniversary, I don’t think we’d ever want to change the basics of the way we enjoy food. Everything just tastes so much better when we eat it together. Food is something we bond over, just another part of our lives that we want to share. Cooking and eating involves all of our senses — the sizzle of the grill, the smell of the wine hitting the pan, the smooth skin of a fresh mushroom, the crisp crunch of an asparagus on the tongue — and watching Drew cook is incredibly endearing and fun. He is a very messy cook with lots of spices flying and sauces splashing around the kitchen, but I never mind the clean-up.
Sitting down together every night opens up lots of opportunities to talk and share things that happened during the day, to talk about things that might be uncomfortable under other circumstances, or just have a spirited discussion about politics or religion. Sometimes I think some of our dinner guests might think that we are crazy — but we really do debate and argue serious issues over dinner. It helps our digestion.
Realizing that getting so much pleasure out of eating might cause problems down the road, we’ve made some changes in our habits; we walk more, instituted salad days, banned canned or boxed meats a long time ago, and, weather permitting, we walk a few miles to Rapid Ray’s when the craving hits.
I don’t know if we’ll ever lose our “newlywed 20.” But I hope that we will never lose our need to spend our evenings together over a plate of good — and somewhat healthy — food.
And of course, dessert.
Monday, July 16, 2007
Make up, don't break up
Everyone is breaking up.
The past couple of weeks I’ve heard about at least three couples who broke up in my small circle of friends and acquaintances. Some were married, some not, but the results ended up to be the same.
What’s going on? Is there something in the air or the water?
Hearing about the demise of these relationships made me worry. These couples seemed to be so solid, so happy, so normal. Did they know it was coming? Does anyone ever know that it’s coming?
It is so hard to see into relationships. Couples that seem to be well-matched on the surface could be struggling to stay together, and some odd couples that I would never put together are thriving. I often wonder what people think of me and Drew. Do we make sense to the outside observer? Someone who doesn’t know Drew might think that he’s large and loud and a little arrogant. I’m flighty and moody and somewhat neurotic. I know that we have a great time together, but I doubt that we make sense to those around us.
Hearing of all these breakups, my first instinct is to feel superior: this would never happen to us. But then I start to worry — if it happened to these other, normal couples, could it happen to us? Is this a monster waiting under our bed?
So I turned to Drew with the questions: “Are we OK? Is there anything we need to talk about?” Maybe our calm, quiet relationship is about to implode and I just don’t know it. Maybe the next time I argue with him about the temperature of the dryer will be the last drop in his glass and that will be the end of it.
I’d like to think that we know each other better, that if we had really serious problems we would talk to each other and we wouldn’t let things get out of hand. But these breakups also reminded me that the trust and respect we built over the years are fragile and we can’t take them for granted. We can’t assume that just because we’re married our spouse is going to put up with hurtful comments or annoying habits forever and that the cup will never overflow. Even though we’re settled down in a stable relationship, we have to keep changing and growing to maintain and strengthen our bond.
We reassured each other that neither of us has any unspoken hurts or issues that can bubble to the surface unexpectedly. We usually nip things in the bud before they become big problems or big resentments. Yes, he finds it annoying that I think that my clothes can shrink even after 200 washes, and yes I think it’s ridiculous that all of our magnets have to align perfectly on our fridge, but these are surely no reasons for divorce.
“We are doing just fine,” Drew told me last night after we spent the evening listening to one of his friends who is on the receiving end of a break-up.
And that’s all I need to know.
The past couple of weeks I’ve heard about at least three couples who broke up in my small circle of friends and acquaintances. Some were married, some not, but the results ended up to be the same.
What’s going on? Is there something in the air or the water?
Hearing about the demise of these relationships made me worry. These couples seemed to be so solid, so happy, so normal. Did they know it was coming? Does anyone ever know that it’s coming?
It is so hard to see into relationships. Couples that seem to be well-matched on the surface could be struggling to stay together, and some odd couples that I would never put together are thriving. I often wonder what people think of me and Drew. Do we make sense to the outside observer? Someone who doesn’t know Drew might think that he’s large and loud and a little arrogant. I’m flighty and moody and somewhat neurotic. I know that we have a great time together, but I doubt that we make sense to those around us.
Hearing of all these breakups, my first instinct is to feel superior: this would never happen to us. But then I start to worry — if it happened to these other, normal couples, could it happen to us? Is this a monster waiting under our bed?
So I turned to Drew with the questions: “Are we OK? Is there anything we need to talk about?” Maybe our calm, quiet relationship is about to implode and I just don’t know it. Maybe the next time I argue with him about the temperature of the dryer will be the last drop in his glass and that will be the end of it.
I’d like to think that we know each other better, that if we had really serious problems we would talk to each other and we wouldn’t let things get out of hand. But these breakups also reminded me that the trust and respect we built over the years are fragile and we can’t take them for granted. We can’t assume that just because we’re married our spouse is going to put up with hurtful comments or annoying habits forever and that the cup will never overflow. Even though we’re settled down in a stable relationship, we have to keep changing and growing to maintain and strengthen our bond.
We reassured each other that neither of us has any unspoken hurts or issues that can bubble to the surface unexpectedly. We usually nip things in the bud before they become big problems or big resentments. Yes, he finds it annoying that I think that my clothes can shrink even after 200 washes, and yes I think it’s ridiculous that all of our magnets have to align perfectly on our fridge, but these are surely no reasons for divorce.
“We are doing just fine,” Drew told me last night after we spent the evening listening to one of his friends who is on the receiving end of a break-up.
And that’s all I need to know.
Keeping the family ties
I am very lucky.
I am very close to my family. We email each other every day and we talk a couple of times on the phone every week. We discuss everything, make big decisions together, ask for each other’s opinion before making personal decisions, and we are always looking out for each other. We have little inside jokes, stories that only we find funny — like the time our car started smoking on a trip to Austria and in the confusion my mom yelled for my brother to stay in the car while we all scurried to the side of the road.
We’ve always been like this, ever since I can remember. Sure, we live far apart right now, but that hasn’t changed these dynamics so far. I might have gigantic phone bills, but I still call my parents first when something big happens, or if I am having a bad day, or if I need advice on anything.
And that is a problem now that I’m married. Well, it’s not a problem for me, but it is a problem for Drew. And so it is a problem for me.
But how do I stop? My parents have known me since, well, birth, and my brother and I shared a room well into our teenage years. We tell each other the stuff that we can’t tell our parents and we are the keepers of each other’s childhood memories. It’s hard for anyone to compete with that.
So, the first step was to realize that I was doing this. It’s so natural for me to pick up the phone and talk to my parents — I don’t even have to think about it. Don’t know if I should take that job offer? Call Mom. Can’t decide what to cook for dinner? Call Mom. Having a really bad day? Call my parents. And my brother too, while I’m at it. Sometimes, I’ll be talking to Mom on her cell phone, while my brother will be talking to my Dad on their land line. That way, all four of us are connected. It’s weird, I know.
But I never looked at it from Drew’s perspective. After I’ve discussed everything with my family, I didn’t have to say anything to Drew about my crisis. It was solved, after all. But that just made him feel like his opinion didn’t matter, as if he didn’t have a say in my life. And he’s not the only one who was bothered by this: my brother’s wife, Jenny, is also uncomfortable with our closeness. Neither of their families are like mine — sure, they might get along and talk a few times a month, but if something big is going down, Drew’s first call is to me.
It’s a tricky balancing act, letting Drew in and showing him that his opinion matters, while also maintaining the bond I have with my family. He is slowly beginning to understand that my family’s relationship — while weird and unnatural to him — is what makes me, me. At times, I think he might even be a little jealous of what we share and he enjoys being a part of our crazy clan.
I’m learning to share more with him and involve him more in every dilemma I face, big or small. He’s turning out to be a patient listener with his own twist on every situation, and I must admit that I enjoy the variety of opinions I get from all sides.
In the next couple of months, my parents will be moving to Maine. It will be a time of adjustment for all of us — they will be getting used to a new country, town, apartment, jobs and grocery store. I’ll be getting used to lower cell phone bills and having them close by again and also balancing my time between them and Drew.
I’m really looking forward to their move, even though I’m aware that it’s not going to be easy for any of us in the beginning. But at least I have lots of places to turn for advice.
I am very close to my family. We email each other every day and we talk a couple of times on the phone every week. We discuss everything, make big decisions together, ask for each other’s opinion before making personal decisions, and we are always looking out for each other. We have little inside jokes, stories that only we find funny — like the time our car started smoking on a trip to Austria and in the confusion my mom yelled for my brother to stay in the car while we all scurried to the side of the road.
We’ve always been like this, ever since I can remember. Sure, we live far apart right now, but that hasn’t changed these dynamics so far. I might have gigantic phone bills, but I still call my parents first when something big happens, or if I am having a bad day, or if I need advice on anything.
And that is a problem now that I’m married. Well, it’s not a problem for me, but it is a problem for Drew. And so it is a problem for me.
But how do I stop? My parents have known me since, well, birth, and my brother and I shared a room well into our teenage years. We tell each other the stuff that we can’t tell our parents and we are the keepers of each other’s childhood memories. It’s hard for anyone to compete with that.
So, the first step was to realize that I was doing this. It’s so natural for me to pick up the phone and talk to my parents — I don’t even have to think about it. Don’t know if I should take that job offer? Call Mom. Can’t decide what to cook for dinner? Call Mom. Having a really bad day? Call my parents. And my brother too, while I’m at it. Sometimes, I’ll be talking to Mom on her cell phone, while my brother will be talking to my Dad on their land line. That way, all four of us are connected. It’s weird, I know.
But I never looked at it from Drew’s perspective. After I’ve discussed everything with my family, I didn’t have to say anything to Drew about my crisis. It was solved, after all. But that just made him feel like his opinion didn’t matter, as if he didn’t have a say in my life. And he’s not the only one who was bothered by this: my brother’s wife, Jenny, is also uncomfortable with our closeness. Neither of their families are like mine — sure, they might get along and talk a few times a month, but if something big is going down, Drew’s first call is to me.
It’s a tricky balancing act, letting Drew in and showing him that his opinion matters, while also maintaining the bond I have with my family. He is slowly beginning to understand that my family’s relationship — while weird and unnatural to him — is what makes me, me. At times, I think he might even be a little jealous of what we share and he enjoys being a part of our crazy clan.
I’m learning to share more with him and involve him more in every dilemma I face, big or small. He’s turning out to be a patient listener with his own twist on every situation, and I must admit that I enjoy the variety of opinions I get from all sides.
In the next couple of months, my parents will be moving to Maine. It will be a time of adjustment for all of us — they will be getting used to a new country, town, apartment, jobs and grocery store. I’ll be getting used to lower cell phone bills and having them close by again and also balancing my time between them and Drew.
I’m really looking forward to their move, even though I’m aware that it’s not going to be easy for any of us in the beginning. But at least I have lots of places to turn for advice.
Friday, June 29, 2007
Money Talks
A few weeks ago Drew and I made a significant payment on a credit card that will take us a step closer to being completely debt free before we venture into buying a house. We high-fived each other after we wrote the check and congratulated ourselves for being so mature and organized about handling our finances. Our Tuesday night bill-paying and financial planning powwows were finally paying off - literally.
It was not always so.
I admit: I am the spender of the family. I love to shop. Drew, on the other hand, does not admit that he is a shopper or a spender, even though he is. He might not be spending on clothes or shoes, but his are bigger ticket items: A digital camera here, a set of bagpipes there, or lunch for his entire staff. And when he does shop for clothes or shoes, he is not the kind who will wait for a sale or scour the aisles at TJ Maxx for a bargain.
This is not a problem now that we are both making pretty good salaries, but at the start of our marriage, we had issues. Not only did we not have a lot of money, we were somehow ashamed to talk about the fact that we had to budget. I think he was feeling pressure to “provide” for me and I didn’t want to adjust to being accountable with my money to someone else. This lead to many fights and some nasty surprises on our bank statements at the end of the month.
Talking to my friends, I was relieved to find out that our past arguments about money and our continuing struggles to come to terms with how to handle finances are the norm.
What still shocks me is that fights about money always get so personal. There is always so much guilt and emotion during these fights, even though they are about “just money.” Money, which technically should not be making us happy or unhappy, yet the way we handle money can come to exemplify childhood hurts and reflect our upbringing and our values. These arguments bring to surface our expectations of what we want our lives to be, and brings us face to face with what our lives are not.
And that’s even before the checkbook is balanced.
Drew and I still struggle to define how we communicate about money. How do I ask for his ATM receipts without sounding like I am nagging or checking up on his spending? How does he tell me that I should put off a purchase in favor of paying a bill without sounding like he is trying to control me? How do I fit something simple like a pedicure into our budget, without feeling like I have to ask for an allowance?
There is no one answer that will work for every couple. Even though we have our financial routines down to a science now, Drew still gets frustrated from time to time and I still get emotional and defensive. But we are sitting together every Tuesday night, checkbook and bills in hand, and we are talking about what we hope to achieve together, as a couple – a house, a baby, maybe, finally, a honeymoon.
And that’s hard to get defensive about.
It was not always so.
I admit: I am the spender of the family. I love to shop. Drew, on the other hand, does not admit that he is a shopper or a spender, even though he is. He might not be spending on clothes or shoes, but his are bigger ticket items: A digital camera here, a set of bagpipes there, or lunch for his entire staff. And when he does shop for clothes or shoes, he is not the kind who will wait for a sale or scour the aisles at TJ Maxx for a bargain.
This is not a problem now that we are both making pretty good salaries, but at the start of our marriage, we had issues. Not only did we not have a lot of money, we were somehow ashamed to talk about the fact that we had to budget. I think he was feeling pressure to “provide” for me and I didn’t want to adjust to being accountable with my money to someone else. This lead to many fights and some nasty surprises on our bank statements at the end of the month.
Talking to my friends, I was relieved to find out that our past arguments about money and our continuing struggles to come to terms with how to handle finances are the norm.
What still shocks me is that fights about money always get so personal. There is always so much guilt and emotion during these fights, even though they are about “just money.” Money, which technically should not be making us happy or unhappy, yet the way we handle money can come to exemplify childhood hurts and reflect our upbringing and our values. These arguments bring to surface our expectations of what we want our lives to be, and brings us face to face with what our lives are not.
And that’s even before the checkbook is balanced.
Drew and I still struggle to define how we communicate about money. How do I ask for his ATM receipts without sounding like I am nagging or checking up on his spending? How does he tell me that I should put off a purchase in favor of paying a bill without sounding like he is trying to control me? How do I fit something simple like a pedicure into our budget, without feeling like I have to ask for an allowance?
There is no one answer that will work for every couple. Even though we have our financial routines down to a science now, Drew still gets frustrated from time to time and I still get emotional and defensive. But we are sitting together every Tuesday night, checkbook and bills in hand, and we are talking about what we hope to achieve together, as a couple – a house, a baby, maybe, finally, a honeymoon.
And that’s hard to get defensive about.
Spousal support
I spent this past Saturday night in a very crowded and warm church, sitting on an impossibly uncomfortable pew. It wasn’t some religious fervor that drove me there and, trust me, I do have better ways of spending a lovely summer evening. But my husband, Drew, is a member of a community chorus that held its concert this weekend and, as his wife, I felt like I had to be there.
I wanted to be there.
As I sat there, trying to ignore the spasm that was forming in my back, I thought of all the events I attended to show my support for him. There were the firefighter conventions in Pennsylvania, where he participated in the “battle of the barrel” with his fellow firefighters (two opposing teams try to keep a barrel in the air by aiming high-powered fire hoses at it). While he was engaged in some manly bonding time, I spent the day fighting mosquitoes, trying to find some shade and a not-too-revolting bathroom.
Lately, since he’s taken up bagpiping and joined a Highland band, I spent plenty of time helping him get dressed in his Scottish warrior outfit: shirt, kilt, knee socks, the funny white socks that go over his shoes and have several tiny buttons, the sporran that goes under the huge belt and buckle, little tassels that go under the socks just so, and a hat. It takes about 30 minutes to get ready. For his first parade, we had to get up at 5 a.m. on a Saturday to drive to New Hampshire. I spent the day carrying various pieces of bagpiping equipment, marching along with the band (uphill for miles) and taking pictures. The day ended at a pub in Portsmouth, with about 20 men in kilts, drinking Guinness. I was in need of a drink by then as well.
I can’t say that none of these little adventures are fun. I mean, who doesn’t enjoy men in skirts? And I have seen places and met people that I otherwise would not have. But sometimes I wonder if husbands show the same devotion to their spouse’s hobbies as wives do. Or am I overdoing it by supporting Drew and going to all these events without complaint?
It might also be that my hobbies are more solitary pursuits. They don’t require a special dressing routine or long drives — pottery and writing are not exactly spectator sports. Drew dutifully encourages me to continue with my pottery and my writing, but I don’t know for sure that he has read all of these columns, for example. I can’t really say that this bothers me — I like to write, it’s my “thing” that I do for me, not for any other reason. And I assume that he wouldn’t really care if I skipped a concert or stayed in bed for a parade.
But there is something about being there for him so that when he looks out in the crowd, he sees a familiar face that is rooting just for him. He usually gives me a little wink to let me know that he has spotted me in the crowd and then it feels like it’s just the two of us there and he is singing or playing just for me.
I suppose all this will change once we have a Baby Drew to take to soccer games or band concerts. Then it will be the two of us on the sidelines and I think I’m going to let Drew figure out the soccer uniform. That’s only fair, don’t you think?
I wanted to be there.
As I sat there, trying to ignore the spasm that was forming in my back, I thought of all the events I attended to show my support for him. There were the firefighter conventions in Pennsylvania, where he participated in the “battle of the barrel” with his fellow firefighters (two opposing teams try to keep a barrel in the air by aiming high-powered fire hoses at it). While he was engaged in some manly bonding time, I spent the day fighting mosquitoes, trying to find some shade and a not-too-revolting bathroom.
Lately, since he’s taken up bagpiping and joined a Highland band, I spent plenty of time helping him get dressed in his Scottish warrior outfit: shirt, kilt, knee socks, the funny white socks that go over his shoes and have several tiny buttons, the sporran that goes under the huge belt and buckle, little tassels that go under the socks just so, and a hat. It takes about 30 minutes to get ready. For his first parade, we had to get up at 5 a.m. on a Saturday to drive to New Hampshire. I spent the day carrying various pieces of bagpiping equipment, marching along with the band (uphill for miles) and taking pictures. The day ended at a pub in Portsmouth, with about 20 men in kilts, drinking Guinness. I was in need of a drink by then as well.
I can’t say that none of these little adventures are fun. I mean, who doesn’t enjoy men in skirts? And I have seen places and met people that I otherwise would not have. But sometimes I wonder if husbands show the same devotion to their spouse’s hobbies as wives do. Or am I overdoing it by supporting Drew and going to all these events without complaint?
It might also be that my hobbies are more solitary pursuits. They don’t require a special dressing routine or long drives — pottery and writing are not exactly spectator sports. Drew dutifully encourages me to continue with my pottery and my writing, but I don’t know for sure that he has read all of these columns, for example. I can’t really say that this bothers me — I like to write, it’s my “thing” that I do for me, not for any other reason. And I assume that he wouldn’t really care if I skipped a concert or stayed in bed for a parade.
But there is something about being there for him so that when he looks out in the crowd, he sees a familiar face that is rooting just for him. He usually gives me a little wink to let me know that he has spotted me in the crowd and then it feels like it’s just the two of us there and he is singing or playing just for me.
I suppose all this will change once we have a Baby Drew to take to soccer games or band concerts. Then it will be the two of us on the sidelines and I think I’m going to let Drew figure out the soccer uniform. That’s only fair, don’t you think?
Monday, June 4, 2007
Free marriage advice available here!
Now that the official start of the wedding season is upon us, I’d like to share some marriage advice that I’ve accumulated over the last five years of my marriage. It might not work for everyone, but you can pick and choose the ones that have meaning for you. And as with all free advice – it’s only worth as much as you paid for it!
1. Speak up! If your spouse does something that annoys you – whether it’s something small like leaving socks in the middle of the living room; or something big, like not listening to you – you need to speak up early. Even if it sounds silly, even if you feel like you are nagging. If you don’t say something now, you will become resentful towards those socks and eventually towards your spouse. And the poor guy/girl won’t even know what hit her/him when you finally blow up after years of putting up and shutting up.
2. Be nice to your mother-in-law. And your brother-in-law. And your grandpa-in-law. It’s not important to like them, but it’s important to recognize that they are your spouse’s crazy family. You have yours, don’t you? So respect each other’s families and accept that everyone’s family is a little nuts.
3. Snuggle.
4. You will have fights. This is normal. It doesn’t mean that the marriage is over, or that you don’t love each other anymore. It just means, that well, you are humans. But don’t bring up past hurts or attack each other’s personalities or any of that other nasty stuff. Be fair. And never underestimate the healing power of a good fight, cry, a heavy door you can slam, and then open up to make up.
5. Leave something to the imagination – please. All right, so you can’t hide your hair removing devices for the rest of your life, and you can’t be lady-like when you have the stomach flu, or that nasty zit on your back. But it’s not going to kill you to take off your ex-boyfriend’s boxers and your high school T-shirt for a couple of nights, and slip into something cuter, right? This is true for guys too – contrary to popular belief, your high school mesh T-shirt isn’t attractive either.
6. Put down the toilet seat. Really.
7. Get away from each other! Get a hobby! Go out with friends! Please, do not become one of those couples that only do things together. It’s really annoying to your friends and ultimately very bad for your relationship. You need to go out and have your own adventures so that you can keep coming home and have something new and fun to share.
8. Talk about money. All. The. Time. This sucks, but it’s the best way to make sure that you can achieve your financial goals and have enough left for lattes. One person always ends up being the spender and the other the saver. (If you are both spenders, good luck to you!) Respect each other’s money habits, but be flexible and compromise. Nobody should have to ask his/her spouse for spending money.
9. Stop blaming it on PMS! Both of you!
10. You will only know what “for richer for poorer; for sickness and in health” means when one of you gets sick or you struggle with money. They are both worth living through together – you will be the stronger for it.
1. Speak up! If your spouse does something that annoys you – whether it’s something small like leaving socks in the middle of the living room; or something big, like not listening to you – you need to speak up early. Even if it sounds silly, even if you feel like you are nagging. If you don’t say something now, you will become resentful towards those socks and eventually towards your spouse. And the poor guy/girl won’t even know what hit her/him when you finally blow up after years of putting up and shutting up.
2. Be nice to your mother-in-law. And your brother-in-law. And your grandpa-in-law. It’s not important to like them, but it’s important to recognize that they are your spouse’s crazy family. You have yours, don’t you? So respect each other’s families and accept that everyone’s family is a little nuts.
3. Snuggle.
4. You will have fights. This is normal. It doesn’t mean that the marriage is over, or that you don’t love each other anymore. It just means, that well, you are humans. But don’t bring up past hurts or attack each other’s personalities or any of that other nasty stuff. Be fair. And never underestimate the healing power of a good fight, cry, a heavy door you can slam, and then open up to make up.
5. Leave something to the imagination – please. All right, so you can’t hide your hair removing devices for the rest of your life, and you can’t be lady-like when you have the stomach flu, or that nasty zit on your back. But it’s not going to kill you to take off your ex-boyfriend’s boxers and your high school T-shirt for a couple of nights, and slip into something cuter, right? This is true for guys too – contrary to popular belief, your high school mesh T-shirt isn’t attractive either.
6. Put down the toilet seat. Really.
7. Get away from each other! Get a hobby! Go out with friends! Please, do not become one of those couples that only do things together. It’s really annoying to your friends and ultimately very bad for your relationship. You need to go out and have your own adventures so that you can keep coming home and have something new and fun to share.
8. Talk about money. All. The. Time. This sucks, but it’s the best way to make sure that you can achieve your financial goals and have enough left for lattes. One person always ends up being the spender and the other the saver. (If you are both spenders, good luck to you!) Respect each other’s money habits, but be flexible and compromise. Nobody should have to ask his/her spouse for spending money.
9. Stop blaming it on PMS! Both of you!
10. You will only know what “for richer for poorer; for sickness and in health” means when one of you gets sick or you struggle with money. They are both worth living through together – you will be the stronger for it.
Friday, May 18, 2007
What nobody tells you
My brother, Andras, recently had a sort of awakening about the facts of married life. He was married last October and he and his wife, Jenny, are still in the stage of newlywed bliss when couples call each other “honey” and “baby” and there is a lot of kissing and hugging going on.
A few weeks ago though, Jenny’s grandmother died. They made the drive to Virginia for the funeral and my brother hoped that he could sort of get lost in the crowd and just be there quietly to support Jenny.
It was not to be … Within a few hours of their arrival, he found himself as one of the pallbearers—probably not a very pleasant duty. I think he was still a bit shaken up by the experience when we talked a few days later.
“Nobody tells you this kind of stuff,” he said. “Nobody tells you before the wedding that in a couple of months you are going to be carrying your wife’s grandmother to her grave.”
Ah, yes. There are many things nobody talks about before the wedding. Usually everyone involved is very concerned about your gown or tux, the color of the napkins, the flowers, the cake and picking the right photographer. Nobody talks about the nitty-gritty details of everyday married life and the stuff you’ll have to go through for and because of your spouse.
My little after-wedding surprise was an early morning phone call from Drew on a sunny Saturday, just a month after our wedding. As a volunteer firefighter, he was on a practice burn with his fire company when his gear failed and he got burned from shoulder to elbow. A month before that day, when I was all decked out in a beautiful wedding gown and we danced the night away, the last thing I expected was bandaging third-degree burns on my beloved’s arm. I wouldn’t have even thought that I actually knew how to take care of burn injuries.
And that’s the thing about marriage. No matter how big your extended family might be, suddenly it’s just the 2 of you in this little cocooned unit. When your spouse is in trouble or pain, it’s you who is going to get the phone call, not his mom, or siblings or friends. You are the one who has to bandage the wounds, carry the casket, make the chicken soup or drive to the emergency room.
In the process, you realize that you have all these skills that you never thought you had—you suddenly become an expert nurse, a master chef and a therapist all in one. And what’s even better, is that in return, you suddenly have your own personal nurse, chef and therapist.
Of course, marriage is not all about injuries and death. You’ll also discover a lot of perks—like someone to warm your cold feet at night without much complaint. And somehow along the way, “for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health” will suddenly make a lot more sense than it did when you first uttered those words.
A few weeks ago though, Jenny’s grandmother died. They made the drive to Virginia for the funeral and my brother hoped that he could sort of get lost in the crowd and just be there quietly to support Jenny.
It was not to be … Within a few hours of their arrival, he found himself as one of the pallbearers—probably not a very pleasant duty. I think he was still a bit shaken up by the experience when we talked a few days later.
“Nobody tells you this kind of stuff,” he said. “Nobody tells you before the wedding that in a couple of months you are going to be carrying your wife’s grandmother to her grave.”
Ah, yes. There are many things nobody talks about before the wedding. Usually everyone involved is very concerned about your gown or tux, the color of the napkins, the flowers, the cake and picking the right photographer. Nobody talks about the nitty-gritty details of everyday married life and the stuff you’ll have to go through for and because of your spouse.
My little after-wedding surprise was an early morning phone call from Drew on a sunny Saturday, just a month after our wedding. As a volunteer firefighter, he was on a practice burn with his fire company when his gear failed and he got burned from shoulder to elbow. A month before that day, when I was all decked out in a beautiful wedding gown and we danced the night away, the last thing I expected was bandaging third-degree burns on my beloved’s arm. I wouldn’t have even thought that I actually knew how to take care of burn injuries.
And that’s the thing about marriage. No matter how big your extended family might be, suddenly it’s just the 2 of you in this little cocooned unit. When your spouse is in trouble or pain, it’s you who is going to get the phone call, not his mom, or siblings or friends. You are the one who has to bandage the wounds, carry the casket, make the chicken soup or drive to the emergency room.
In the process, you realize that you have all these skills that you never thought you had—you suddenly become an expert nurse, a master chef and a therapist all in one. And what’s even better, is that in return, you suddenly have your own personal nurse, chef and therapist.
Of course, marriage is not all about injuries and death. You’ll also discover a lot of perks—like someone to warm your cold feet at night without much complaint. And somehow along the way, “for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health” will suddenly make a lot more sense than it did when you first uttered those words.
Dating your hubby-mission possible?
“So, after you’re done with cleaning, do you want to go out and grab some Chinese?” Drew yells from the living room. I am wearing rubber gloves up to my elbows with my trusty disposable toilet brush in one hand (thank you, whoever invented that!) and a wad of paper towels in the other. I am wearing my old sweatpants from college and a T-shirt that has seen better days. It’s Saturday night: time to go on a date!
Once you’re married, dating is just never the same. There is no anticipation, no giddiness, no long hours of consultation with girlfriends about what to wear. And afterwards, there is no debriefing on the phone, no analysis of every word spoken or every move made. And it is really hard to feel sexy and desirable after your hubby’s just seen you with your hands in the toilet. Is it even considered a real date if you’re going out because the only food in the fridge is butter and pickles?
Of course, the relationship experts tell you how important it is to keep the romance alive in a marriage. They say that you should plan evenings alone and rediscover each other over candlelit dinners and long gazes into each other’s eyes, and that you should wear something new and risqué in bed every now and then to spice things up.
Yeah, right.
We don’t have kids yet, but I can already tell that even without kids this “keeping the romance alive” thing is hard. Between jobs, stress, in-laws, friends, hobbies and more work, I’m glad we remember each other’s names at the end of the day.
I do complain from time to time that I don’t get flowers that often anymore, that we don’t go on “real” dates and that we watch too much TV in the evenings instead of reconnecting after a long day or week. But then an unexpected connection in the middle of a bad day reminds me that what I thought was a romantic date in college or in my single days is no longer what I want romance to be.
During one of the recent winter storms, we were without electricity for a day. Neither of us slept well the night before because the power kept popping off and then on, we listened to the wind howl and were generally concerned about the violent weather outside our windows. Drew had to go to work in the morning and he was cranky because he couldn’t shave without his electric razor and he missed his energizing hot morning shower. I was cranky, because I was in a cold, dark house all day, alone, and a little scared. I felt dirty and stinky and just plain unattractive.
I drove to Drew’s office during his lunch hour and we went out to eat together. The streets were deserted and the restaurant was quiet too. We sat down, ordered, and talked and talked about all kinds of stuff, like we hadn’t seen each other in days — about the stupid weather, things going on at our offices, plans for the summer, about my parents, about his Mom and siblings, about what to do with the food in the freezer if we don’t get our power back soon.
Drew suddenly stopped in mid-sentence and said: “Zsozso, are we on a date?”
I only had to think for a second to realize that we were, indeed, on a date.
It’s true, I wasn’t wearing my lucky shoes, my hair wasn’t done and he didn’t bring me roses. But I was sitting across the table from a really cute guy, talking non-stop, laughing and playing footsie under the table. I didn’t have to worry about whether I was funny, whether there was food on my teeth or whether he might think that I’m a pig for finishing off that burger.
I knew that I was going to get a kiss in the end, no matter what.
Once you’re married, dating is just never the same. There is no anticipation, no giddiness, no long hours of consultation with girlfriends about what to wear. And afterwards, there is no debriefing on the phone, no analysis of every word spoken or every move made. And it is really hard to feel sexy and desirable after your hubby’s just seen you with your hands in the toilet. Is it even considered a real date if you’re going out because the only food in the fridge is butter and pickles?
Of course, the relationship experts tell you how important it is to keep the romance alive in a marriage. They say that you should plan evenings alone and rediscover each other over candlelit dinners and long gazes into each other’s eyes, and that you should wear something new and risqué in bed every now and then to spice things up.
Yeah, right.
We don’t have kids yet, but I can already tell that even without kids this “keeping the romance alive” thing is hard. Between jobs, stress, in-laws, friends, hobbies and more work, I’m glad we remember each other’s names at the end of the day.
I do complain from time to time that I don’t get flowers that often anymore, that we don’t go on “real” dates and that we watch too much TV in the evenings instead of reconnecting after a long day or week. But then an unexpected connection in the middle of a bad day reminds me that what I thought was a romantic date in college or in my single days is no longer what I want romance to be.
During one of the recent winter storms, we were without electricity for a day. Neither of us slept well the night before because the power kept popping off and then on, we listened to the wind howl and were generally concerned about the violent weather outside our windows. Drew had to go to work in the morning and he was cranky because he couldn’t shave without his electric razor and he missed his energizing hot morning shower. I was cranky, because I was in a cold, dark house all day, alone, and a little scared. I felt dirty and stinky and just plain unattractive.
I drove to Drew’s office during his lunch hour and we went out to eat together. The streets were deserted and the restaurant was quiet too. We sat down, ordered, and talked and talked about all kinds of stuff, like we hadn’t seen each other in days — about the stupid weather, things going on at our offices, plans for the summer, about my parents, about his Mom and siblings, about what to do with the food in the freezer if we don’t get our power back soon.
Drew suddenly stopped in mid-sentence and said: “Zsozso, are we on a date?”
I only had to think for a second to realize that we were, indeed, on a date.
It’s true, I wasn’t wearing my lucky shoes, my hair wasn’t done and he didn’t bring me roses. But I was sitting across the table from a really cute guy, talking non-stop, laughing and playing footsie under the table. I didn’t have to worry about whether I was funny, whether there was food on my teeth or whether he might think that I’m a pig for finishing off that burger.
I knew that I was going to get a kiss in the end, no matter what.
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