wifersize wednesday: the couple that prays together...

If the slogan were true, presumably, there wouldn't be a 21-34% (BTW: who keeps saying 50%?...let's find that person and tell them to stop being a party pooper) divorce rate among those claiming to be Christians.  But I'm not here to rant about divorce or why/when/where/how it functions in society.  I'd rather stick to Precious Moments™ stuffed angel dolls.

No one needs to tell married people that marriage is difficult.  We know.  Just last night I had a near meltdown trying to decide if I wanted to watch "The Client", "Double Jeopardy", or "Micmacs" for date night.  Was I in the mood for a thriller starring Tommy Lee Jones, a different thriller starring Tommy Lee Jones, or a foreign comedy?  We consulted each of the films' Tomatometers, watched the trailers, and eventually resorted to rock, paper, scissors (first, between thriller and foreign, then between each of the thillers).  Andrew learned last night that when I say, "I don't care" about a movie choice, I mean just that.  Making me care will result in me wedging my head between couch cushions to scream.

Life isn't always easy and it doesn't just end at date night movie selection.  Sometimes it's job selection, or car selection, or house selection.  Sometimes it's family holidays, or hard days at work, or trying to have a baby.

Last April, when Andrew and I were in Mexico for a pastor's retreat (sounds glamourous, I know, except that we were only there for 48 hours which was just long enough for me to contract a case of explosive diarrhea), he rolled over in bed and proposed, "Let's pray together before we go to sleep.  It doesn't have to be long, and it doesn't have to be every night, but I'd like it if we prayed together."

It seemed like a decent enough question - after all: we are pastors.  Some of you are horrified that we don't pray together all THROUGH the night but, no, we don't.  We're human too.  We like to dive into bed after a long day, kiss, and fall asleep as soon as our bodies allow us to (10 seconds, on average, for me and about 40 minutes for Andrew).  We'd pray together for The Big Things but hadn't, as of yet, prayed regularly, every night, for everything.

And, because we're human, it was awkward at first.  Often we'd forget.  Often we'd I'd pretend to forget when really I couldn't think of anything to pray about, or I was mad at something, or I just wanted to sleep.  But we became used to it and now we do it fairly regularly.  You know what?  It's really, really nice.  Nicer than I thought it would be.  There's something wonderfully soothing about your husband's-right-beside-your-pillow-voice chatting to God about the day, about the problems we both faced in it, and about people in our lives we love.

The Washington Post wrote an article a little while back entitled "Couples who share religious practices tend to be happier than those who don't".  In it, an interviewed woman sums it up nicely:

"Prayer is the great reconciler."

Since marriage is difficult I figure we should invest on being reconciled to each other at least daily.  And since God was with us on Day 1 of our marriage, it's nice to end each of its days with him.

"The family that prays together stays together; 

and if you stay together, you will love one another with 

the same love with which God loves each one of us."

[Mother Theresa]

mama monday: dolce far niente

A few girlies and I watched "Eat, Pray, Love" on the weekend and delighted in all 38% of its tomato-freshness.  None of us are sure why it received such poor reviews (it's schmaltzy, romantic and fluffy...and that's exactly what we wanted) but we didn't let it ruin our opinion(s), or our enjoyment of treating ourselves to manicures and pedicures afterwards.  Sugar and spice and everything nice.

I would have been just as happy to watch the film on mute, so beautiful were the scenes shot on location in Italy, India and Bali.  One particular scene, set in Rome, stuck with me:

Find more videos like this on www.truveo.com.

I may have taken a course dropped a course in introductory Italian during university, and I may be married into an Italian family presently, but - let me assure you - dolce far niente doesn't come easily to me.  As, I expect, is the case for many of us. 

The baby-making issue raises its little head from time to time, reminding me (as many others have reminded me) to "take things easy", "just relax", and "rest yourself".  Perhaps babies have the good sense to avoid being conceived in an environment that lacks peace. 

Happiness is one thing, peace is something else.  I can be hostessing a party, reorganizing my day timer, attending a conference, or traveling to another country and be COMPLETELY HAPPY.  I feel fulfilled, energized, and alive.  But I don't know if I could say that I feel peaceful.  I kind of feel more like this:

(from Hyperbole & A Half)

When I looked up the expression that has stabbed me in the brain ever since I heard it, dolce far niente, which literally means "the sweetness of nothing", I found images that inspired me.  The phrase seems to have inspired many more, since artist after artist painted "Dolce far Niente"s and they all looked similar.  Peace, tranquility, rest, poise, ease.

Doing nothing.

foto friday: welcome to the castle

Last week I posted a photo of a lonesome little potted plant wedged in the window of The Castle.  The following is a detailed description of this fine citadel.

The Castle, a fearsome fortress of estrogen, stands in the kingdom of High Park.  Six princesses currently reside there, although Princess Grzetic is pledged to marry a prince from a neighbouring kingdom and she will be transporting her estate by chariot later next week.

The Castle boasts six private quarters, a wing dedicated to quiet study and artistic endeavours, two food preparation halls, two lounges for entertaining foreign delegates, a grand front entrance, manicured gardens, and a dungeon.

The princesses cohabit in harmony with each other and relative kingdoms around them.  The Castle has been the setting for many elaborate balls thrown in honour of the princesses or one of their aristocratic peers, including the 80s themed masquerade for Princess Seachrist before she was reinstated as royalty in her home nation.

Each one of the chambers are carefully decorated according to the discriminating tastes of each princess.  The following pictorial narrative reveals a rare glimpse into the boudoir of Princess Payne and, indeed, the life of the young monarch herself.

wifercize wednesday: five years ago

Andrew came up with the idea to watch all of Seinfeld's episodes, from the beginning, as dinner entertainment.  And we did.  All nine seasons.  One episode at a time.  I now salivate when I hear the opening theme.

When we ran out of Seinfeldseses, we switched to How I Met Your Mother.  It's a current show, but we wanted to start from the beginning.  Because we're precise like that.  SO DON'T TELL US WHAT'S CURRENTLY HAPPENING ON THE SHOW.  Ted and Robin, like, just got together so I'm really, really happy right now.

I've often occasionally fantasized about telling our kids, one day, the crazy storie(s) that lead their dad and mom together.  In my fantasy, our kids listen with rapt attention to the labyrinthine tale of romance and intrigue.  In reality, I'll probably dish them pieces of it throughout the years as anecdotal warnings of what not to do.

However, if I were to tell our kids the story of how we met I'd have to start with the story a year before the story which, conveniently, was around the same time we each started blogging.*  Although we originally met ten years ago, it was 2005 that became the year of the set up even though we were on different sides of the globe.

September 7, 2005 (click here)
Andrew was on his first trip to Italy, visiting relatives and celebrating his grandparents 50th wedding anniversary.  His post outlined 11 thoughts from his travels, including:

"I’m ok on my own but I don’t want to be ok on my own… it would be nice to have a wife here with me."

September 19, 2005 (click here)
I was teaching ESL in Pyeongchon, Korea.  My plans for further travel to Scotland had been thwarted (hence the dramatic post), essentially forcing me to return to Toronto after my contract ended in November. 

Andrew started a young adult church, finished his B.Ed, and suffered mild heartbreak and I spent six weeks in Great Britain, and joined as staff at the YWAM base in Port Credit, and suffered mild heartbreak all before we reunited at Billy & Sarah's wedding on March 10, 2006.

Looking at these pictures, I want to say to them: "Don't worry, past me.  Your plans have been foiled for a very good reason.  Don't worry, past Andrew.  Your wife will come to Italy with you one day."

How does your story begin?


*  Andrew has been blogging a full year longer than I have, and I have reason to believe he'd want you to know.  Because he's precise like that.

mama monday: serenity...now

If I were granted one superhero ability it would be to fly, although living outside of time would be tempting.  Especially when I'm in the process of waiting for something.  Which is all the time.

Last week my post about chilling out prompted a response from my brother.  Here's a bit of it:

here is one quote of a friend that has demolished me:

"if I had known where I would be today, I would have been smiling all along the way"

this was written a few days before his wedding.

as I'm a fan of brain-experiments with time/space travel - I love this. think about it; look at yourself a year ago worrying about whatever that was. now look at you life now. now look at you in the future, laughing your ass off at your circumstances you worry about today. (now look back at your man - sadly, he isn't me. this post is now diamonds!)

Not only did he score extra points by referencing Old Spice, but he also ended the comment with Bobby McFerrin's "Don't Worry, Be Happy" (seriously, did anyone else know that Robin Williams is in that music video?).

The other day God said, "When you become pregnant, everything changes.  Your body changes, your priorities change, your spare time changes, and the attention of others changes - it will be on you.  For now, enjoy doing all the things that you want with your body, priorities, and spare time, and use them to pour attention out on others.  Because you can."

I love this quote:

"Once you bring life into this world, you must protect it. We must protect it by changing the world."  (Elie Weisel)

Instead of waiting for something to happen we can prepare for it to happen.  The song isn't just "Don't Worry" (we can't define ourselves by a negative), it's "Don't Worry, BE HAPPY."  If a time machine was serendipitously dropped into my life today, I'd (hopefully) have the sense to say, "No thanks.  I'm living in the present.  And there is plenty enough to do in the present to keep me occupied and happy."

Plus, it is said of the only one who is omiscient:

God is striding ahead of you. He's right there with you. He won't let you down; he won't leave you. Don't be intimidated. Don't worry.  (Deuteronomy 31:8, The Message)

---

We convince ourselves that life will be better after we get married, have a baby, then another. Then we're frustrated that the kids aren't old enough and we'll be more content when they are. After that, we're frustrated that we have teenagers to deal with. We'll certainly be happy when they're out of that stage.

We tell ourselves that our life will be complete when our spouse gets his or her act together, when we get a nicer car, are able to go on a nice vacation, when we retire.

The truth is, there's no better time to be happy than right now. If not now, when?

Your life will always be filled with challenges. It's best to admit this to yourself and decide to be happy anyway.

One of my favorite quotes comes from Alfred D. Souza. He said, "For a long time it had seemed to me that life was about to begin - real life. But there was always some obstacle in the way, something to be gotten through first, some unfinished business, time still to be served, or a debt to be paid. Then life would begin. At last it dawned on me that these obstacles were my life."

This perspective has helped me to see that there is no way to happiness. Happiness is the way. So, treasure every moment that you have and treasure it more because you shared it with someone special, special enough to spend your time with...and remember that time waits for no one.

So, stop waiting until you finish school, 

until you go back to school, 

until you lose ten pounds, 

until you gain ten pounds, 

until you have kids, 

until your kids leave the house, 

until you start work, 

until you retire, 

until you get married, 

until you get divorced, 

until Friday night, 

until Sunday morning, 

until you get a new car or home, 

until your car or home is paid off, 

until spring, 

until summer, 

until fall, 

until winter, 

until you're off welfare, 

until the first or fifteenth, 

until your song comes on, 

until you've had a drink, 

until you've sobered up, 

until you die, 

until you're born again 

to decide that there is no better time than right now to be happy.

Happiness is a journey, not a destination.

- Crystal Boyd

foto friday: bits of brown

A diversion from your Friday tasks.

I love this ad for TTC metropasses.  

It's unusual to find creative government-funded advertising.

A study in rust.

 

Out, damn'd spot! out, I say!  Cleaning day at Maison de Gazaneo.  Dishes, laundry, vacuuming.  The mountainous grouping of pillows seen in the far left are the insides of our couches.  Which we also laundered.  In a fit of cleanliness that left us both exhausted, our pets confused, and our house minty fresh.

Oberon, still determined to shed on the red couch.

This little plant has been wedged in the The Castle's* landing window all summer.  It makes me happy.

I can't tell you the extent of my love of hamsters.  

You would disown me.  This one is Emily's.

A charming place called the Holy Oak Café, at Bloor & Landsdowne.  It smells of cottage and feels equally as cozy.  The (decaf) Americano changed me.

*  More on The Castle next week.

wifercize wednesday: mr tickle

In 2006 I wrote about the Five Love Languages.  At the time, Andrew and I had been dating for a total of five months, so I was pretty sure that my results would be entirely different now that we've been married for nearly 2.5 years.  They weren't.

Complete set of results

Quality Time:		11
Physical Touch:		9
Words of Affirmation:		7
Acts of Service:		2
Receiving Gifts:		1

Take the quiz

I began to wonder if our love languages change at all over the course of our life time.  My childhood pretty much consisted of seeking an audience with various members of the family either before, during or after a cuddle, tickle, tackle or wrestle.  Nothing could surpass a road trip.  Endless hours of time together while sitting in close proximity.

How my husband is able to deal with this (especially when his second love language, when last we checked, was "acts of service" and I use my measly 2 less frequently than I should) is a mystery to me.  Thank goodness we both have "quality time" as our number one, because sometimes I wonder if my "physical touch" obsession concerns him.

Last night while we were making dinner I bounced around him (in a display not unlike our chocolate lab when we say the word PARK) and latched to him in a koala hug, possibly injuring his back.  I AM NOT ALONE.  Friends of mine share similar confessions: chasing, squeezing, and cuddling without consent are more frequent among wives than you might expect.

I hear this diminishes once children enter center stage and, wives-turned-to-mothers, our kind spends time chasing, squeezing and cuddling them instead.  Which is handy because babies can't run for the first few months or so.

I loved this book when I was little:

I loved that his arms could go anywhere in the house where he lived.  Upstairs, downstairs, out the front door.  For me, my arms only have to be as long as it requires for me to tuck my hand under Andrew's shoulder or arm.  We call it "plugging in": my love tank gets filled while I sleep.

mama mondays: just chill

Obnoxiously, one of the things I keep reading about conception is the need to relax.  This is about as helpful a piece of advice as telling someone who has arachnophobia alllll the scientific findings about spiders that make them harmless.  Well intentioned.  Entirely counterproductive.

In my quest to discover this elusive state of rest (am I allowed to call it a "quest"?...is that too stressful a term?...is my over thinking the subject contributing to stress levels?) I've come across helpful advice and not-so-helpful advice.

This has lead to a symptom not unlike having Arnold-as-Mr-Freeze narrating chill puns looping in my mind.




I read this article which was helpful right up until I clicked to the third page of helpful hints and discovered the title: "15 Ways To De-Stress Your Life" wasn't lying and that 15 individual tips were too many to remember.  I'm supposed to be relaxing.

Browsing my office copy of Chatelaine magazine (because I'm 30 and Canadian and not at all predictable) a few days ago I came across another article called "7 Days to a Stress-Free You".  Fortunately, the list down from 15 to 7 and also pitched a stress-free me in a week's time!  Unfortunately, the Getty image they chose to show relaxation was of a peppy woman flashing an energized smile as she ties up her running shoe.  No.

So I turned to TED.  There's nothing like a TED talk to make me feel like whatever I'm spending my life doing isn't big, exciting, weird, enlightened or brilliant enough...but in a good way.  This time, Nic Marks talked about the Happy Planet Index: a global index of the "happiest" countries on earth, based on human well-being and environmental footprint.



In it, he outlines the 5 Ways to Well-Being: 

1. Connect
2. Be active
3. Take notice
4. Keep learning
5. Give



I completed #1, "Connect", the other day by telling a friend of mine about my plans to decrease stress in my life this autumn, starting with a lighter weekly schedule.  She, knowing me well, responded:

"My only recommendation, the fertility expert that I am, LOL, is that you don't just plan to take more Sarah-time from your weeks, but that you actually do take it. "

And so I've successfully cut down my methods of relaxation from 15, to 7, to 5, to 1.  Just chill.

Sometimes it's easier said than done.

foto friday: sperma!

Andrew's Italian grandfather, nonno, is part retired construction worker, part backyard farmer.  Every square inch of his 10 foot by 10 foot lot (if that) is completely divided into small plots of vegetation, spices, or fruit.  He grows pears, grapes, cherries, tomatoes, zucchini, peppers, basil, several varieties of lettuce (or, as they refer to it in Andrew's family: "salad"), and even figs (which are not native to Canada) - every winter he lays the fig trees down in a hole he dug in the earth and covers them to keep them alive...every spring he uncovers them and sets them back up.

Andrew visited them a few weeks ago and as nonno prattled on in Italian about his harvest, Andrew realized that he used the word sperma for "seed".  Nonno told a story of one day seeing the most beautiful tomatoes but, pity, they grew in the garden of his French neighbour (nonno is very precise regarding national heritage).  Nonno walked up to the Frenchman's door, introduced himself, and asked to have a tomato.  The Frenchman refused.  Nonno, undeterred, impressed upon the Frenchman how amazed he was by the tomatoes, how he himself grew vegetables, and how he wanted the seeds (sperma) in order to introduce them into his own crop.

"Ah!" said the Frenchman.  "In that case, take three."

That was 15 years ago and nonno still uses keeps and uses the best seeds of the Frenchman's tomatoes.

It makes me wonder what we miss out on in our society.  I love that an old Italian and an old Frenchman can bond over their love and knowledge of growing vegetables, though neither of them were farmers.

Now that the nonno-genes are beginning to flow through my own Italian husband, I can see why he takes such pride in our tiny vegetable garden.  Instead of regretting the end of the summer, I'm looking forward to the harvest!

Pears.

Figs.

Grapes.

Tomaotes...

...the size of my head.

wifercize wednesday: travel companion

I just realized that half the time I write "wiferCize" and the other half I write "wiferSize".  Jazzercize is spelled with a "c"...should this make a difference?  Jazzercize is also a mix of "jazz" and "exercise" which is spelled with an "s" instead of a "z".  

Wifercize it shall be.

On a recent trip to Raleigh, North Carolina to visit with our good friends (and sometime pastors), Duncan and Kate, I realized two things:

1. I love (I mean l-o-v-e) traveling with my husband.
2. Marriage is, at best, shared life experiences.

Neither conclusion is ground breaking but both would be considered revolutionary by my previous self.  I used to love (I mean l-o-v-e) traveling alone.  By.  My.  Self.  Traveling in packs or even with one other companion would irritate me to no end.  My inner monologue was that of George Clooney's character in Up In The Air:

Never get behind old people. Their bodies are littered with hidden metal and they never seem to appreciate how little time they have left. Bingo, Asians. They pack light, travel efficiently, and they have a thing for slip on shoes. Gotta love 'em.

Traveling with others wasn't practical or fun.  It slowed my routine, it disrupted my contemplation, it ruined my pace, it killed my buzz.

On one of my last solo flights I sat at the window and stared out of it as the plane took off.  For an instant I pictured a husband - faceless and nameless - sitting beside me, reading a newspaper, fiddling with a cell phone, or otherwise being husband-y.  In my mind I turned to give him a kiss.  Nothing glamorous.  Just a kiss.  For fun.  I later wrote a poem about that image: my fictitious travel companion, and I was hooked on the idea from that moment.

flight to korea
november 2004

just one kiss
can’t I kiss you just once?
your lips on mine
just once
just now
I thought of you
your lips on mine
I smiled at you
in my mind
just mind
that you don’t waste
your kisses
save them for my lips
kiss me enough
your lips on mine
to make up for
today

Five years later, Andrew sits beside me and reads the in-flight magazine, plays games on his iPhone, and often tolerates a kiss (or two, or eighteen) from me.  I still prefer the window seat and he likes to offer it to me.

Last night I heard a Jamie Cullum song, All At Sea, for the first time in ages.  The lyrics used to be my anthem during the peak of my solo-travel days:

I'm all at sea
Where no-one can bother me
I sleep by myself
I drink on my own
Don't speak to nobody
I gave away my phone
Like a warm drink it seeps into my soul
Please just leave me right here on my own
Later on you could spend some time with me
If you want to
All at sea

Hearing those dismal words again reminded me of a second song, Swallowed In The Sea by Coldplay; the one Andrew told me was his favourite when we first started dating.  It became a kind of response to my resolute "all at sea" lifestyle, and challenged my isolation:

The streets you're walking on a thousand houses long
Well, that's where I belong and you belong with me
Not swallowed in the sea
You belong with me, not swallowed in the sea
Yeah, you belong with me
Not swallowed in the sea

I guess we are all susceptible of falling into one of two sentiments: either that couple-hood is the enemy, or that it is the answer.  I was once a card-carrying member of the former group but, although I don't fully agree with the latter, I now know that marriage solves many more issues than it creates.

Life, although whimsical enough if experienced unaccompanied, is best shared.

mama monday: link-a-lot

Here are a few of my favourite sites related to all things mama.  My love of babies dressed as bookworms is only surpassed by my love of witty writing so I hope you'll enjoy the selection.  Not all sites are suitable for work, men who are squeamish, or those with no sense of humour.

This site, called "Mila's Daydreams" was featured in the Globe and Mail last week.  It stars the daughter (Mila) of a mom (Adele) from Helsinki.  It's reached Antoine-Dodson-esque fame in a short amount of time since it's the cutest thing since Anne Geddes.  And 87% less saccharine.

I'm so proud to say I know these people.  Melissa, due on Thansgiving, and her husband, Jonathan, have been updating her Tumblr site, "Melissa Börger", with week-by-week countdown photos of the pregnancy.  Best.

"Pacing the Panic Room" was the original (and rudimentary, in my opinion) inspiration for Melissa's site.  Photographer Ryan took weekly pictures of his wife, Cole, leading up to the birth of their daughter, Tessa.  American Apparel heard of the project and began to send Cole maternity samples to wear in the shots!  The rest is blogging history.  For a completely adorable video of the whole process, click here.

A writer and friend of mine from university, Angela, started her blog, "The Half-Assed Housewife" a few years ago and is still not receiving the global accolades that her writing deserves.  Wife, mother (biological and of the fostering variety), knitter, vegetarian cook, and one of the funniest people I know.  The image below is from a notorious post you can read here.

New parents (as in, just found out they were pregnant a few weeks ago) Nik and Thea are friends of mine from university.  Their blog, "The Craptastics", is occasionally updated by Nik who still writes prose that can make me laugh out loud.  His poetry sucks though.

The original blogger-turned-celebrity, "Dooce", stands alone as my favourite blog of all time.  I once read through several months (years?) of her archives in one sitting.  Author (of blog and books) Heather likes to talk about wifehood, motherhood, living in Utah, her dogs, poop and boobs.  And that wasn't in order of prominence.

foto friday: table of contents, part 2

Here is this week's mixed pictorial narrative:

The TTC subway system shut down between Keele and Jane stations last week.  This crowd of people was. not. moving.  At one point, someone from miles behind me shrieked, "FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, JUST START MOVING.  WE'RE GOING TO DIE HERE."  We just giggled.

 

 The Elmwood Spa, where Andrew and I retreat to when the knots in our backs require scolding.

 

This streetcar driver brought his son to work one day.  He allowed him to open and close the doors, ring the bell, and sound the horn.  Knowing the TTC, the child was probably unionized.

 

 What could be more awesome?

Enjoyed lunch with my friend Amy at Queen Mother Cafe on Queen West.  Their patio is accessible only by traveling first through the restaurant, down a flight of stairs, through a long hallway, past the bathrooms, and back up a flight of stairs - but the outcome is worth it.

 

Andrew sorting out his teaching materials on our dining room table.  He becomes Mr. Gazaneo to two special ed classes and a careers class on September 7th!

 

Yes, we do own the most photogenic cat on the planet.  How kind of you to inquire.

 

Life imitates art outside of Café Balluchon.  Yes, that last one is a koala.  

 

I, however, do not ♥ vampires.  Andrew have laughed through watched a few of the movies from the Twilight series and cannot fathom how such an inflated budget could have been spent on a cast who can't act.