wifercize wednesday: don'ts for wives

While enjoying an extravagant dinner and witty banter with our friends Ben and Sarah, I found (and read) these two books while in the bathroom.  Correction, I did not read the two books cover to cover.  In fact, I skimmed the first few pages, became uneasy about the amount of time I had been missing from the meal, and took the books with me.

They are now on lend to me to write this special Wifercize Wednesday.

Published in 1913, one would assume (as I did) that these two manuals - conveniently blue and red to yet further distinguish the genders and keep colour sexism alive - would be a laugh.  Outdated misogynistic advice written by an opinionated man who desired to put his wife in order and thought it prudent to write a companion edition for husbands to keep the peace.

The author of both books is, in fact, a woman by the name of Blanche Ebbutt.  In prefaces she writes in both volumes, she appeals to each sex in turn.  To the wives: "I hope she [the average wife] may find it worthwhile to take a few hints from an old hand."  To the husbands: "You are neither as bad nor as good a fellow as you imagine yourself to be...  As for men- well, I have a husband myself!"

I wish I could take the time to write out all my favourites from both books but, as they are only 73 tiny pages each, it would basically mean a re-write and you'd be better off buying them for yourself.  Instead, I'll post some of the best from each category to whet your appetites.  Wives, take note.

PERSONALITIES

Don't expect your husband to have all the feminine virtues as well as all the masculine ones.  There would be nothing left for you if your other half were such a paragon.

Don't put on airs with your husband.   If you can't be natural with him, you shouldn't have married him.

Don't let your husband feel that you are a 'dear little woman', but no good intellectually.  If you find yourself getting stale, wake up your brain.  Let there be nothing your husband can talk about that you will be unable to understand.  

HOW TO AVOID DISCORD

Don't say, 'I told you so,' to your husband, however much you feel tempted to.  It does no good, and he will be grateful to you for not saying it.

Don't keep your sweetest smiles and your best manners for outsiders; let your husband come first.

Don't snub your husband.  Nothing is more unpleasant for lookers-on than to hear a snub administered by a wife, and it is more than unpleasant for the husband; it is degrading. 

HABITS

Don't check your husband's high spirits.  Let him sing a the top of his voice in the bathroom, or whistle out of tune on the stairs, and be thankful for a cheerful man about the house.

Don't think it beneath you to put your husband's slippers ready for him.  On a cold evening, especially, it makes all the difference to his comfort if the soles are warmed through.

FINANCIAL MATTERS

Don't expect to begin where your parents left off.  A little struggle in your early married life won't hurt you.

Don't have any secrets from your husband in financial matters.  Complete confidence is best.  Don't let him have any financial secrets from you.  You are partners, and you have as much right to know what is the balance at the bank as he has.

Don't confuse stinginess with economy.  You can be careful without being mean. 

EVENINGS AT HOME

Don't omit the kiss of greeting.  It cheers a man when he is tired to feel that his wife is glad to see him home.

Don't get the idea that all your husband wants is a housekeeper, or a decorative head of the table.  He wants a companion and when he is at home he doesn't want you to be always somewhere else. 

JEALOUSY

Don't try to excite your husband's jealousy by flirting with other men.  You may succeed better than you want to.  It is like playing with tigers and edged tools and volcanoes all in one.

Don't be jealous, anyway.  It belittles you, puts you at a disadvantage, and, if your husband thinks about it, is apt to make him unbearably conceited.  Nothing makes you look old and worn sooner than jealousy, and nothing makes you more ridiculous. 

RECREATION

Don't forget the anniversary of your wedding.  Keep it up.  The little celebration will draw you closer together year by year.

Don't be afraid to rough it now and then with your husband as a companion.  If he feels that he would like a week's walking tour with you as a chum, don't object that it may rain, or that you haven't a suitable dress, or that you can't manage for a week with nothing in the way of luggage except a nightdress and a tooth-brush.  Enter into the spirit of the thing, and you'll get quite as much fun out of it as he will, and be happier than if he accompanied you to some fashionable resort where you would need to dress three or four times a day.

FOOD

Don't forget to 'feed the brute' well.  Much depends on the state of his digestion.

DRESS

Don't impose your ideas on your husband in matters of individual taste so long as his style is not bad.  He has a right to his own views.

Don't reject your husband's advice on matters of dress without good reason.  Many men have excellent taste and original ideas on the subject.

ENTERTAINING

Don't refuse to entertain your husband's friends on the ground that it is a 'bother'.  Nothing pains a man more than finding only a cold welcome when he brings home a chum.

Don't try to 'amuse' your guest every minute of the day.  If they feel thoroughly at home, the amusement will come naturally.  Don't forget to have books in every room.

 Don't refuse to entertain at all because you can't do it on the same scale as your neighbours.  The 'jolly little party' is generally preferred to the starchy reception. 

mama monday: weeks 9, 10, 11 and 12

First, let's answer some fan mail.

Yes.

My intention, once I announced our pregnancy to the world, was to update Mama Mondays weekly with information about how far along I was, etc.  In fact, the intention behind Mama Monday itself was to post about pregnancy and motherhood.

But first trimester had other plans.

Each day of my first trimester played out the same as the one before:

Wake up after 10+ hours of sleep, hungry.
Pee.

Breakfast.

Pee.
Snack.

Pee.

Lunch.
Pee.
Nap.
Pee.

Dinner.

Pee.

Relax in the evening with Andrew.

Pee twice or three times more.

While I snack.

Pee.
Bed by 10:00 p.m.

So here's a rundown of recent events.

Week 9

According to website research, Baby Gaz is now about 1 inch which here is represented by this partially eaten pickle.  Mmm, pickle.

In fact, the number one thing I have been craving over the past few weeks has been sour things.  Grapefruit, pickles, vinegar, tziziki sauce.  Oh, and salty things but that's not much of a break from tradition.  Andrew claims that he'll get me a salt lick for Christmas one year.

Baby Gaz and I are both doing fine.  In fact, I meant to include a video Andrew made for our small group when we announced the pregnancy - in it, Baby Gaz makes its first film debut and you can hear the heartbeat: 

Week 10

Baby Gaz is now the size of this delicious Reece Peanut Butter © chocolate egg my mom bought us for Easter which, although I have sworn off caffeinated drinks for the first trimester, I have no qualms eating in handfuls.  Baby Gaz is also already begun making demands:

I don't like meat.
I don't like greasy foods.
I don't like complicated sauces or dressings.
I don't like when mommy smells meat, greasy foods, complicated sauces or dressings.
I don't like when mommy looks at billboards of meat, greasy foods, complicated sauces or dressings.
I don't like it when mommy brushes her teeth.
I don't like it when mommy stays awake for too long.
I don't like it when mommy doesn't eat every few hours.

I want someone to hang out with from 3:00 a.m. until at least 4:00 a.m. every morning.

This uterus is too small.
This bladder is crowding me.
This stomach needs to take up less space.

Week 11

As I rummage around the house for various items that represent the growth of Baby Gaz I recognize that I will have to employ creative tactics.  Like opening an entire 900 mL bag of farfalle to use one piece for this shot at Week 11.

My primary pregnancy complaint (other than nausea which, praise Him, has begun to abate) has been regarding Baby Brain.  Simply put, I am suffering from mild amnesia as it pertains to vocabulary, direction, names, dates, multitasking of any sort, and purpose of entering a room.  My once proud University of Toronto degree still hangs proudly in our living room declaring that I achieved a degree in English, although I now frequently have conversations with Andrew about "that thingy" and how "what's her face" was so "you know" with "whatever" and...hmm?  Nevermind.  I forgot.


Week 12


This week, May 2nd, marks Week 12 on Mama Monday which also heralds SECOND TRIMESTER!  Actually, second trimester starts around Week 14 or something, blah, blah, blah.  I'm interested in speeding up this first trimester as much as possible.  And all the gagging with it.

I have...

...I forgot what I was going to type there since I raised my head for a moment to watch part of a Community episode.  Great show, by the way.

OH.  I have made my peace with all food items that once breathed.  This little velociraptor is back!

It's difficult to tell from the picture, but Baby Gaz is now the size of a two inch dried mango.  For the past two and a half months we've been compiling a list of things to register for.   Now I can't imagine owning a stroller that didn't have a chariot-optional setting to pull Baby Gaz on a sandy beach.  HOW WILL BABY GAZ ENJOY THE BEACH WITHOUT A CHARIOT-OPTIONAL SETTING?

mama monday: +

That's right, my patient little pumpkins: all the missed posts and writer's block can finally be explained.

I happen to be quite knocked up.

Oh yes, there is much more to the story.  Too much for one post so I'll have to keep you coming back for more over the next few weeks.

I'd have thought announcing our pregnancy to the world would feel more glamourous but it's hard to feel glamourous when meat makes me nauseous (MEAT, of all things...Andrew thinks that it's hilarious that his "little velociraptor" of a wife is a temporary vegetarian), I'm on a strict diet of beige - and occasionally green - food items, I'm experiencing bouts of insomnia for the first time in my life, and I now take sudden and unexpected trips to crazy town.  Oh, and my bladder is the size of a ping-pong ball.

Speaking of size, however, Baby Gaz (who will be debuting on or around November 12th of this year) is now the size of a salted cashew:

Mmm.  Salted cashew.

I most definitely ate the stand-in for Baby Gaz after this photo.

At this point, my favourite thing to announce is that no gag reflex, no sleepless night, no hormonal surge,  and no inconvenient pee schedule could possibly dampen my excitement and joy.  We've been waiting for Baby Gaz for a year and a half, and we don't mind waiting a few months more.

wifercize wednesday: absence makes the heart grow fungus*

* A moment of silence for The Barenaked Ladies of the 90s [...]

It's been four nights apart, but it feels like much longer.  For three years of marriage, Andrew and I have not been apart for longer than one night - partially circumstantial and partly by choice.  We're fortunate to both work in the same city at jobs that rarely require travel (or, at least, are flexible enough to allow us to travel together).

During this span of apartness I've thought a lot about couples I know who must spend weeks, even months, apart at a time.  My friend, Courtney, found out on a Tuesday that her husband, Gerritt, was being deployed on Wednesday afternoon for Libya.  For, potentially, six months.  Marriages like those, I think, have such an incredible structure of trust, support, encouragement and compassion that they deserve admiration equal to Notre Dame; each spouse adding a flourish of stained glass here, a supportive flying buttress there, resulting in a monument of love.

Our four nights have been spent restlessly: Andrew getting to sleep later than usual because his Skype conversations with me and me waking up multiple times in the night to adjust Andrew's temporary replacement.

Thanks to the magic of Skype, however, we have been able to talk to each other once (OK, three times) daily about everything from the trite details of our day to updates from the pastors meetings.
 

As you can see by the second photo, Andrew's enthusiasm for being documented waned as the conversations continued.  In fact, he informed me that if I didn't stop taking pictures (the tell-tale sound effect of which was audible to him) that he would cancel his video stream.  So I stopped.

Three sleeps left to go, which should be manageable enough.  Since I go everywhere with my MacBook clutched to me in case Andrew comes online and, this morning, called Sandra (our senior pastor) "Sandrew" by accident, I'm sure my travel companions will be happy when three sleeps have passed.

mama monday: mamacita!

Since last Tuesday I have been in México, first for five days in Cancún with Andrew (here) - which, by the way, was such a welcome romantic retreat for both of us that I'm having a hard time enjoying the luxurious hotel in which I now sit since a) Andrew's not here, b) it's not Cancún, and c) Andrew's not here - and now the next seven days will be in Cuernavaca with the rest of the pastoral team from our church.

Which would be marvelous, except that Andrew's not here.

Those of you who often spend time away from your significant other, for business or other, might be rolling your eyes at me but I DON'T CARE, YOU'RE A POO FACE.  And each of you had your first week away from each other so just think back to that time and try to lend me some sympathy, OK?

One of my favourite things to do while traveling is watch people - in airports, on the street, in hotels, in church, in the mall.  Some of the cutest scenes I've spotted have been Mexican mothers with their kids.  There is something so motherly about Latino women and they have no fear of disciplining, feeding, changing, or cuddling their children in public...and the children have no shame of their mothers.

I remember looking up the word "mamacita" a few months ago, because I often used it as an exclamation of incredulity but had no idea what it meant.  Here is what I discovered: 

Mamacita - slang

Meaning: As opposed to the diminutive “madrecita,” or “dear little mother” (an affectionate term for one’s mother), mamacita refers to a “babe” or a real sweet chick. It’s a very common come-on, or pick-up line. Examples: “Oye mamacita, que buena estás.” (“Hey, baby, you are so fine.”)

Which thrilled me since it looked to be the Spanish version of M.I.L.F.  ¡Go Spanish!  Brilliantly, Spanish has recognized the respect, adoration, and desire deserving of mothers.  Sure, they give birth, nurture, and raise their young but, unlike the stereotypical Western mother, a mamacita is all the sexier for having given birth, nurtured, and raised.  

It reminds me of a scrumptious post Melissa wrote back in November, entitled "Hot Mamas".  Go read it for yourself - it even stars my own hot mama!

I, for one, hope that motherhood won't diminish but will rather increase my overall confidence, body image, and sexiness.  There's nothing quite like watching a beautiful creation being used for a purpose it was created for.

mama monday: brood

I'm now receiving friendly reminders from people on Facebook:

So here's the thing.  Now that I work from home I have approximately 60 extra hours a week that I haven't had at my disposal since...infancy.  It's been wonderful to eat when I want, nap when I want (AND I WANT), read when I want, clean when I want, and write when I want.

Which is the problem.

I don't often feel like writing.

Or, rather, I feel like writing but I have all this time to make it GOOD.  And the more guilty I feel about not writing, the worse it is.  I had hoped all this free time would inspire me to write and write and WRITE my little fingers to nubs due to the overflow of passion and insight and optimism and revelation.

Instead, all this free time has inspired me to brood.

brood (verb)

1. think deeply about something that makes one unhappy : he brooded over his need to find a wife.
2. (of a bird) sit on (eggs) to hatch them.
   (of a fish, frog, or invertebrate) hold (developing eggs) within the body.
3. (of silence, a storm, etc.) hang or hover closely : a winter storm broods over the lake.

So it's not surprising as I sit around and "think deeply about something that makes me unhappy" that I would also be hatching, holding, and hovering over my writing without having much to show for it.  I guess it's the same as motherhood sometimes.  Lots of time spent brooding before you have a brood.

"Mother doesn't like me playing Beethoven.
She says I'm always peevish afterwards."
- Lucy Honeychurch

(A Room With A View, E.M. Forester)

foto friday: I'M ALIVE

Here's proof that I have not deserted you.  I'm apparently just perfecting my skill of writing drafts.

In fact, most if not all of the drafts that I've written recently have been typed, deleted, re-typed, deleted again, and onwards in a never-ending cycle of indecision.  If only soul searching didn't act as as a costive block for my writing.

And now I've likened my writing to a bowel movement, which would make my blog...a toilet?

In a tremendous effort to write SOMETHING down - yes, I've read the comments left for me on my Facebook wall:

I figured I'd a) stick to writing and not deleting (hence, the above toilet comment), and b) start with a Foto Friday to get back into the swing of things.  How intimidating could photo captions possibly be?  We shall see.

These two parties should never meet.

Since watching this video, it has become impossible for me not to comment on things like this.

Sunbathing, part 1.

I found this book in the bookshelf of the amazing Red Room on Spadina.  The key adjective is "happily".

He's a wee bit bigger than he was last October, but we still treat him like a lap dog.  Solomon's take on it?  A+, as usual.

Sunbathing, part 2.

Andrew and I volunteered at this year's Kids Fest and I checked an item off my Bucket List: to pet a tiger.  Yes, it was everything you thought it was.

Hipster Cat, a portrait.

A wonderful little cafe on Annette called The Good Neighbour.  G'head and check it out if you live/work/shop in the area.

Because Hipster Cat is too good for the couch.

Noah joined a west side gangsta crew early.

Someone does not understand personal space.

Andrew celebrated his 31st birthday on March 6th of this year, and we had friends over for a mammoth meal followed by...Nintendo Wii.  Andrew said he felt like he was 15 again.  But 15 drinking wine.

I can't decide which is the best aspect of this portrait.  The mullet?  The pug?  The leather jacket emblazoned with mountain, lake, and giant bald eagle?