Author: jenzug

My Mug Gets Around

Danelle.

She’s cool, she’s funny, and she has pink hair – which I guess draws many “my husband would freak” comments from people, but I’m actaully wondering where she GOT the pink dye and would she be willing to do my hair because Bryan has been bugging me for years to go pink.

No joke.

But he also thinks it’s sexy that I used to smoke.

Danelle wielded her camera at a birthday party I attended a couple weeks ago and I FINALLY got face time on her blog. Danelle and I don’t cross paths much, but if we did I think we’d be fast friends (or maybe not. maybe she’ll leave mean comments on this post, but I can still dream, dammit).

In the meantime we stalk each others’ blogs.

Reading: Season of Waiting

The church I attend encourages congregational participation in the worship experience by providing opportunities for our congregants to share original poetry, responsive readings, essays, and personal stories during the course of the service.

You’ve seen some of my projects, but I wanted to share another. This past Sunday a friend shared her story of faith through difficult circumstances: on Monday she will give birth to a baby girl whose heart is broken, and she will need a heart transplant as soon as possible after she is born. Aside from knowing her and being close to the situation, I felt moved by what she has been learning about herself and God. She writes, “I have to give up the idea God exists to fix this for me; that if I just believe the ‘right way’ He’ll be forced to help me; but He’s not my voodoo jukebox and ultimately Job never knew ‘why.'”

I once had a boyfriend who thought Christians blamed everything bad on Satan and gave God credit for all the good things. But sometimes things just Are. I learned this when Gordy had cancer and ultimately died. I was angry, because he was a good person, and I had a short list of people who I felt deserved cancer more than he did. I begged God to take anyone but him.

But the fact that he died doesn’t change who God is, and I had to come to peace with that.

You can find a copy of my friend’s story on our church’s website. There is no permalink to the specific article, but click here, then scroll down to the essay titled, “Season of Waiting.”

Wherein I Bask in the Blessing that is my Life

Thomas

The way Thomas quietly soaks in the kiddy pool, hunched over his protruding belly, reminds me of the wrinkly old men on The Sopranos who sit in their steam rooms wrapped in a white towel. He has the belly, he has the bald head and the bow-legged hobble. He just needs a cigar to top it off.

A major heat wave has driven us outside for most of the day and evening, which has caused me to realize how much I love our yard. It’s like a park. In fact, yesterday I suggested we go to the park after dinner, but when After Dinner came I didn’t feel like leaving because our own yard was so much fun.

But this evening we brought a picnic dinner to our local farmer’s market, and after buying cherries and zucchini, we sat in the grass and partook – everyone except Ruthie, of course, because she no longer consumes meals during meal time. Though I don’t blame her for the apparent loss of appetite because there was another little girl who sat inches from our plates and just stared at us. Watching. Listening. It was unnerving and I kinda wanted to say ‘back off, bitch!’ but her mom was right behind her. Which brings up another point: what kind of mother ALLOWS her daughter to encroach so un-American-like on another human being?

We then let the kiddos splash around in the fountain, and when Thomas was done splashing he simply soaked like an old man in a hot tub. Ruthie, however, ran circles around the fountain at least eight times, which was fine with me because I knew she’d be tired enough to sleep when we got home.

It seems official: summer is upon us. I feel a constant film of perspiration coating my body. My cleavage and… other areas… are uncomfortably hot. And my kitchen hasn’t been cleaned in days because it’s just too damn hot to be in here.

But I’ve managed to keep my house ten degrees cooler than the outside, and my basement feels like it’s air conditioned. And all my flowers are blooming – the daisies, the lavender, the dahlias, the astilbe and hydrangea and roses – and we roast marshmallows in our fire pit, and my husband’s commute home today was ten steps up from his office to the kitchen, and my life couldn’t be any more perfect than it is right now.

Ode to a Damn Fine Husband

A friend recently said that all marriages go through a crisis. Sometimes more than one. I can testify to that, as my own marriage has been in crisis for the last year or so. On more than one occasion I made mental preparations for how I would pay the bills if I kicked Bryan out. But God has been gracious to us, and our community has been tenacious in their support of bringing peace to our home, and our marriage has persevered.

I feel more clear headed, and less emotional. When Bryan says or does something that I perceive to be offending, I mention it to him and he clarifies what he meant. What I’ve learned through this is that he doesn’t always realize he’s being an ass, so if I just calm down long enough to tell him how I feel without completely going off on him, he can actually think about it and say something like, “sorry, I was thinking about this and such when I said that, and I didn’t mean it to come out that way.” And I’ll say something like, “oh. Thank you. No problem.” End of discussion, and we’re all happy, and we go have sex.

I needed to take responsibility for my part in our marital deterioration – that I assumed everything Bryan said was to attack me, that I was a victim, when in reality I just needed to make fewer assumptions and not expect him to read my mind. I never cut him any slack. I never allowed him to have an off day.

And just a note on how sexy he is…

Today I played in a softball game over the dinner hour. Bryan left early to go start the coals in the BBQ, but our game went longer than expected. I was preparing myself for him to be irritated, but when I walked in the door tonight he’d made a kick-ass ceasar salad, a strong margarita, and he’d just finished grilling rib-eye stakes to my liking. All I needed to do was sit down and eat.

Also, he’s taken to removing the dramatics out of killing spiders for me. He used to holler at me, “Don’t move!” before he dove in for the kill. And of course I’d freak out. But now? The other day I was lying on one couch, and he was on the other. When suddenly he flew off his couch and pounced on something on the floor next to me. Then he quietly scooped it up and threw it in the trash. My pulse didn’t even fluctuate I felt so safe.

It feels good to not hate anymore. And it feels good to not feel suspicious of everything he says or does. It feels really good to love unconditionally, and assume the best of him, rather than the worst.

Living Generously

vacuum

Bryan has a cousin named Darryl.

Darryl is one of the most hospitable people I know (well, I actually know a LOT of hospitable people, but bear with me for the story’s sake). When you walk in to Darryl’s home you are greeted with boisterous enthusiasm and he wants to know all about who you are and what you’ve been up to. When you’re around Darryl you get the sense that if you asked for his shirt he would give it to you with great joy.

Bryan always says we should strive to be a little more like Darryl.

I have a friend name Meche (prounounced Meeshee).

Meche is one of the most generous people I know (again, one of many). When Meche hears that you have a need, she is quick to make something happen to fill that need. She will either personally give you what you need, or she will track it down for you. Case in point: she overheard me talking about vacuum cleaners, and the fact that I need a new one, and the fact that top of the line models cost as much as a dishwasher. Before I realized what was happening, she checked Consumer Reports Online for the best rated vacuum, then trekked up to Seattle to check Sears’ scratch and dent section, and found me a top of the line vacuum, brand new in the box, for half the price.

I love knowing people like Darryl and Meche, because they challenge me to be aware of my generosity. They remind me that maybe I hold on to my time and my stuff a little too tightly. They give me perspective.

Things That Make Me Shudder

I was sitting at the kitchen table this morning supervising Ruthie’s use of scissors (they may be snubbed on the end, but that doesn’t stop her from trying to cut her tongue out), when I saw something out of the corner of my eye on the deck.

A little bit later I saw it again – something small and dark flittering across the deck. This time I investigated and saw it, THE RAT, on my deck that is a giant play pen for my children to play safely – SUPPOSEDLY – only now I have to worry about little Ben with his claws and his fangs leaching some disease onto my children, both the one who crawls and the one who licks everything.

Now I know what kept eating my Brandywine tomatoes last summer. Ewww.

WHAT THE @#$^%&*(#@ ???

How do you torture a recovering rage-er who is simultaneously addicted to and completely frustrated by technology? Who is obsessed with checking for emails that never come? Who relies on Instant Message technology to converse with her husband when he takes an airplane to work?

YOU MESS WITH HER INTERNET CONNECTION, THAT’S WHAT YOU DO!

Holy mother of Pete, I have been pulling my hair out all day. The internet, she toys with my mind, she is a fickle creature. One minute she beckons, and the next she pulls away.

Finally, now that it’s 9:30pm and I’m tired, I have internet. And the depressing thing is that after an entire day of not having internet I still only have, like, two emails in my in box. THAT’S popularity.

Oh, but here’s the clincher: now my phone isn’t working either. I can’t get a dial tone. The display says ‘line in use,’ but I checked all the phones and they’re all hung up. So either some Swiper is swiping my telephone connection, or there’s an axe murderer outside my house. Waiting patiently. Anticipating the thrill of me not being able to call 911. (Why do I even go there?)

And while we’re on the subject of perplexation, here’s another thing I don’t get: my friend came over tonight, and she drove probably half an hour to get here, was in my house for about two hours, then I would guess she drove about a half hour back home again, and while she was here she had two cups of coffee.

Yet I never once saw her use my bathroom.

And aside from this observation being a little creepy, all I want to know is how can I speak to my bladder to make her act this way? Between my lack of kegels and the bottles of water I drink all day, I’m a flowing river of urine. In fact, I can’t recall a single moment in my day when I’m not thinking about peeing, because I ALWAYS FEEL LIKE PEEING. And sometimes when I say to her, No! You shall not release your pee! I would like a moment of peace! She giggles and snorts back at me and I tinkle just a little bit. She punishes.

This and That

Where have I been? I’ve been reading. And doing this. And doing that. I have many hobbies and only space for one at a time. That is where I’ve been.

Book Pile.

I finished About Grace for our book club on Monday (here at my house. Are you coming?). I liked it. I found it to not be as depressing as the last few books we’ve read, even though it was sad.

I started the book for my other book club, which I’m sadly realizing is probably too late to finish it in time for the discussion: The Satanic Verses, by Salman Rushdie. I’ve read the first couple chapters and his writing style is beautiful. Where does he find such beautiful word combinations in the English language? He writes of something falling from the sky, “making contact with the taut drum of the sea.” Yum. Yum. Yum. I’m loving it, but it’s a slow read.

It’s not your mother’s pill box.

I was at the vitamin store and saw this cool pill case for dividing out the insane dosages of my vitamins. This was an especially timely find since I had JUST been standing in front of my vitamin basket trying to remember if I had taken my vitamins already that morning. Sometimes there is no clear distinction between what I think about doing and what I actually do.

It's not your mother's pill box

Two gay deaf men walk into a tropical bar in Tukwila and…

Bryan and I had drinks at Bahama Breeze Friday night sans kids and we flirted and had relaxing conversation. I’ve never had dinner there, but for drinks it is a little ray of tropical sunshine in a rainy city. We were entertained by people watching and made up opening lines to jokes to entertain ourselves.

And so on…

In short, life goes on in the Zug household, albeit more peaceful than ever. This mama seems to be getting a handle on her temper and her emotions, and it makes for a lovely home

Basement Remodel: FINALLY!

We are finally ready to start moving Bryan in to his new office this weekend. The painting is almost done, and we put together two Ikea bookshelves tonight. In the photo below you’ll see the paint color and the brown trim, and the really cool ducting we had put in. The beam at the top of the picture will also be painted brown, and you can see a corner of the rug folded over on the floor. Besides the center beam, I also need to paint the doors, but all of that can be done around all of Bryan’s things. I just want him moved in so I can put my house back together!

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