Tag Archives: musings

Dave fights dirty

My new brother-in-law Dave has turned the tables. Some of you may recall my baby-making instigation right before their wedding in which I urged the general public to push Dave and Erica towards multiplying and filling the earth.

About a week later I was calmly riding the bus on a hot Sunday when my cell phone buzzed. My sisters are pretty much the only sources of texts on my phone, so I was surprised to see an unfamiliar number. Curious, I opened it, not knowing the torrent I was about to tap into.

I relay to you the content; “D” is each new text from Dave:

D: Hi jenna its dave, erica and I have exciting news-we’re going to have another little nephew or niece! SO EXCITED! So get crackalackin! We await the good news!

Side note: I was very confused here, since our sister Heidi is indeed pregnant, but nobody else in either family is. I didn’t realize at the time that he was using what is called “assumptive language” in the sales industry. Talk like it’s going to happen, and chances are much higher that it will.

Me: Heidi is having twins??? And you two had better get “crackalacking” yourselves in 1 week!

D: Little hands and little feet-so cute. The world needs your progeny.

D: Tiny baby curls . . .

Me: Are you trying to brainwash me?

D: Teeny little shoes

Me: Stop! Stop! I know exactly what you’re up to Dave!

D: Itty bitty feeties

D: PINCHABLE CHEEKS!

D: Aaaaaaaaand . . . GO!!

Me: Thankfully my hubby is out of town this weekend. By the time he returns tuesday this brainwashing session will have lost its effect . . .

D: Maybe you’ll start getting random baby catalogs in the mail…just sayin

Me: What!?!? You little manipulator!!

D: Yeah. We are prepared to fight dirty.

D: Imagine tiny fingers wrapped around your man’s pinky…

D: How precious would that be?

D: Teeny tiny itty bitty scrunched up noses …

D: Little noses scrunched up right before a little sneeze …

Judge for yourselves, but Dave does indeed fight dirty. Who can withstand the onslaught of imagery in these texts? Powerful stuff, man.

Later that evening I started telling the story to a friend at church. I pulled out my phone and showed her the long line of texts from the same number. I meant it to be funny, but instead of laughing as I expected to do, suddenly I started crying as the image of tiny fingers curled around my husband’s pinky took hold. With the threat of a lagoon of mascara, I grabbed a tissue and tried to pad away any black streaks.

Dave made me cry. And he almost made me really mess up my make-up.

This all means something–but what??

About a week later, I got a follow up text that just said:

D: *achoo*

Then about a month went by. I thought he had probably forgotten about our little battle. But don’t let the innocent looks of this young couple fool you.

They’re just not to be trusted. My 5 year wedding anniversary rolled around, and whaddya know–my phone went “ka-bling.” I had a new text.

D: Happy anniversary! Just think, sweet little baby toes, soft baby ringlets, and a sweet baby voice chirping happily and cooing . . .

3 hours went by. My phone went “ka-bling” again.

D: . . . Little one all snoozy and snuggly warm in footie pajamas, wrapping his baby arms around your neck and nuzzling his precious face into your shoulder . . .

D: Are you ignoring me??

Me: Um…yeah! That’s what my mom told me to do with bullies!

D: Hey!! I’m your sister!

Me: Using Dave’s phone, eh?

D: Yes. I have no coverage with mine and his job doesn’t allow them.

Me: Was it ever Dave sending these, or was it you all along?

D: Him til today.

So there you go, folks. My sister has been revealed to be a manipulating baby-instigator as well. Dave, I’m sorry, I thought you were the only one fighting dirty. But it turns out you have corrupted Erica via being married to her, turning my own flesh and blood against me. I knew there was going to be trouble the moment that whippersnapper was born. I was completely justified in the suspicion you can see written all over my 2-year-old face.

You just wait Dave and Erica, because I have plans. Plans to, um . . . to um . . .

I mean, aren’t babies just the cutest thing? And aren’t young families just precious??

. . . but let’s stay focused here people.

I’d also like to mention that after reading my Blokus post in which I confessed to being a competitive game-player, Erica told me that Dave has decided to challenge me to all sorts of board and card games and take me down. Dave, this blog was not designed to give you the keys to my demise. But I am realizing that I may have unwittingly given them to you anyway. Thinking I was simply sharing my heart, I was actually revealing my Achilles heel to a man who apparently must win at everything, be it baby-instigating wars or game-playing tournaments. I’m starting to be afraid. Very afraid. Erica, who did you marry? And why must he win all the time?? I should have known he was a punk the minute this picture crossed my email account:

If Dave beats me at Dutch Blitz, I will be forced to retreat to a hermit’s cave and suck on my toes for the next 5 years. And lemme tell you, my husband wouldn’t appreciate that one bit, and would shortly become malnourished based on his exclusive diet of ham sandwiches, apples, and carrots. Do you want to be responsible for that, Dave? Huh?

OK (breathing slowly). Let’s make peace, Dave.

But I will completely smash you at Dutch Blitz.

Chicago, year #1: our apartment and beyond

Today is September 1st. Exactly 1 year ago today, our moving van was double parked on a one-way street and we were hauling load after load of boxes and furniture through a little courtyard and up a flight and a half of stairs. We had come from 3 years in the small town of Newark, Delaware, and were eager to hit the big city.

We have not been disappointed . . . but it didn’t start that way: my first glimpse of the apartment was dismal. We had caught our complex in the middle of a management change, so there were no on-site landlords. Thus, our apartment had not been cleaned. From the filthy toilet and bathtub to the grease-covered stove and oven to the dirt-encrusted window sills and sticky hardwood floor with mysterious stains and spots, it was all looking very depressing. To flesh things out (sorry, gentlemen please avert your ears) let’s just say it was also ‘that time of the month,’ which made the disgusting toilet seat staring me in the face, soiled and stained by the previous resident, an even uglier prospect. It’s just not what a girl needs at that time in her life. After hearing my husband’s enthusiasm for the place, seeing it in person for the first time brought me to tears. I held them back as I lugged the boxes up the flight-and-a-half of stairs. My husband could tell something was wrong, but I knew that if I spoke I would completely fall apart, so I held my tongue and prayed that the waves of disappointment and frustration would stop soon, or at least become more bearable.

Thank God I held my tongue! The waves passed as we continued to work, and that evening was spent scrubbing the place down. A short Vietnamese man on a bicycle showed up with a bucket of cleaning products and removed the layer of dirt from the bathtub. Management replaced our toilet seat on day 1 and replaced the oven a day or two later. They fixed our electrical issues and installed a missing light fixture in our bathroom.

My parents decided to stick around for the rest of the week to help us out; what that meant to my husband and me, they will never know. I seriously don’t know what we would have done without their encouragement and know-how. My Dad made almost daily trips to the local hardware store to get mysterious objects that did things like level the bookcases on the uneven floor and color in rubbed-off spots or scratches on our wood furniture. I may even know now that these objects are called “shims” and “wood markers.” Are you impressed? Anyway, some day I need to brag about my parents’ incredible handyman skills. They have remodeled every house they’ve lived in, building cabinets and beds, tiling walls and floors, tearing down and building up walls–wow. Mom, Dad, are you sure I wasn’t adopted? And could you please confirm that you’re proud I now know the word “shims”? It’s important for my self-esteem.

Dirt was scoured away, the kitchen floor was scrubbed and waxed, holes were drilled, boxes unpacked, and a wonderful trip to Ikea (which has made me a faithful follower) resulted in a butcher’s block to add counter space to our kitchen, shelving for the kitchen and bathroom, rugs for the living areas, and a myriad of other things that made our place more comfortable and home-like. I was starting to feel a lot happier.

God blessed me with a job 6 weeks after moving to Chicago. Broadway Armory Park is right next door, where I take yoga classes. The library, grocery store and El stop are within about 3 minutes of our door. I love our Thorndale stop, and I never want to forsake it for another. Here it is in the glorious Saturday morning light:

Our neighborhood is safe, and we live on this beautiful tree-lined street.

And I haven’t even mentioned the beach yet, which is only 2 street East and keeps our place cooler than most on hot summer days.

I have to ask myself–could it be any better? I don’t think so–at least not ’til heaven.

Here are some shots of our apartment as it stands, one year in. In the morning a yellow glow just floods the house, and combined with the smell of coffee wafting from our trusty pre-programmed coffee maker–well, I love it. We’ll start in the 2nd bedroom:

We split the livingroom into 2 areas; the computer area:

. . . and the main area:

We also split what was a huge dining room into an eating area . . .

. . . and a little library. This is my favorite spot to sit on a slow Saturday morning, with my Bible and coffee in hand.

My husband also loves playing the guitar in this space.

There is an open bookshelf between the two areas that houses both books and dishes. And yes, those are Baileys glasses. If you have never experienced Baileys (or any Irish cream, really) in your coffee, your life has not been what it could be. But it’s not too late for anyone! Don’t give up on yourself yet!

On Saturday we had a celebratory breakfast at our local diner, one of my husband’s favorite neighborhood spots.

We walked down to the lake . . .

. . . and then had a spontaneous day out and about in the city, which included seeing the movie “Inception” downtown (definitely recommend it), visiting the Art Museum, and going to an open-air ballet performance at Millenium Park. 

So a word of encouragement–if you have just moved or experienced a life change and are feeling overwhelmed, appalled, and despairing, that’s where I was 1 year ago today. And yet the past year has been one of the most peaceful and happy ones that I can remember. This city and this apartment has been my favorite place to live, my new job has been my favorite place to work, and this has been one of our best years of marriage.

Tonight my husband is in Oklahoma visiting our friend Tyler, and I’ll be here in the apartment eating some Arroz a la Cubana . . . but I’ll be pouring a little glass of something or another to quietly toast our 1 year anniversary in Chicago, looking forward to an equally awesome Year #2 ahead.