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September 24, 2014

Years that ask questions, years that answer

A year ago today he asked me to marry him. Jokingly, but sincere.

We were on a new path, or perhaps better said, we were finally on our path — and not falling off every drunken, irritable Friday night. We had a dog who we were obsessed with and brought us closer than ever, and in mid-summer, during a drive out to the North Fork, we started talking about having a baby. “You know, we could do this out of order,” he said, meaning baby before wedding, and it was the first time I had any real idea he was ready to do this with me. I was surprised, amazed, and nervous. So this is how it begins.

We tabled the discussion for the time being. I felt like we had to retreat and regroup, figure out if we were serious. I tried it out on my sister, mom, and a couple friends — soooo we’ve started talking about having a baby — and their approval, admittedly somewhat tentative, surprised me. Did they really think we were ready for this? (It’s hard to stop thinking of yourself as a 22-year-old who shouldn’t be in charge of her own life decisions — even if that was a full decade ago.)

image

Then the pre-engagement, the wedding contract (the huge deposit). This was happening. By the end of October, we had a date, and over the next month and a half, I can’t remember how or when or what words were said, but we started talking baby again. We started doing the math: you know, if we got pregnant by X date, the baby would be Y months old at the wedding….

I do remember that last pill. Tossing the unfinished pack away. I wasn’t yet confident enough in our decision to admit to anyone I’d done it, and it wasn’t until January that I got up the nerve to make an appointment with my gynecologist to discuss whatever pre-“trying” stuff we were supposed to discuss. I had no idea if we could get pregnant in the short time frame we’d given ourselves — or if we could at all. There were too many unknowns, and I kept it all pretty down-low.

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But M. — bless him — already had a bit of that proud papa in him. That December, mere days after the last pill, at a very happy, very wine-drunk dinner at my friends’ new Connecticut home, in front of half of my closest friends and their husbands, he ting’d his glass — actually ting’d his glass — and announced, somewhat incoherently, that we had officially started trying.

I was mor.ti.fied. But also touched. He was really freaking excited and how can you be a mad at a guy for that? 

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And now here we are. Within sight of meeting our daughter. It is, I’m sure, the greatest decision we’ve ever made.

I look back and I realize our path was made by walking. Being in a relationship is about asking the right questions at the right time — and letting the answers light the way.

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June 25, 2014

It’s a … GIRL!! (And what a sneaky little girl she is, had me totally fooled.) Hip hip HOORAY!! #smartandpowerful

It’s a … GIRL!! (And what a sneaky little girl she is, had me totally fooled.) Hip hip HOORAY!! #smartandpowerful

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May 26, 2014

Sally Draper, learning what smart girls everywhere have learned:
Go for the nerd.
He’s going to turn out just fine.

Sally Draper, learning what smart girls everywhere have learned:

Go for the nerd.

He’s going to turn out just fine.

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May 8, 2014

seifukucat:

googled “dog swearing” and wasn’t disappointed

sleepybrowneyes:

His fucking look of determination. Like, “you’re going to fucking jail Greg.”

This makes me laugh but also makes me sad because did I tell you Zoe has experienced her first heartbreak?
She met Max when she was 4 months old and he was 7 months. He was a German Shepherd and a real stud. Already looked full-grown. Such a babe, you feel me? And of all the bitches on the block, it was Zoe he was in love with. They would spot each other from down the street and he’d get real low, never taking her eyes off her as she approached (such a cool guy, that Max). She’d immediately start freaking out, yanking on the leash, panting hard (such a not-cool girl, that Zoe). They’d come together in a glorious expression of puppy love and play for as long as we’d let them. 
It was beautiful. It was real.
And then suddenly, it ended. Max didn’t care about Zoe anymore. She was still the same too-excited puppy happy just to roll at his feet — but he acted like he didn’t know her. Like she didn’t even exist. I didn’t have the heart to point it out to her. I just pulled her way, letting her think I was the asshole who wouldn’t let them play.
Typical, right? A story as old as time.
Her first love.
Her first heartbreak.

Zoe & Max in happier times.

seifukucat:

googled “dog swearing” and wasn’t disappointed

sleepybrowneyes:

His fucking look of determination. Like, “you’re going to fucking jail Greg.”

This makes me laugh but also makes me sad because did I tell you Zoe has experienced her first heartbreak?

She met Max when she was 4 months old and he was 7 months. He was a German Shepherd and a real stud. Already looked full-grown. Such a babe, you feel me? And of all the bitches on the block, it was Zoe he was in love with. They would spot each other from down the street and he’d get real low, never taking her eyes off her as she approached (such a cool guy, that Max). She’d immediately start freaking out, yanking on the leash, panting hard (such a not-cool girl, that Zoe). They’d come together in a glorious expression of puppy love and play for as long as we’d let them. 

It was beautiful. It was real.

And then suddenly, it ended. Max didn’t care about Zoe anymore. She was still the same too-excited puppy happy just to roll at his feet — but he acted like he didn’t know her. Like she didn’t even exist. I didn’t have the heart to point it out to her. I just pulled her way, letting her think I was the asshole who wouldn’t let them play.

Typical, right? A story as old as time.

Her first love.

Her first heartbreak.

Zoe & Max in happier times.

(via sashayrae)

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May 7, 2014

kateoplis:

Jolie by Hedi Slimane

Not sure it’s that rare among long-term lovers. In fact, I would say it’s pretty common. But it’s certainly rare in a lifetime. It rarely happens to any person more than once. So in that sense, yes, it’s rare.

Gorgeous photos.

(And the sky is still blue.)

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April 16, 2014

On the road in India. 

At first I was too overwhelmed by the emotional intensity of the experience, the sensory memories still hot on my tongue, and the rather epic jet lag to even look at my India photos.

And then I was too overwhelmed by the thought of distilling those two weeks into (god help us all) blog posts that the mere thought of trying to write about it left me exhausted. So once again, I went to bed at 8.

And then I realized there is nothing to do but present it, as best I can, knowing I will never be able to explain what really happened there: 21 friends and family gathered in a country most of us hardly knew to celebrate, explore, and, at the risk of sounding all Eat, Pray, Love, learn a little something about ourselves.

And in the middle of that, something deep and permanent happened between M. and me. We became a family.

So yeah.

It was intense.

It was gorgeous.

It was infuriating.

It was India.

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April 8, 2014

Nobody fucks with me and my boo.

Nobody fucks with me and my boo.

(Source: robsonic, via tenderbuttons)

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April 7, 2014

The ol’ ring switcharoo.

If you follow me on Instagram you know that six months after we set a wedding date, we are officially official. But heaven forbid we ever do things in the right order. Due to some major miscommunication between M. and his mom The Ring spent the first week in India on my right hand, me thinking it was ‘just’ the incredibly generous gift of a family heirloom. It wasn’t ‘til after his birthday party that Andrea, a bit tipsy and clearly charged with her task by a panicked M., said, “We’re going to need that ring back,” and I had some inkling that, oops, when his mom was handing out rings (and there were multiple), she wasn’t supposed to be handing out THIS ring.

But I kept wearing it, on Gena’s advice that he could change the hand it was on himself.

Thing is though, it was always more comfortable on the left hand and I often absentmindedly moved it there, so when I walked into our lovely room at the Brunton Boatyard to see it decorated like this, I actually had to quick move it from left to right, knowing that fragrant ribbons of jasmine can only mean one thing: the left ring finger was about to live out its destiny and must be naked as a virgin in preparation.

He got down on one knee. He asked me to marry him. This time it was not a qualified yes. It was a yes, wherever and whenever and til death do us part.

The ring is one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen, certainly the most beautiful thing I have ever worn. I am awed by its colors, by its weight, by the richness of the gold, and most of all, by its history. It is at least 200 years old, though it may be 300.

It began as one of several pendants on a long necklace that was a gift to M.’s great-grandfather, the Dewan of Mysore, by the Maharaja of Mysore, during the years of the British Raj. (The Dewan is a top advisory position, hereditary, that M.’s family held for generations.) We don’t know how long it was in the Maharaja’s family.

M.’s great-grandmother turned the pendants into rings and as an antique jewelry expert explained to me, each is an example of pancharatma — jewelry that has 5 gems or 5 metals, a symbol of power. The gems are uncut ruby, uncut emerald, uncut sapphire, uncut diamond, and cat’s eye (proof that M. does like cats after all?).

Wearing it, I do indeed feel powerful — smart and beautiful, too.

But most of all — I feel loved.

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February 18, 2014

If you love something, let it go.
If you don’t love something, definitely let it go.
Basically, just drop everything, who cares.

B.J. Novak, in his new book (via).

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February 14, 2014

Fiona Apple, “Valentine”

(via yumwatch:davidfuternick)

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