out of Kadesh

December is here at long last, and in the spare moments between Noah’s nap (add an “s” to that if the stars align perfectly and Jupiter is in the seventh house), I’ve been getting ready for the holidays. Last weekend, Lance and I were brainstorming ways to have a Christmas tree in our front window without it ending up upside down in a pile of electrical cords, glass ornaments, and prickly pine needles on top of Noah’s head, and we were all, Baby gates! No. Caution tape! …No. We finally conceded that the only way to make it work was to buy a four-foot tree and put it on top of a table. We couldn’t find one short enough and had to get the tree guy to cut like a foot off the bottom of the tree, and he nearly passed out over the chopping station when we asked him to do that. After about five minutes of trying to convince him that we really REALLY wanted him to cut off that much, I was sorely tempted to scream out OH MY GOD WHAT ARE YOU DOING! when he was halfway through the tree trunk, but I was worried he’d saw his arm off out of panic, so I refrained. You never know what might set those Christmas tree guys off.

When we got it home, I only put four strands of lights on it. Oh, you think that’s a lot for a three-and-a-half foot tree, do you? Well, tell that to my other seven strands of lights that are still sitting in their storage bin, wondering why I’m waiting so long to finish putting them on the tree this year. SO THERE, Mr. Lance “ANOTHER-strand!?-That-thing’s-going-to-burst-into-flames” Roggendorff.

So now we have a sweet dwarf tree that sits on top of a table in our living room, and from the street it looks like… a tree sitting on top of a table, but without a top because that part is hidden above the window. So it actually looks like a bush sitting on top of a table with a “Holy-shit-let’s-keep-this-thing-well-watered” amount of lights.

Also, last weekend Lance put up our outside lights. They’re lookin’ hot, y’all, and kind of like we might be doubling as a mexican restaurant in here. Our house is the most brightly lit one in the neighborhood. At least I think so. I can’t actually see anything from our porch at night without sunglasses on. Just kidding, but seriously, we may or may not have blown two fuses in the three days the lights have been up, and we may or may not cringe and cover our privates every time we plug them in, and that’s all I’m going to say about it.

Alas, I have no picture for you, Reader, but I promise to get some before this season is over. It’s important that I do this because I’m about 99% sure Lance is going to throttle me if I ever ask him to hang Christmas lights again. Ok, I’m a bit anal, and Lance is a bit testy when he’s teetering precariously on the top rung of a ladder, one side of which is sinking quickly into the mud and the other of which is balanced on a brick he found somewhere in the back yard. Especially when I’m down on solid ground yelling up at him things like, “More to the left! The LEFT! Wait, what are you doing now? No, no, that needs to be over the edge. Well that just looks straight up messy.” And he’s like, “Here? Like this?” And he’s rubbing his temples and clenching his fists together and letting out a steady stream of curses.

And I’m all, “When you’re done with that strand, let me know and I’ll hand you the next one. Uh… you’re not planning on leaving those like THAT are you?”

And Lance is like “ZOINK!”

Lance: “So apparently the iPhone auto-corrected ‘w00000000t’ to ‘apollonius,’ and my brother posted it on my facebook wall. Because, you know, I’m known for my —”

Me: “W00ting?”

Lance: “—w00tness. If you know what I mean.”

Me: “Your w00tness is definitely what I know you for, baby.”

Me: One day Noah’s going to be like, MAN I can’t BELIEVE you guys made a Twitter for me! That’s so embarrassing you GUYS.

Lance: Whatever, by then he’s gonna be like, what’s “Twitter”? Is it anything like “Thought-o-matic”?

Dear Lance,

I love you more than words can say.

Love,
Me

p.s. Your green striped shirt is like bookends to the year.

On Valentine’s Day, Lance handed me this.

I don’t even like Valentine’s Day.

But you know what I do like?

Origami hearts hand-folded just for me.

And surprises.

And ESPECIALLY….

…massages.

I cashed it in today. It was heavenly. Lance, thank you. I love you!

The thing about arguing with your husband is that it’s not like you plan it. You don’t sit him down one sunny afternoon and say, “Hey babe, let’s get into a fight. I’d like us to be really nasty, calling each other unfair names and using gross generalities to describe what really gets under our skin about each other.” If it happened that way, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad because at least you’d be prepared for it, maybe even have a bottle of Vodka handy or have sex right before it to sort of soften the blow. Instead, it comes at you out of nowhere. You’re going along, everything seems fine, and then BOOM, someone says something really asinine and it pretty much explodes from there like a bomb full of shrapnel.

Lance and I suck at fighting. Seriously, it’s important to know how to constructively argue. I think learning how to fight better is what people pay marriage counselors for. They don’t encourage you not to have conflict, they just show you how to have conflict in a less destructive way. Which would be helpful for me in particular, because my fight with my husband last night brought our kitchen ceiling crashing down to the floor.

It might be my fault.

I tend to go sort of overboard when I fight, on which I will be blaming my highly volatile emotions. (That really doesn’t help me any, does it?) It’s like, by the time the argument is a couple of minutes in, I really have no idea why I’m so angry, or even what the heck started this mess, but everything is your fault so WILL YOU JUST SHUT UP AND ACCEPT THE BLAME! And Lance is like, apologizing for everything that has ever happened EVER in the history of marriages, but completely missing the point of the argument I’m trying to have with him RIGHT NOW, which I can’t even remember.

**Commence attacking each other’s character flaws.**

And our fights aren’t like the fights on movies, where they scream these amazing, quick-witted insults at each other and slam doors and then five minutes later they’re having hot make-up sex that causes the electricity to black out in the entire neighborhood. I don’t know if this is something that improves over time or what, but our fights are still really awkward. We’re like, “Ok, here’s why I’m angry.” (long silence) “Ok, it’s all my fault. But first, here’s why I think that’s weird.” (long silence) (shifty eyes) “Well, here’s why I think YOU’RE weird.” “Well, here’s why I think you’re an ass!” (long silence) (arm folding) “Um, I think that was uncalled for.” “What are we even fighting about?” “YOU’RE NEVER SEEING ME NAKED AGAIN, EVER!”

Then the recovery process is so hard for me. It’s like a migraine – the only cure is sleep. This makes Lance crazy. He’s all “Please talk to me,” and I’m all, “I’m through talking to you. It’s pointless,” as I’m scrunched over on my side of the bed so far if he so much as sneezes, I’ll fall right off. But I swear I’m better in the morning. It’s like some weird miracle happens overnight. I think he whispers subliminal messages in my ears all night long.

I hate being angry, I really do. A couple of years ago Lance and I had a truly rocky period where I wasn’t sure we were going to make it, and I remember in the middle of it I thought, I so badly want to pretend this isn’t happening. We actually ordered a pizza and watched a movie together one night. I don’t recommend this, because instead of dealing with our issues we ended up burying them in our rush to make things better, and they came up again a year later. But I swear I don’t think a slice of pizza ever tasted so good and Madagascar may or may not be my favorite movie. (Not really.) (But yeah, maybe.) All that is to say if I could shut off my emotions after a fight, I think we could constructively fight. But even when we’ve both apologized and everything has been resolved, I still feel like shit. The faucet of my anger and hurt isn’t gushing anymore but it’s still a trickle, and I can’t pretend it’s not there, which is totally unfair to Lance.

And it’s unfortunate, because if I could just let it go, we COULD have make-up sex, and I bet it would be phenomenal.

Why hello, we’re just sitting here in our own filth today. How are you?

In case you live on You Planet and hadn’t heard, as I have frequently been (quite fairly) accused of, Nashville got flooded over the weekend. The Cumberland River rose like 200 feet or something. I exaggerate because I don’t know the actual amount, and I already looked up one link for you, Reader, so I’m not going to research it. Have I not mentioned? I’m lazy. And actually, since I don’t know how high the River rose, 200 feet could be accurate. Hey, you never know. One day you’ll be reading this blog and there will be a shred of unadulterated truth to something I have written, and then the earth will implode and dinosaurs will repopulate.

Anyway, our house is on a hill and is fine. Our once lovely, square-shaped garden is now sort of spread out all over the yard, but with some people’s homes under water, we can’t complain. As far as I know we still can’t drive downtown, but we haven’t tried so I could be wrong. Mainly we are all affected by Nashville’s rapidly depleting water supply. With only one working water plant, all Nashvillians are under an urgent mandate to conserve water and the hippies people are really getting into it. There are trending topics on twitter like “floodlegs” and “floodbeards” (people vowing not to shave) and even a group on facebook called “No Shower Nashville” (people vowing not to shower for at least a week).

So of course Lance is like, “YEAH FLOODBEARD! Gotta do my part, babe.” And I’m like “But you use an electric razor.” And he’s like “AHEM let’s think of other ways we can save water, too.” Let me just say this, so it’s been officially stated. Lance is awesome. If it weren’t for him, I probably wouldn’t be green. Lance loves the environment, and he’s 100% on board with this whole water conservation thing. And it’s a good thing he is, because to be totally honest, I’m only like 90% on board. I was all about cutting our water usage in half. HALF. Meaning like, only one load of laundry every other day, and running the dishwasher every other day, maybe taking a military shower, maybe not shaving my legs. Maybe turning off the water while I brush my teeth instead of letting it gush down the drain. (No lie, I used to do this, until I married Lance. Then he started turning off the water for me. Then I was ashamed.) But Lance is like, let’s see how much water we can save. Lance is like, let’s go above and beyond. See how great he is? He really is.

BUT.

Sometimes I get a little overwhelmed, plus I’m grumpy when everything stinks. I beginning to think I may be just a big waster at heart. This morning Lance printed out flyers that say “SAVE YOUR WATER. Like water to drink? Might be time to stink,” and as soon as I woke up this morning he skips in the room, jumps up and clicks his heels together. “I thought we could pass these out on our walk later!” he sings. I’m like going “COFFEEEE….” and feeling around with my hands for my glasses. “And, as much as it pains me,” he continues with a sad expression, “we should probably go buy some biodegradable paper products to eat off of.”

Now I know it’s serious.

“Well I need to wash Noah’s diapers today… he barely has any left and I’ve already put it off as long as I can,” I say.
“Yeah, about that…” He looks at his toes in anguish. “I was thinking we should probably go get some disposables.”

That wave of cold you just felt? Yeppers. HELL FREEZING OVER. When Lance A. Roggendorff wants us to buy paper products and disposable diapers in order to conserve water, WATER NEEDS TO BE CONSERVED, Y’ALL.

Then I get out of bed and walk into the bathroom, and guess what I find. A yellow sticky-note has been stuck to the handle of the crapper to remind us not to flush. Which I find SOOO not ok.

Oh man. I gotta change my selfish ways.

So here’s what is happening in Kadesh:

1. We aren’t showering. I did sponge-bathe some crucial areas today, however, if you want to know. I also shampooed just my bangs and washed my face to make myself look slightly less greasy. This no-showering is hard for me. When you are up all night with an infant, a cup of coffee and a long hot shower really helps you feel like a real person the next morning. Ergo, I do not feel like a real person.

2. We aren’t washing dishes. Our sink is full of dirty plates, forks, pots and pans, glasses, etc., as is our dishwasher and most of our counter space. We’re out of clean dishes and cookware now so I guess we’ll be eating take-out until we buy some paper products. YUCK. I can’t even go into my kitchen without freaking out, so I’m staying out of there.

3. We aren’t washing laundry. You should see my ensemble today. I could only find a skirt, which sucks as I haven’t shaved my legs since like May 1. And this shirt shows my bra straps, so I think I’m going to have to trade it in for one of Lance’s old t-shirts if I decide leave this Dungeon of Filth today. Also, Noah is totally not doing his part because he keeps spitting up and drooling all over his onesies, which creates more laundry that we can’t do. SELFISH.

4. We aren’t watering our garden. I already mentioned that it got messed up with the rain, but there are still plants that are currently dying of thirst out there. I think I’m going to have to kiss my dreams of sweet bell peppers this summer goodbye. Damn.

5. We’re feeling guilty every time we flush the toilet or turn the tap on a trickle. It doesn’t help anyone but it makes me feel bad, which for some reason makes it seem ok in my warped little mind.

Regardless of every hippie I know doing things just like this, there have actually been reports of increased water usage in Nashville. The metro water authority is saying it’s probably from citizens freaking out and filling up their bathtubs in the event we run out of clean water. If this is you, let me just say this. YOU ARE AN ASSHOLE. You are exacerbating the problem. Just stop washing your Dodge Ram and everything will be fine.

The bottom line is, man we Americans are a selfish, wasteful bunch. There are actually people without clean water in the world, which is out of my realm of understanding. If nothing else, hopefully selfish, shower-and-clean-laundry-loving citizens like me will be more aware and maybe be motivated to do something about it.

Lance’s hair. It’s like its own character in a book. It changes with the seasons. I like it short; he likes it long.

He hasn’t cut it for almost a year.

He kept promising me he’d get it cut when it started getting hot outside, but I didn’t believe him. He hates getting his hair cut.

I think he just hates talking to people. You know how when you get your hair cut you have to go out in public. He’s not into that. Being social… it’s hard for some people.

He decided, “why pay someone to do this, when I can just do it myself for free?” He also decided, “if I do it myself, I won’t have to talk to some hair-cut person about what I do for a living, where I live, and when I moved here.”

His style of haircut involved grabbing fistfuls of hair and cutting, at random, with really dull scissors. After about 20 minutes, he had this total rockstar hair, which I thought he should keep since we’re in Nashville now and he’d totally fit in.

But then we thought, maybe it looks like he’s trying too hard. So he cut some more.

…And suddenly looked like this.

I was completely overtaken by a huge fit of giggles when I saw the finished product. Which was mean. Sorry.

HAIL CAESAR!

Ok, sorry, sorry.

So then we were like, now what?

So we got out the razor.

When in doubt, give yourself a buzz cut.

…Except, keep the top nice and full. Mohawk-style.

Final step: go to the barber the next morning.

Or not.

Self-haircuts are cool!

This is what happens around 5:00 every day, when Noah gets fussy for no reason whatsoever and Lance and I try and distract him from the horrible, horrible world by entertaining him.

Me: “Old MacDonald had a farm!”

Together: “E-I-E-I-O!”

Me: “And on this farm he had a dog. E-I-E-I— what?”

Lance: “A dog? Really?”

Me: “What! A farm dog!”

Lance: “Huh. Ok, then.”

Me: “With a woof woof here and a woof woof there.”

Together: “Here a woof there a woof everywhere a woof woof. Old MacDonald had a farm. E-I-E-I-O!”

Me: “And on this farm he had a…. goose.”

Together: “E-I-E-I-O!”

Me: “With a… um… a honk honk here and a honk honk there, here a honk there a honk everywhere a honk honk…”

Lance: “Old MacDonald had a drunk goose. E-I-E-I-O!”

Me: “It’s not a drunk goose. It’s just a goose. Geese say ‘honk’.”

Lance: “What’s a farmer doing with a dog and a goose anyway? What kind of farmer is this?”

Me: “Fine, YOU come up with one of the animals then.”

Lance: “Ok. Old MacDonald had a farm.”

Together: “E-I-E-I-O!”

Lance: “And on this farm he had a…. rabbit.”

Me: “A rabbit? A rabbit.”

Lance: “Yes! A rabbit!”

Me: “A rabbit is certainly no more a farm animal than a dog or a goose.”

Lance: “aHEM.”

Together: “E-I-E-I-O! With a—-” [blink, blink]

…..[blink, blink, blink]

Lance: “…HERE and a — there! Here a — there a — everywhere a ———!”

Together: “Old MacDonald had a farm! E-I-E-I-O!”

Me: “What the heck does a rabbit say?”

Lance: “Let’s sing something else.”

We went to a Nashville tourist trap, the Loveless Cafe, for dinner tonight. They have amazing biscuits and southern food, and if you eat there more than once every six months, you automatically gain 25 pounds. In fact, nine out of ten Loveless diners are morbidly obese. (I am not making this statistic up, as I counted nine morbidly obese people out of the ten people sitting at tables around us.) I’ll be eating salads for two weeks to counteract the fried catfish and hashbrown casserole I wolfed down tonight. BUT IT WAS WORTH IT. (Plus, no I won’t, who am I kidding?)

On the way back, in our new Prius, something beeped, and we’re like, “what was that?” We’re still figuring out this car, you see. 30 seconds later, it beeped again.

BEEP
Me: “Are you buckled?”
Lance: “Yes… are you?”
Me: [checking] “Yes.”
BEEP
Lance: “Is a car door still open?”
Me: “Shouldn’t it like, give us an icon or something if that’s so?”
Lance: “Yeah… I think I’ve seen those icons on the dash…”
BEEP
Lance: “I mean WHAT IS THE POINT of BEEPING without giving us any idea what’s going on?”
Me: “Maybe we should pull over.”
BEEP
Me: “I think… [looking around] I think it’s coming from your keys. Maybe your key battery is dying?”
Lance: “No… I don’t think it does that…”
BEEP
Me: “Well let’s turn off the car and turn it back on again. Maybe it needs, like, a reboot.”
[we try this at the next light]
BEEP
[I unbuckle my seat belt]
BOOP
Me: “Ok, so the CAR beep is a totally different tone. Which means it’s definitely coming from your key.”
[Lance takes his key out, looks at it, puts it back in]
BEEP
Lance: “Definitely not. Is it my phone?”
[sticks his hand in his pocket and pulls out the pager from the restaurant]
Lance: [holding it up] “Damn it.”
Me: “Are you kidding me? Now what are we supposed to do with this stupid thing?”
Lance: “We should probably turn around and give it back.”
BEEP!
Me: “I was thinking more about throwing it out the window.”
Lance: “Those things are expensive! Let’s turn around.”
Me: “No! We’re already halfway home!”
Lance: “Well, it’s not like we have anywhere to be.”
Me: “Not true, we have to get home so we’re not stuck on the road when Noah wakes up and wants to eat.”
BEEP!
Lance: “Well I guess let’s just keep it until next time we come to Loveless, whenever that will be.”
Me: “Ok… but it’s so annoying, beeping all the time. It’s louder now, outside your pocket.”
[I stick it in the glove box]
BEEP
Lance: “That really didn’t help at all.”
[I take out of the glove box]
BEEP!
Me: “Well we have to do something with this damn thing!”
Lance: “Want me to sit on it?”
Me: “I can sit on it.”
[I sit on it]

[utter silence]

Me: “Why isn’t it beeping?”
Lance: “Because you’re sitting on it.”
Me: “What! Are you saying my ass is completely sound absorbant?”
Lance: “Well, the butt is the biggest muscle…”
Me: “Still… it seems like it should just be muffled or something.”
[I take it out from under me]
BEEP!
Me: “Damn.”
[I sit on it again]

[utter silence]

Me: “Geez! My ass is so big it’s completely absorbing that high-pitched beeping sound!? I gotta lose some weight.”
Lance: “Here, let me sit on it. I’ll show you, it’s just the butt muscle.”
[I give it to Lance]
BEEP!
Lance: “Ok, that was the base sound.”
[sits on it]

[utter silence]

Lance: “See?”
Me: “That’s crazy! Our butts are sound-proofing. Who knew?”
[Lance gives it back to me; I sit on it]

[we forget about it, start talking about other things]

Me: “…and that’s when I told her–”
(beep)
Me: “–YES! I heard it!”