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Tag Archives: anniversary

4 Years

27 May

Anniversary number one was spent picking up the pieces of three losses.

Anniversary number two was spent seeking escapes, and searching for fragments of our two broken hearts.

Anniversary number three was spent at home, feeling fear, anxiety, and hoping beyond hope that 4 would be different…

Anniversary number four was spent laughing at our baby girl as she stood up in her crib, an hour past her bedtime, dancing around and looking very proud of herself. Finally getting her to sleep. Cuddling, while (finally!) watching “Breaking Bad”.

And thankful. So very thankful that despite heartbreak, loss and unending sadness, we made it to the other side.

Marriage can mean walking through hellfire and coming out the other side scarred and bruised, but still holding hands.

Happy anniversary to my rock. My love. My family. The father of my children. Those not with us, those to (hopefully) come, and the precious daughter that we fought so hard to bring into this world, together.

I love you Shmerson. More today than I even thought possible.

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This Whole Time Thing

29 May

Shmerson and I celebrated our 3 year anniversary on Monday. Unlike last year or the year before, where we had gone someplace extravagant for several days, this one was relatively low-key.

Anniversaries have been bittersweet for us, since most of our marriage has been marred with loss. My first miscarriage was barely two months after our wedding. This year was no exception. There was celebrating, and speculating, and also a bit of crying.

The interesting thing about the day was dinner. We had a long talk, and it was more or less the first time we had an extended conversation about B5, as not just an idea, but as our daughter. Questions of raising her – everything from internet etiquette to sleeping arrangements.

It was a wonderful hopeful conversation.

Of course I had a panic attack a little later, but I still think it was progress.

***

This GD thing is really effing with me. Well, not just the GD. Time in general.

I am soooo ready to get this over with. I sooo want this pregnancy to be over. Yet I know we need every single week now for her to grow. I know we need at least 11 more weeks.

Sometimes 11 weeks seem like nothing, and other times – most times – it feels endless. The tedium of GD, and having my day split up into 3-hour increments, and always having to figure out all of this food stuff is exhausting, and just makes everything seem longer.

We said we would wait until 28 weeks to start preparing for her arrival, but the truth is I’m eager to start doing everything now. Like maybe looking at cribs and debating the merits of a changing table will make the time pass by faster.

But more like – maybe it will make everything seem a bit more real.

I’m still terrified, but the fact is that there is a fairly good chance we have a baby girl entering our lives sometime in August or September (please please not a moment sooner).

Man that feels weird to type up. I’m probably going to pay for that with a panic attack later. Good times.

Does anyone have a time-speeder-upper-type-thing I could borrow?

How I Met Your MO There

25 May

So today I’ll give you my view of what Shmersonette described in the previous 5 posts. But a little about me first.

I’ve always believed in honesty. It’s not always a good thing. In some relationships, I scared the girl away because I was too honest. See, another thing was that I would fall in love really fast. And because I was honest, I would say it. I didn’t like playing games, teasing, playing hard to get. I couldn’t play it cool around a girl I was in love with.

9 months before I met Shmersonette, I went to South America for six months. It was a trip to see the world, but as always it was also to change myself. I did a lot of thinking and gained self-confidence. I can really say that had we met without me going there, it wouldn’t have worked between us.

So I decided to be less honest. Wait with my feelings. play games. I also had doubts about love. I thought maybe I was expecting too much. I wondered – am I like a person who never had ice cream, and when they describe ice cream to him as “heavenly, orgasmic” he takes it too literally and is later disappointed? Maybe all those poets and novelists who wrote about love were exaggerating. Maybe love is just friends having sex. Maybe if I stopped expecting so much I wouldn’t be disappointed and hurt anymore.

Of course, none of it is true. Writing those things now makes me sad for myself  back then. But at the time, I thought I was growing up.

I also thought I should change in other ways. I never had sex outside of a serious relationship with strong emotions. I started to think maybe I should loosen up, and have meaningless sex. I decided to date girls just for that and ‘for the sport of it’.

Still, I learned some things. For example, I noticed how we prefer the thing we know, even if it was bad for us in the past. I always knew what I wanted in a girl. She had to be intelligent, with a sense of humour and independent. But usually I found myself in a relationship with someone not-so-smart, not-so-funny and dependant. ( I like to put it in PowerPuff Girls terms: I always wanted Blossom with just a little bit Buttercup, and found myself with Bubbles). So I realised it was a cycle; you go there because you know it, and you prefer it over the unknown. And every time you go there you just make it more likely that next time you choose, you’ll choose the known over the unknown. Until the point when it’s not even a choice anymore. And I realised that the first step to get out of it was to acknowledge it.

I didn’t like Bubbles-girls because they tended to look up to me, and I don’t like that. I also didn’t like looking up to girls. I believed in equality, I believed both people in a relationship should feel just as lucky to have each other. I think that on How I Met Your Mother they said that every relationship has the person who settled for less and the person who got more than deserved. I don’t think it’s healthy in the long-term.

A short while before I met Shmersonette I dated a girl for a short period of time. I tried implementing my new ideas, expecting less, playing it cool, etc. and they collided with my other new idea – she was totally a Bubbles-girl. I ended it. We didn’t have meaningless sex, and I’m happy for that.

Two weeks later, it was my zero date with Shmersonette. As she already told you, it was very special. As I was driving home after I dropped her at her place, I thought “what if she didn’t enjoy this as much as I did? What if she tells me it was nice but it’s not going anywhere?” and I thought that if that happens, I’ll probably know how that Bubbles-girl feels about me right now.

I used to have this dream: I meet a girl and we’re together. We barely need to speak. There is no suitor and “suitee”. We just like each other very much, and are happy. People around us think we’re strange, or that we’re going too fast. We don’t care. I used to hate waking up from that dream.

By the end of our Zero-Date I knew I finally found her. I was perfectly honest, and so was she. We didn’t play games. After our third date, I was walking back to my car, very happy. I thought of how perfect it all is, and then I thought this is much like that dream. Then I got to my car and saw a parking ticket, and smiled. This would never happen in a dream.

On our real first date, she said: “There is something you need to know about me. I’m a little messed up”. I told her it’s okay, great even. I like messed up. I’m a little messed up myself. (She didn’t believe me back then).

She was right- she IS messed up. And today, she knows I am too. And every now and then, during hard times, she says something like: “Is it okay that I’m so messed up?” and I always remind her of that conversation.

On one of our first nights together, we were talking. Then I thought of something stupid. See, I have a weird sense of humor not everyone gets. And I knew that if I said what I thought out loud she won’t get the joke and would think I was weird. This voice in my head was like “don’t say it you’ll ruin everything” but I said it anyway. And she cracked up laughing. And yes, that’s the origin of our private sense of humor and our private language.

The first time I told her I loved her was also very strange. I blurted it out less than a week after our Zero-date. And for a second I thought “There you go again, you’re too honest, too quick, you just scared her away like you always do”. Then I thought “well, screw that” because I knew I meant it. And I knew that all that crap about playing games, not being honest and so forth was BS.

I’m so happy it happened that way. I think the strongest thing about us is that we’re perfectly honest with each other. We can’t go to sleep after a fight without making up. We can’t keep a secret for more than a minute. It’s great.

During our first week together, I met up with my brother and sister. I told them about her. I told them that when I’m driving with her in the mountainous  roads of
Haifa, and every time the road goes down I go “wheeeee!” and then she replies “must. kill. moe.” they both said: you should hold on to her and never let go.

Between our Zero date and Valentine’s day, we saw each other almost daily. Met each other’s friends. When I had to stay at my place and study, she showed up with pizza. Some other night I woke up to watch a lunar eclipse. She came with me. After Valentine’s day, I practically moved in. My roommates started calling me “Garry the imaginary” behind my back, because I was never at my apartment.

About the period of time when Shmersonette was waiting for me to propose. (About 6 months from when the subject was brought up to when I proposed): I have only this to say: I always knew we would get married. There is a difference between knowing you’ll get married and being ready for it.

I’m proud to say I chose the wedding ring myself. A week before I proposed, we went to Paris. I decided not to propose in Paris. I wanted it to be were we live. I wanted to be able to take the kids there. I felt like when you propose you should be close to home, in a place that means something to you. And I told her it would not happen in Paris, and why. See, at the time she already knew I was going to propose. And during the time in Paris she found out it was going to happen in less than a week. See? We can’t keep secrets.

Mo’s note. I thought it was probably going to happen, but I’m a hopeless pessimist. Or at least I used to be. Now? Who knows.

About a month before I proposed Shmersonette said that if she wanted to propose (She didn’t really, and I didn’t want it that way either), she would buy tickets to our favorite singer  – Shalom Hanoch’s concert in Ceasaria, and pull some strings so that she gets on  stage and proposes to me in the middle of the show. I know. Totally not us (and totally Mr and Mrs No balls). Then I thought of doing the same thing – only without the rock concert. So I took her to that stage (it’s a 1500 year old Roman stadium) and proposed there.

It has been a strange year. I think you, as readers of this blog, are mostly aware of the bad things. But a lot of good things happened also. In a way, I’m glad we had to go through all of that this year, it was a test for our relationship and guess what? we passed. “A plus plus” passed.

Anniversary Week Post 4: The Proposal (?)

23 May

It’s the middle of July, 2008. Shmerson and I have been together for 7 months, and I am still freshly shocked from the Philly Freak Out of June ’08.

Shmerson is with my parents and I at a wedding of a family friend. The cocktails have been served and my mother has already downed two glasses of white wine. We get called to gather for the ceremony. We stand around the Chuppa. Shmerson and I are kind of leaning on each other, and my mother, without even noticing, stares longingly at the ceremony while affectionately petting Shmerson’s shoulder. Willing him to get off his ass and propose already. Shmerson takes it in stride and we casually mock my mother on the drive home. In fact, to this day we tease her about the “drunken two-ton unsubtle hint of July ’08”.

It was always pretty obvious to both me and Shmerson that we would get married. It wasn’t a question of yes or no, it was a question of when.

That July, I was 27, and Shmerson was 25. My uterus had started slightly screaming. But I was ok with waiting a while longer. Letting Shmerson take his time.

You see – in that way, we are very different. Shmerson is a very contemplative, slow-moving kind of guy. He doesn’t make decisions lightly. I on the other hand, have been known to decide to move to a different country in the course of 24 hours.

(I am happy to report that in the last few years, we have managed to balance each other out on the big decision thing)

S0 – back to July of 08. I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t want him to propose. But we were only together for 7 months. There was time.

Fast forward to July of ’09. We are at my second cousin’s wedding. Shmerson and I comment on the decor, and sometime between the ceremony and the food we come up with the perfect idea for a wedding invitation (that idea came true – you can see it in my header).

No – he hadn’t proposed yet. But this is what we had been doing for a while now. Examining other people’s weddings and discussing what ours would look like.

And yet, no ring. I was 28 and Shmerson was 26, we had been together for almost 2 years and I was – well, I was starting to go a little nuts.

He knew it too. We even had several fights about it. He wanted to wait until he thought we were good and ready. I was a panicky crazy person and actually said stuff like – “What if we die tomorrow? Don’t you want to check “get married” off of your list?”

Yes – I used to think like that. Thank goodness for xanax and understanding husbands.

At this point, my conversations with my mother, on a daily basis, went something like this:

Mom: So – when is he going to propose?

Me:  I don’t know mom. And please stop asking because I want him to and I don’t want to give him any ultimatums.

Mom: Well – I have a diamond I want to give him for your engagement ring. Tell him that.

Sometime during our next “when the hell are you thinking of proposing?” fight, I mention the diamond.

Then, I literally start getting paranoid. Does he not really want to marry me? Is it because I gained weight? Maybe I’m completely wrong about this?

Nearly daily talks with Squish and Me0Me around this subject help keep my sanity. Barely. I somehow get it into my head that he’s waiting for a special occasion. Like my birthday.

So – around comes September 25th of 2009. My 29th birthday. The night before, Shmerson had taken me out to a fancy dinner. There was no ring in sight, and on top of that – I was a bit disappointed when the chocolate cake came out and there was no sparkler for me in honor of the big 2-9. I voiced my disappointment to Shmerson. About the sparkler, not the lack of a ring.

We throw a birthday BBQ the next day. I see Shmerson plotting something with Squish while checking the Chorizo sausages. I think to myself – oh – maybe now. Maybe he’ll propose here – in front of all of my friends.

Then Shmerson turns around with a big sparkler on a chorizo. Especially for me.

There was no ring on that sparkler.

I smiled, then I hit him. A bit too hard. I’ll cop to that.

A month earlier we had started planning a week long trip to paris. This was taking place at the beginning of October.

Paris. It had to be Paris. I mean – who wouldn’t propose in Paris?

I started getting sneaky. I searched his backpack one day. I found a ring box and a ring. A really ugly, really thick gold ring.

Oh dear flying spaghetti monster – please don’t let this be my engagement ring.

And we go to Paris.

We had a lovely time in Paris. Truly.

And we came back still NOT ENGAGED.

I was seriously about to lose it. Was he really that cruel? Was he going to wait until our 2 year anniversary in January? How the hell will I have time to plan a nice summer wedding in January?

This was getting to be too much.

Then – the last weekend of october, I knew something was up. I mean, it was kind of obvious. He had told me to pack. He didn’t tell me where we were going. But I knew I was going away for the weekend.

Shmerson and I suck at keeping secrets from  each other. It was obvious what was going on. I was just hoping that hideous ring was not part of the plan.

So, in the car we go. It’s a rainy day. Shmerson takes me to Ceasaria National Park – one of the most beautiful places in the country. He walks me to the bottom of the ampitheater – a place where I’ve seen some of my favorite musicians give epic performances. Now bare for the winter – just made up of ancient ruins overlooking the sea.

I don’t remember exactly what he said. But it was pretty fucking awesome. We both cried.

Oh – and the ring – well – see for yourself:

I’m not sure how much you can make out from the picture. But it was perfect. And he used my mom’s diamond after all.

It turns out that gold ring was an attempt to take something of his mother’s and blend it with my mother’s diamond. A lovely thought. But he had the sense to know my tastes and know that I would dislike whatever version of that ring he would have come up with.

Still – you have to love him for the thought.

We spent the next three days at a bed and breakfast (our favorite past time). Shmerson had called my boss and told him that I was taking a day off.

And yes, he was right, it was worth the wait.

I sometimes wonder if we had gotten married sooner, if perhaps, this whole baby-making thing would have gone a bit smoother.

I will never know. But one thing I do know – that had we gotten married sooner – we wouldn’t have been able to deal with this last year nearly as well as we have. We needed that time to grow as a couple. And we did.

So – we got married on May 27th, 2010. I was 29, Shmerson was 27. And it was beautiful.

Tomorrow – how our first year of marriage became arguably the worst year of our lives, and yet, on a lot of levels, arguably the best. 

Anniversary Week Post 3: The Whiskey Fake-Out

22 May

Welcome ICLWers! If you’re just tuning in, my husband, (aka Shmerson) and I will be celebrating our one year anniversary this Friday. In honor of that, and to get away from the nightmarish couple of months we’ve had (feel free to check out our TTC timeline to see what that’s all about), I’m dedicating this week to our amazing marriage. Just scroll down for parts 1 and 2 of the story. 

So, when we last left off, Shmerson had moved in, and the fur baby had been adopted. Just around the five month mark.

I had been invited to a wedding in Philly during the second week of June, and since I had introduced the couple and had the designation of “best dude”, of course, I planned to fly out. Plus – I hadn’t been to the States in  couple of years and was looking forward to seeing my friends.

Before I go on with this story – a little background. At the age of 19, I decided to leave Israel and study in the states. I did my BA at University Y in Philly, and my MFA at Grad School X in LA (the names have been changed to allow me to bitch openly – mostly about Grad School X. University Y is actually rather awesome).

So – that means I spent the majority of my twenties (7 years to be exact) a minimum 12 hour flight away from my family and my friends in Israel.

Now – during that entire time I didn’t feel homesick once. Don’t get me wrong – I talked to my mom every day, I missed my friends in Israel. But at that point, Israel didn’t feel like “home” to me (the States didn’t either, but that’s a different post for a different time).

If I look at it on a philosophical level, there was no real place that I felt at home.

Now – back to our story.

The plane ticket was bought. I was leaving for Philly the second week of June (forget the exact date), and flying back June 22nd – exactly our six month anniversary.

Shmerson is a Whiskey lover (to say the least) and I already had a dastardly plan to pick him up a bottle of Johnny Walker Gold as a present.

I was really looking forward to the Philly trip. I LOVE Philly. Seriously. It is one of the most underrated cities out there. If I was ever forced to live in the States again, I would totally live in Philly.

So off I went, packed and ready and arrived in Philadelphia. Shmerson had driven me to the airport, and we had brought Luna along for the ride. I had a really hard time saying goodbye at the security gate. Little did I know that I was headed into utter torture. Not only for myself, but for my poor Philly peeps who had to put up with my whiny ass.

I got on the plane, I cried.

I landed, happy to see the groom, we hugged it out, I got to the happy couple’s apartment, I got on skype with shmerson, and I cried. I told one of my BFFs about my incredible love affair over pizza, she was skeptical (AK I love you to bits and always appreciate your skepticism!), and I went back to the happy couple’s place. And I cried.

I didn’t just miss Shmerson, and our little apartment, and our new puppy. I ACHED for them. I LONGED for them.

From the second I landed in Philly, all I wanted to do was go back home.

This had never happened to me before. Ever. 7 years away from my family and friends in Israel, and I had never ACHED. I didn’t know what homesick was until that time I spent in Philly.

The wedding was lovely, of course. The plan was that after the wedding I would go to a family friend’s place for a couple of days before the happy newlyweds headed off to their honeymoon, and then I would spend about 4 more days crashing at their place, hanging out with old friends, maybe taking a train up to NY for the day, etc.

So I was up at the friend’s house when I got the call: The bride had come down with the plague. Better not to come back to the apartment for fear of me catching it as well. The honeymoon was off.

Now – most people would be pissed at this. I had made plans, I didn’t have money for a hotel or another place to crash, and I didn’t want to stay up at the PA burbs with a 70 year old woman. I mean, I loved the woman, but after a day – it’s a bit much.

But I wasn’t pissed. Not in the slightest. I WAS RELIEVED.

I picked up the phone, called my travel agent in Israel, and changed my flight. Screw my friends, screw NY, screw everything. I wanted my Shmerson and my fur baby and my apartment and I wanted them NOW.

On the way to the airport the next day I realized that I had a problem. Our 6 month anniversary was four days away. Should I give Shmerson his present early? But wouldn’t that make him feel bad? (Yes – this was the only thing that was occupying me. I didn’t even care about the extra 200 bucks I had to shell out to change the flight.)

So I put together a dastardly plan. At the duty free, I bought TWO bottles of whiskey. The JW Gold as planned, and a cheaper bottle of something I knew he liked well enough. I would present him with the cheap bottle just as I landed, and then on the anniversary day itself, he would get the good stuff – Surprise!

This plan of course went off without a hitch, and Shmerson loved all of his presents (yeah – I also did some serious clothes shopping for him at Target and Ross, because I can never say no to keeping him out of black velvet pants and in discount Rocker T-Shirts).

But you guys know that’s really not the crux of the story.

It took 10 days (well, actually one) of me being away, and driving my poor Philly friends crazy (sorry guys! I know I was obnoxious! Love you!) for me to realize something: I finally had a home. And it wasn’t the apartment. I had lived there for almost a year before Shmerson came along. It was the man that was waiting for me at that apartment, along with our amazing little puppy.

He picked me up at the airport, we drove back to our little place with me cradling our little puppy the whole way home.

That night, I slept like a baby, with the huge smile plastered on my jet-lagged face.

Tomorrow – “Why hasn’t he proposed yet? Oh, yeah. Ok.”

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