Whole30: the recap

So Jon and I completed the Whole30 a few days ago.

I didn't think I was going to make it! No added sugar? No bread? NO CHEESE!?!

Jon was waiting for this *burst* of energy we were supposed to get, but he was disappointed. I listed a few benefits I got in the update post from the middle of the month (less tired, not dizzy at the gym, nicer skin, etc). Also? I lost some weight,* too.

But here's the biggest one: my mouth is not hungry 24/7.

See, I have this thing where I can have a really filling, delicious meal, but then ten minutes later--even if my belly is bulging and I can hardly move from the couch, my mouth has a taste for something else. It's bizarre! I try to drink water, or wait 20 minutes, but it's there. All the time. This leads to way overeating and ridiculous snacking. And it was getting to be a problem.

But cutting out all this stuff from my diet? Made the cravings go away.

Not sure what it was, but I do consume a lot of dairy--yogurt, milk in my tea, lots of cheese. I have a feeling that hormones in that stuff has something to do with it.  But I'm no doctor.

Last night (Jon's birthday) we went out for hibachi/sushi and dove into bowls of rice. The idea was to introduce one forbidden food first to see how our bodies would handle it. Right away, we both felt really full. My tummy was not immediately pleased and there was more um, air, in my system, but otherwise I did all right. But I realized I would have been just fine eating the veggies and the meat and just a little rice.

This afternoon I had a burrito bowl with brown rice and felt the same way--I would have been way more satisfied with double the veggies and half the rice. My stomach wasn't in pain, but felt a little weird. I was scared to eat any candy--especially with the overflowing bowls all around at this time of year--but I had a mini PayDay today and it was SCRUMPTIOUS. I'm afraid once I eat chocolate, I won't be able to stop.

Like I said on Day 18, this simply can't be a way of life for me. It's just way too hard on my friends and family--being on a weird diet not for allergy reasons makes hosts feel bad and dining out really tricky. But it really made me stop and think about what I'm putting into my body. And I will definitely be making some changes, like less pasta and rice, more cups of tea with coconut or almond milk instead of cow's milk, and way more vegetables.

As hard as it was for Jon and I, the person who suffered the most this past month was my poor mother. It was absolutely KILLING her to not be able to send over some food. She even researched the diet and made a very tantalizing homemade chicken soup, but looked crushed when I told her we couldn't have peas. I think she felt a little better when I picked them out and ate the rest in front of her. But only slightly. Because she's a graduate of the school that preaches, "Food is love," and a mommy who can't share love is a sad mommy indeed.

the ones that won't let you down
When I was stuck in the dungeon on Thanksgiving, my mom cooked up a mini-feast just for me, and the family brought it 35 miles into the city for me. My mom said, "the turkey just wouldn't go down my throat knowing that you weren't having any."


*I lost half an inch from my bust, waist and the widest part of my hips (I only had "before" measurements required for sewing). I will probably weigh myself when I get back to the gym where I had taken that particular measurement a few weeks before this experiment.

here we are again

I'm certainly not one to break tradition, if I can help it. So for the SEVENTH(!) YEAR IN A ROW, I will be participating in the NaBloPoMo, posting every day of November.

Currently, I spend double-digit hours a day staring into a screen and looking for answers--even on the weekend--so I've decided that this month I will be doing 30 *flashback* posts. They will be new, of course, but I hope to reference, expand on, update or otherwise re-run what I like to look back on at do they read obituaries in hell? with fondness.

So it's only fitting that I go all the way back to the very first post on this blog, March 7, 2005:

pumped up 
In which I pontificate about filling air in my tires and how I'm glad I know how to do it.

I didn't really know what blogging was about. Heck, like 1% of all people had even heard of a web log in the spring of 2005. But I randomly found a blog called Tequila Mockingbird and just loved what she was doing. So I thought I'd give it a whirl.

If I had any idea it would bring me closer to a friend in NY than I was with any of my local friends at the time, introduce me to a bunch of wonderful people--including my husband--and provide a great way to win bets about when things happened over the last few years, I probably would have done a LOT more editing.

Let me know if you're participating and I'll try to comment as much as I can. C'mon, we both know it: Comments are the coal in the old blogging locomotive.

happy 35th, husband

I could wax poetic about how sweet, wonderful, loving and thoughtful you are, but anyone reading this blog for 20 minutes would have already gathered that I think you're the frosting on my cake.

What I will say is that I know you love me, and that is something I sometimes don't make easy, especially on days when I have had 2 hours and 47 minutes of sleep, neverending frustrating meetings and a very short fuse. Your ability to hold in your words and see past my stomping around and taking my bad day out on you is worth so much more than any amount of Valentine bouquets, fancy dinners or mushy cards (though your cards are pretty good).

And the fact that you put yourself on a relatively insane diet for a full 30 days and did not cheat with even the thinnest string of cheese (or anything else for that matter) JUST to support me because I was doing it? I don't have words.

I'd be making you a triple-decker peanut butter and grape-jelly sandwich at midnight if I didn't worry it'd make you sick after not having any of the ingredients for the last month. Or if I thought I could emulate your technique.

So instead I blow you 35 kisses. Happy birthday Jon.

flashback

People on the East Coast are buckling down with their supplies and their candles for the possibility of a Hurricane-ish storm called Sandy.

A little more than a year ago, Jon and I were flying into New York to have a fun pre-wedding weekend with Ri/C and Highcon at his Manhattan loft apartment. We (and the rest of the island) cleared the shelves of the local CVS and Walgreens and holed up in his place drinking and playing cards.

I didn't appreciate it at the time, but I really needed a weekend AWAY from wedding planning, and being forced to spend it with some of my favorite people, arguing over Monopoly on the iPad, trying to figure out what is so great about Jersey Shore and crowing about being crowned "President" did the trick to get me back on my game. It was a great time.

Last night--just 14 months later--Highcon was in town. So we got together again (this time Kai and her husband were able to make it). But it was a little different, because:

Ri and C have a BABY! When we were in New York, Baby RiC was about the size of a grape--and we didn't *officially* know she existed until we were leaving for the airport to go home (I suspected but didn't want to ask).

Ri, C and RiC moved, and they ended up in the subdivision across the street from us! And while we've all had condos and apartments, there really is something crazy about people so close to us (also our age) who have a house with a driveway and a patio. Wow.

Changes aside, there truly is something warm and golden about keeping in touch with people you've known longer than you didn't know them (does that make sense?). Standing around the kitchen island, washing dishes, we wondered what our 12-, 16- or 22-year-old selves might have said if they could get a glimpse of that scene.

None of us could even imagine.

i'm pretty sure this guy knew his time was up

Chocolate cake topped with chocolate mousse, dipped in chocolate sauce, topped w icing eyes. If I could purchase and deliver this to Ri and C without giving into temptation, I have more willpower than I thought.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Whole30: Day 18

I'm getting older. And I sure am feeling it.

I don't bounce back easily anymore. I have to prop my head up with a stapler every day at 2:30 p.m. One minute of jumping rope makes me feel like falling down.  My real-people clothes (read: not scrubs) are too snug* to be sitting in them all day. Also? I have a hard time falling asleep and an excruciating time getting out of bed in the morning. My monthly ladyfriend brings the pain and at least one pimple. And I don't even want to think about what would happen if I tried to pull an all-nighter. All of those were getting me down.

So when I heard about the Whole30, I thought I'd give it a whirl. See if at the very least I could stop that vomitous, lightheaded feeling while jumping up and down for 60 seconds (for awhile I was convinced I was going to drop dead of a heart attack).

There's a ton of stuff on the Interwebs about this, so I'll just say the very basics:

1. No grains
2. No added sugar (fruit is ok)
3. No dairy. Not even a pat of butter
4. No legumes or beans
5. No soy
6. No peanuts 
7. No peas
8. No potatoes
9. No alcohol

Way harsh, Tai, right?

Shockingly, it's been going pretty well. Despite his distaste for (so) many vegetables, Jon is doing it with me for solidarity. I have not cheated (except for when I realized the splash of Coconut milk I was putting in my tea has some cane sugar in it). As far as I know, he hasn't cheated, either. And now that we have made it 18 days, there's no reason not to go all the way to 30.

This is what I've noticed so far:

1. I fall asleep within 10 minutes, max. 
2. I don't feel nauseated or lightheaded during or after working out. 
3. Jon says my skin looks better (didn't get a pimple this month). 
4. Ladyfriend was kinder and had a shorter stay!
5. Still hard to wake up, but that's been a problem since I was like 8. 
6. I actually like eating more fruit (even the occasional banana**) 
7. No 2:30 p.m. slump!
8. Waistband is a bit loose on some of the pants (haven't tried Ring Of Fire yet).
9. And the biggie: I have ZERO problem sitting next to my coworkers as they eat McDonald's french fries, chocolate cake or other treats that would normally make me want some. This was unfathomable to me when I started it. Passing the bakery or noodle shop is a whole different story.

Jon and I have been cooking everything from scratch, using fresh vegetables and trying to find the healthiest meats we can afford (we are completely broke this month).  Everything has been delicious so far and my coworkers are curious to see what I bring in every day. We just had dinner of pork marinara over julienned zucchini (I know how pretentious that sounds, but it was really tasty). 

I am terrified about what is going to happen as we reintroduce the banned stuff at the end of the month (which coincides with Jon's birthday). I've heard there are headaches and tummyaches and internal plumbing issues. But it's a great way to figure out what a person's body is truly sensitive to-- bring back stuff one at a time--and see where the tiredness is coming from. For me, I have a feeling it's from hormones in dairy and meat. Not sure what Jon is going to find out. We will see.

One thing is clear: I don't think we can live this way all the time. Jon not baking is just depriving the world of heaven in a cupcake wrapper. And this diet leaves zero room for grabbing something quick and easy. Even steaming up some green beans takes prep and planning. But we have no-prep stuff like boiled eggs in the fridge for a quick snack. It's been a lot of meat, though, which made me realize I was pretty much eating vegetarian before. Also, going out to eat with friends can be a little awkward and make friends feel bad. That I can most certainly live without. Not to mention all the additional dishes to wash.

Above all that, I don't want to live in a world where pizza makes me sick. Let's hope that doesn't happen. Only 11 more days until I find out.


*PP has a friend who calls looking at your belly at the end of the day and being able to see the imprint of the inside button on your office pants "the ring of fire." So apt.

**Anyone who has known me for ten minutes will be shocked because I don't eat bananas. My mom made me eat them every day when I was a kid and I was so over it. But they're not terrible. Don't tell my mother.

nope, that's just where I put away all that string cheese and doughnuts

Yesterday, my coworkers and I walked a 5K for charity. Before the race, three women from my old department told me there is a rumor circulating that I am pregnant.

Naturally, I blame my mother.

Last week one of her friends called her at work to say she was saving baby stuff for me--whenever I got around to it. Even the staplers have ears in that department, so by today everyone had already started placing bets on due dates.

Another factor could be the extra girth I've acquired since I started the new job. I've put on about two newborn babies' (or roughly one and a half non-Indian babies) worth of weight since transitioning from running around the hospital 40 hours a week to sitting in a cubicle for 50 then coming home and sitting around some more. If I have to go up another pant size I think I may kick someone.

However, along with the job I have also transitioned my exercising: I went from halfheartedly doing a yoga DVD at home to sweating down to my scalp at a yoga class that is probably too advanced for me and having my behind handed to me at boot camp four days a week. Sure, I've put on some muscle, but unfortunately my clothes are not fitting better.

This is probably because I come home and eat everything in sight when I exercise--mostly stuff like pasta and rice. I will finish a perfectly good meal and still feel like "my mouth is still hungry; maybe I'll have some string cheese and crackers. Or a bag of chips. Or a sleeve of Oreos. It's totally okay because I just held a 'Bird of Paradise' pose without falling on my head." Hmmm. Also? I'm tired ALL the time, no matter how early I get to bed. Or I lie down and cannot actually sleep until two hours before the alarm. I have a hard time concentrating at work, and all I want to do when I'm not there or at the gym is lounge on the couch and watch tv (ok, that's a lifestyle habit I'm not sure I'm ready to give up). I don't even have the energy for knitting!

A few days ago, while trolling around twitter, I saw that Shalini of Reading and Chickens described herself as eating like a fratboy and then said she wasn't going to do Whole30 because she doesn't like meat. I eat like a fratboy! I've never met a cheeseburger I didn't like! So I got to googling: Basically you can't eat dairy, grains, sugar or much of the other stuff that I seem to be unable to live without. It especially targets stuff with hormones in it--and without going into detail, my body does not react well to non-Cadiz-produced hormones--so maybe there's something to this? I'm going to try it this month. Jon is too, for solidarity. We will see what happens.

I'm hoping to feel better, and maybe drop the weight of at least one infant. I just hope I don't pass out in yoga. Because everyone knows I get my strength from Oreos.

one of these things is not like the others

I got tired of guessing which shoes were in which boxes. And for that other one, well, there wasn't enough room in the pantry.

whatever you do, don't puke on her shoes

"So I know we got the t-shirts with his face on them; what are you going to wear underneath?"

"Um, the usual, Mom. Maybe a long-sleeve t-shirt because it's going to be cold."

"No I mean pants. should I wear dress pants?"

"You know this party is in a bar, right? I'm going to wear jeans."

"What kind of shoes?"

"I'm wearing gym shoes, but you can wear sandals--I know your feet get hot sometimes."

"No way! I don't want to get vomit on my feet!"

"What?"

"That's what happens in bars! People drink too much and then they throw up on your shoes."

"Have you ever been to a bar, ma?"

"Of course I have! Remember that one time my friend's son was getting married and she dragged me to her daughter-in-law's Bachelorette party? That was in a bar!"

"Did someone puke on you?"

"No, but she threw up NEAR me. And it splashed!"

"Oh my God Mom, no one is going to throw up on you at my brother's birthday party."

"I probably used up all the paper towels in that bathroom cleaning my feet off--oh my goodness it smelled so bad, too!"

"MOM. I can almost guarantee that no one will throw up anywhere near you at his party. I promise if it looks like it might happen, I will stand in front of you and take the splash."

"Oh and the one who threw up was a grownup lady! You know she was like 50 years old? What disgusting behavior. This is why I don't approve of drinking."

"Nobody is going to make you drink, mother."

"And people weren't looking where they were walking, Cadiz, they were STEPPING in it! It was yuck."

"Ok, then you'd better wear your gym shoes, then."

"I don't care if my feet are hot. I have to protect myself."

teetering around like a drunken flamingo

I find that it is a good idea to shave my legs immediately after a rigorous workout. Trying to do it the next day--when I can hardly move--is just a disaster.

they're all around us

"I asked your sister about the 'server mafia.' "

"What did she say?"

"She wanted to know if they'd asked you if it was a special occasion."

"I thought about it when I made the reservation, but then I thought eh, there's no need."

"Then how the heck did he know it was our anniversary? It could have been my birthday, your birthday, the 225th anniversary of the Signing of the Constitution, anything!"

"It was a little creepy."

"Kind of like that time when the girl mailed you the card asking how dinner with my parents went."

"Yeah, that was odd, too."

"I'm telling you--the servers have spies everywhere! She just can't admit it out loud or they'll break her knees."

paper

Growing up, I never really dreamed about the man I was going to marry, but there were a few must-have qualities he'd need to seal the deal: He had to be really good at directions and mathematics (you know, for helping the kids with homework), handy at building and fixing things like my dad, and he also wouldn't mind doing the dishes. In fact, back when everyone who had a blog was writing 100 things about themselves, I basically announced it to the world.

76) my partner will be able to tutor math, enjoy doing dishes and will be good at directions and foot massage. he will also value thoughtfulness and talent and will not be fazed by excessive speeds or lane changes on the highway. when his arms are around me, i will forget my problems.

Little did I know that my life partner was reading that list, and even posted a comment.

But roughly five months after that post, I was picking him up at Midway Airport--aggressively passing and changing lanes, which didn't even make him flinch--and falling in love with him at the top of the Sears Tower. Three years after that post, he gave up balmy Southern California for hot-and-cold Chicago to be with me. Four years after that post, he gave me his great-great grandmother's ring from Germany and asked me to be his wife. And one year ago, today, he held my hands under a gazebo in front of God and everybody and promised to do the dishes for the rest of his life.

If only I had been able to sneak that bit into his vows.

We have to take turns washing the dishes, but it's a small concession given all the stuff that is wonderful about the guy:

• He doesn't hold it against me if I fall asleep in the middle of a conversation. 
• He patiently explains the use of any and all gadgetry, often repeating himself without being condescending. I've said it before, he should be an explainer for a living. 
• In his youth he delivered pizza, which just honed his strong sense of direction.
• He's loving and thoughtful and sweet to his family. And mine.
• All the children (and cats) we know are enamored with him. I've finally come to terms with the fact that he will always be the favorite. 
• He is the most open-minded person I know, and because of him I've realized that not everything is black and white.
• When I drag him to the fabric store, he doesn't roll his eyes.
• His faithfulness to athletic teams is unmatched. If he would be half as devoted to me, I'd be a happy woman for life. 
• He fixes his own car, and the plumbing, and the remote control.
• The man is an excellent baker. This is good because my idea of measuring ingredients is to shake a little into the pan until it looks right. He uses a kitchen scale. 
• He loves television as much as I do. And cheese.

You get the gist: I love this man. I'm so happy to be married to him. And I'm still amazed that we were able to find something so right by randomly bumping into each other in the comments section of a blog. I love you, Jon.

Photo by SecondPrint Productions

Let's always be this happy.

 

thirty

This summer, cc and I took a road trip to St. Louis, where my brother now resides in a cute second-floor walk-up apartment. It's his first solo place, and it was funny to watch him debating whether to get a living-room rug, attempting to caulk the window casing that was letting in ants and even showing off the fancy coffeemaker-with-the-cups that his girlfriend, M, got him as a housewarming present. Actually, it was kind of adorable.

I was in Mother Hen mode, worrying he didn't have enough towels, surveying the neighborhood suspiciously, lecturing him about how frivolous it is to sign up for pricey tv packages when he's only there on the weekends. Cc had to shoot me the "dude, he's a big boy," look at least once an hour. And I get it: The guy jet-sets around the country, drinks heartily, holds down a demanding job and still manages to feed himself and take his medicine every day. Sure, he is a big boy. But I can't help it--whenever I look at him, this is what I see.

Probably sometime in 1984 or 1985. On the lawn of the local college (which apparently has now become a University).

It was after some event, and my friends and their mom were hanging out with us on the lawn until my mother came to pick us up. My brother started getting anxious. He was a stubborn little one, and after he had his mind set there is nothing you could say to convince him to change it. Everyone was trying to soothe him, distract him with jokes or games, but he kept asking when mom was coming. I did the only thing I could think of and picked him up. My arms were sore, but I held on tight and did not put that kid down until she pulled into the parking lot.

It's always been like that. Maybe I feel extra responsible because I prayed so hard for a brother and my mom did a good job convincing me that I summoned him and I could never give him back:

i let my mother deal with the noise and the mess, but if i do say myself, i was damn good. i even got to choose his nickname: mickey mouse, even though they shortened it to mickey. i didn't even get that upset when people fawned all over him instead of me; but if they were hogging, they'd hear it. of course he's gorgeous, you think i'd pick an ugly one? hello! dammit, i did all the work to get this kid, i wasn't about to let some auntie leave her nasty lipstick all over him.

But my brother bought into it too. When he went to the doctor and had to get shots, he often wanted me with him instead of one of the parents. My dad would playfully ask "Whose are you, mommy's or daddy's?" and the kid would say "my sister's" (he's always been very clever). And for years, every time drunk dials were to be made, I was sure to get a ring. Those are the rare times when he's chatty.

While we were in St. Louis, they took us to this place downtown called Rooster (10 different types of bloody Marys!). My brother was nursing his coffee and picking at his French toast, silent as usual. I looked over and saw a black spot on the side of his head that I hadn't seen before--was it a weird mark or some kind of mole? I reached over to touch his face. He jumped away as if my finger was a red-hot iron poker and asked me what the hell I was doing. Cc's eyeroll was practically audible. What? It's not like I licked my finger to clean off his face or something.

Later that day while he was driving the car, I saw Girlfriend M reach over and touch my brother's face in that same spot with the black mark. He turned and smiled at her in just the way that my husband smiles at me when I absently run my hand over his very soft beard. And at that moment it *finally* clicked for me. He really isn't a baby anymore. He's, like, a man. And of course he will be turning to a significant other for reassurances, not us. Which is the way it really ought to be. It just took me a long time to accept it.

Today my brother turns 30. I am so proud of the man that he is. He's intelligent, strong and under all that sarcasm, very kind. The fact that he orchestrated and attended a girls' trip to Las Vegas for my bachelorette party (he was maid of honor) last summer speaks to how much he loves me, too. And when we had that car accident in December, he calmly took charge of the situation while I fell apart like a soggy Kleenex at the thought of nearly killing him.

I may no longer be able to make him feel better by picking him up and squeezing him tight. But I hope he knows that no matter how old we both get, I will always be there for him. And he will never have to be alone.

Happy birthday, brother.

i looked and i said, "no ma'am"

I am OBSESSED with this. What's not to love? Cute kids, head-bopping beat and after-school snacks. I am not ashamed to say I first heard it on NPR.

Exercise delinquent

I have probably missed two yoga classes since January. So of course, as soon as I went and bragged to the Internets about my dedication to working out, I skipped the gym Monday and yesterday (had to work late and thought the boot camp instructor wouldn't appreciate regurgitated egg curry and birthday cake all over his gym). I will probably have to skip yoga again today because of the dry Margaritaville party. But at least I will be dressed for the festivities.

Don't look too close at the hasty and crooked rouching. Also, let's not talk about the fact that I some seams are 1/4 inch and some are 3 inches. You can't see those from the outside anyway.

anniversary(ish) dinner

One thing is for sure: While I may go months without posting, I will never give up this blog. It's like that restaurant where you and your husband had your favorite date--maybe you don't often have the energy to get gussied up and drive all the way out there for a night out, but you get there eventually. Because you'll never stop loving it.

So here I am. In two days I'll be 34. Which is crazy. When did it become August? When did it become 2012? Seems like just a few months ago I was sitting in the dungeon clicking "Next Blog" and trying to come up with witty emails so Jon would maybe fall in love with me, move here and let me come up with beautiful Indian names for his future children. But that was seven years, four jobs, three residences and one wedding ago. DANG.

***

Ri and C just closed on a house across the street from our subdivision. They're moving in with their four-month-old next weekend. I knew the crooked claw of suburbia would beckon them back sooner or later.

My brother moved to St. Louis. I pray that is not a permanent situation, because even though I didn't see him often when he lived here (he travels for work) I worry that I will see him even less. I can't describe to you how it feels when the planets align and the whole family is sitting down to a meal together at the old kitchen table and then a rousing game of poorly performed Rock Band. I nearly passed out from contentment. Do regular people have these thoughts? Probably not.

***

My job* is challenging in a wonderful way. But all this "strategizing," "discovering," "figuring out," "designing," "planning," "compromising" all day can really take a lot out of a person. Every night I come home with broke brain (a term I have been trying to get into the lexicon for years). Sometimes I miss being able to walk around and make smalltalk with others without feeling like I'm neglecting my spreadsheets. Then I remember how invigorating it is to be screamed at by three different unhappy people all at once, and I thank my lucky clouds for the silent and colorful comfort of spreadsheets.

I spend most of my evenings watching recorded television and making baby presents because MANY people I know are producing babies. I cannot get enough of the babies, and I am absorbing as many tips as I can for the time when I will have one of our very own (don't get any ideas, that is out on the horizon somewhere).

***

I started exercising in earnest. Granted, it's only been a week, but when all the workout gear you own gets into the hamper in fewer than six days, that is something.

Yoga on Monday and Wednesday, Tuesday and Thursday is "boot camp" (circuit training that goes by so fast you don't realize how hard you're working until you get to the car and have to take a minute before getting in because you don't want to have to clean vomit off the floormats). Friday, Saturday and Sunday are for lying on the couch and whining about how you never realized triceps were necessary for mundane tasks such as the tying of shoelaces.  

Jon is doing bootcamp, too, but he's insane and replaces the yoga with running (yuck to running).

***

In the midst of the craziness of work, I found myself on the department's party-planning committee. The powers that be want to have a "Margaritaville" party and we are supposed to get people to wear Hawaiian gear, do the limbo and a hula hooping contest--in the middle of a week when deadlines are dropping from the sky--oh and there's no alcohol allowed. I told you, it's a challenging job. I am in charge of the Hawaiianwear judging and I have no Hawaiianwear that will zip up the back anymore. So I am trying to sew a dress. Today. Even though I'm too big for this pattern from 2003 and have to figure out how to make it work. I'm nothing if not ambitious, Tim Gunn.

***

One day when my head was spinning from spreadsheets, I took a peek back at the archives of this blog. Here is a snippet from what I wrote on August 14, 2005, the year I started this blog. It was the tail end of a very rough slew of disappointments for me, and if you had told me then what I'm up to now, I never would have believed it (warning, this is back when I refused to capitalize letters while still adhering to all the other grammar rules. I know, I was living on the edge back then).

* it's possible to be in paradise and yet be completely miserable.

* always remember to eat. even if you feel like you're going to puke with every bite.

* you can only soak up so many boxes of kleenex before the pity party gets played out.

* no one but you can tell you what to feel. or think, for that matter.

* everyone has their own crap to take care of. you landed on this earth alone, you're going to leave it alone, so why not learn how to fly solo in between? think of your copilots as bonuses.

* nothing puts your troubles in perspective faster than someone you can't live without going under the knife.

* free alcohol is the most expensive drink. ever. (i saw that at postsecret.blogspot.com)

* no matter what you do to try and straighten it, at the end of the day a pig's tail is always going to be curly (okay, i stole that from my mother).

* there is a grave difference between what you want and what you need.

* your true peeps will somehow be there for you. maybe not right away, maybe not how you'd want them to, but they will stand up when you need them. and sometimes, who they end up being will surprise you.

* anything worth anything is going to be hella hard.

* once-in-a-lifetime opportunities will nearly ALWAYS come up at the worst possible moment. it is a test of your merit and you will either thank your lucky stars or have to shoulder that regret till you're 83.

* sometimes you have to suck it up and do something you're afraid of because you don't know what'll happen. and what may happen may just be what you needed after all. but chickensh*ts would never have found out.

* and most importantly, ALWAYS listen to the little duende in your gut that starts pulling on your intestines like a shirt sleeve at the first sign of trouble. that little goblin will never steer you wrong, but if your ego/heart/logic is yapping too loudly, you’ll never hear what it has to say.

*I work in healthcare. Previously, I was a "fixer," making sure things were running smoothly. Now I've been put on a team that is helping technically and theoretically re-engineer the entire system, hopefully for the better.

clearly, i watched too much tv as a child

Last week I went to an intimate baby shower for one of my college friends, put on by a crew that includes Angel07 and pp.

Because I've never had a baby or helped raise one in any significant way, I wasn't going to dominate any baby-related questions in the Jeopardy-style game (I knew the first answer but forgot to state it in the form of a question, so I started my team off with negative points--we ended up losing with a score of -1600 to some +500).

However, there was one game that I felt pretty confident about: "Famous TV Families," wherein players had to list all the children in a given fictional family from television.

I finished first and got them all correct--including a bonus point for oops-baby-ratings-boost Chrissy Seaver from Growing Pains.* 

I'm not sure if I should be proud of this or ashamed that I have all this useless knowledge at the ready but can't seem to remember a single thing about Calculus.

*When Jon and I saw The Avengers in the theater, I recognized the girl who played Chrissy (all grown up) and yelled out in the theater, "That's Chrissy Seaver!"

all my life

Last spring, I was still working in a tiny office, phone ringing nonstop, furiously trying to keep people happy. It wasn't always easy: There were grumpy patients, other departments demanding their needs be met first, the undesirable evening shift when we flew by the seat of our pants while the people with answers were at home watching The Bachelor. But no matter how frenetic it got, my partner in crappy hours and multitasking, Eileen, always kept things entertaining.

She had a joyous laugh. She was so sweet with the patients, especially the very young and the very old, and she was so very thoughtful to everyone. Eileen was going to use her experience working in a floral shop to assist us with those paper flowers and was already suggesting all kinds of awesome ideas. She took a lot of pleasure demonstrating moves she picked up watching Bollywood dance numbers on YouTube that she planned to show off at the wedding.

***

We had asked our guests to add song requests to their wedding invitation RSVPs. A surprising number of people interpreted that as a request for first-dance recommendations, including Eileen. She gave me a list of about five, all slow-dance jams. But, she insisted, we absolutely HAD to play her alltime favorite, "All My Life" by K.C. & JoJo. So we added it to the list.

***

The music at our wedding was fabulous. A coworker had recommended a cousin duo of industrious Indian college students who had played her daughter's sweet sixteen party. One of them played the dhol, which was right up my alley. They were responsible and punctual and worked with our list. And the dholi absolutely rocked the house. The only beef I can think of was that I wanted them to play "Personal Jesus" as an homage to the mosh-type circles we had in college every time that song came on, and how I would try and keep up with all the boys. I should have clarified that I meant the Depeche Mode version, because instead they played Marilyn Manson's cover. I guess I can't blame those college kids; they weren't even alive when the original came out in 1989. Ol' Marilyn got the job done, but I think the Auntie Patrol was a bit frightened.

***

By the end of the night, when people were munching on McDonald's cheeseburgers and the bartender with moves straight out of Cocktail was trying to convince my brother to have a "slop shot" (a shotglass full of the spilt liquor from the little plastic mat on the bar--he didn't go for it), I realized that I had yet to hear a single slow song. Amazingly, Jon was actually out there, even though he'd never be caught on a dancefloor unless it's during a slow song. Your wedding day truly is a once-in-a-lifetime event.

Suddenly the deejays were announcing the evening was coming to a close, and the last song was going to be a slow one. My new husband took me in his arms as I caught the first few bars of that piano, and the tears began to flow. Of all the great slow songs on the list, they went with Eileen's number-one choice. I cried onto Jon's shoulder until the lights came up.

There were a lot of people I wished could have been with us on that day.

***

A week later, on our honeymoon, Jon and I were on a white-water rafting trip in Costa Rica. Soaked, tired and sore, we were really happy. Suddenly a butterfly landed on my leg and refused to fly off, no matter how I gently tried to shoo it away. Most likely it was interested in the watermelon juice I had dribbled all over myself, but I chose to believe Eileen had come by to say hello. She loved butterflies.

***

Today, Eileen would have turned 35. She died unexpectedly a week before her birthday last year, and never got to show off her moves at our wedding. I made a purple paper rose and kept a purple set of the bangles that we gave out as favors. Her best friend put them on her grave. It would have been great to see her face light up when she heard her request come over the speakers. I'm pretty sure that for the rest of my life, the song will always make me cry.

A07 & m

Back in February, Angel07 married a wonderful fellow named Mark.

As you may remember, Angel07 has thrown some AMAZING parties, she has been a guest-blogger here and also took part in the great paper-flower-making bonanza of 2011.

So of course when I heard about her awesome movie-themed nuptials, I could hardly contain my enthusiasm for how I might help. She was gracious enough to let me make stuff that she would actually be wearing on her wedding day, such as her veil, her bridesmaids' fascinators and even a faux-fur stole. 

 

We took a trip to the fabric store, her bridesmaids chose some silken flowers they liked and some baubly stuff, I dismantled them all and put it back together. 

 

 The girls looked absolutely gorgeous.*

 This is pp! All the photos in this post that don't look like they were taken with a cameraphone were shot by the same brilliant photographer who did our wedding. The others, of course, were taken with my cameraphone.

I can't take credit for the little tulle/feather flower piece; I believe it's something marketed by David Tutera.

 Girl looked like a bona fide movie star!

I cannot tell you how impressively organized Angel07 and Mark were. The wedding was mid-February and so much of it, including all the centerpieces (some of the same awesome crew who helped us were one her team), were ready to rock before the holidays! At the reception, they had a table with all kinds of classic movie candy boxes as favors (we're talking Lemonheads, Everlasting Gobstoppers, Whoppers, Junior Mints, the works), and they gave away a DVD to one person at each table (ours was at The Godfather).

I wanted to make their wedding gift-card box look like nothing I had seen before (shocker). I had a couple hatboxes I had ordered but didn't use for our wedding and was brainstorming with the girls about making a movie reel featuring photos of the couple. I made one flat end look like the reel with cardstock, but it didn't look quite right with the hatboxes stacked up like an off-kilter cake.

 So I turned it on its side. The slot for cards is on the top right edge.

I got a little clapper thing (what the heck is that called anyway, a scene marker?) at a party store. Unfortunately, it kept coming down to close. I'm pretty sure people got the idea. 

Happy three-month-and-four-days anniversary, Angel07 and Mark!

that's just how i roll, i guess

I spend a lot of time at work listening to Pandora. I have meticulously cultivated more than 20 stations, and there are workdays during which nearly every one of those get played. I like not having to completely decide what I'm in the mood for, so I don't keep any music on my phone (I guess I have to sit in silence when there's no signal). I'm convinced I'll go deaf from having music in my ears all day long, so I keep the volume at the lowest possible level that will still block out the secretary over the cubicle partition ranting about her ex to anyone who happens to walk by.

The other day, Jon was playing something by a band he'd just discovered, and while we normally agree to disagree on musical taste, I was kind of really feeling it. The only comment I could come up with for what I liked was that it felt smooth. Like something you could picture yourself rollerskating to--in a good old-fashioned rink. On four-wheelers with a stopper on the front. Under a disco ball. Come to think of it, nearly everything I like would work well in a roller rink. Well, everything but the Bollywood.

shows that I am NOT young

I've been told that I am the only person who would have a problem with/be annoyed by the fact that the following doesn't really make grammatical sense:

So if by the time the bar closes
And you feel like falling down
I’ll carry you home tonight 

IF by the time the bar closes AND you feel like falling down? I mean, I get why it wouldn't work with the music, and that a whole lot of song lyrics make no sense, but still. I'm not completely crazy, right?  

careful where you flash that nerd card

Apparently, starting a sentence among coworkers with the words, "You know, I read an article..." has the same effect on a lively conversation as the sudden, untraceable stench of really bad gas: uncomfortable silence.

The other day I was in a meeting with a bunch of people we didn't know very well with whom we will be working closely and whose close cooperation we really need over the next 18-24 months. We were waiting for the meeting to start, so naturally the conversation turned to the children's television program, Blue's Clues.

As one of the few people in the room that hasn't actually had a child, of course it was me who informed the group that striped-shirt Steve was no longer on the show, that he "had gone away to college." I don't know where I pick up all this random information, but trust me, I have a lot of it. It was an innocuous conversation, and everyone was participating pretty enthusiastically.

But then I said, "You know, I read somewhere (not somewhere, it was Malcom Gladwell's The Tipping Point, but I didn't want to go all-out nerd with an attribution) that there was a lot of research and testing that went into the format of Blues Clues and that its particular format really helps kids that age learn, and it's pretty ground-breaking television for little kids."

Silence. Choked the life right out of that conversation.

A few days ago my team and I were having lunch together and shooting the breeze about how we were so sick of studying. I brought up how The Hunger Games made more than $150 million on its opening weekend.  No one had heard of the series. So I started describing the premise. They seemed kind of interested until I said, "I read an article that the author used to work in television and the whole series is structured in some ways like a play or show, into threes, and so in some ways a natural translation to screen, but despite that, some people are saying they really didn't do a good job translating it to film..."

The sound of crickets was deafening.

I didn't hear myself in those situations, but just seeing my own words here is starting to bore me. I'd better keep my reading to myself.

on the morning of our six-month anniversary

"I had a bad dream."

"What happened?"

"We were walking on a pier, somewhere in Washington State, I think. It started in this glass building and the pier went way out into the deep deep water. And it didn't have railings. I stopped to do something on my phone while you and the others went ahead. And then suddenly I felt this shaking and rumbling sound, and these huge dark blue waves were getting choppier and choppier on both sides, and getting really big. I called to you but couldn't see you. Other people started freaking out. This lady fell to her knees sobbing and this Pittsburgh Steelers player (in uniform, helmet and all) just sat down, right there, he was so scared. I turned and started running as fast as I could back to the glass building, and the pier started moving. Right as I was about to get to the doors, I lost my footing and slid off the pier and into the water. I remember thinking, right as I was about to hit the water, 'Ok, so I guess this is how I'm going to die.' And then I woke up."

"Whoa, that's pretty intense."

"I know, I'm still shaking. Who knows, maybe you ended up in the water, too. We'd have no way of finding each other."

"I had a horrible nightmare last night, too."

"Really? What happened?"

"Well, I dropped my iPhone and the face completely shattered. It was so upsetting! I woke up really sad, but when I checked it, everything was ok."

"What a relief for you."

every day i'm studying

When I was a kid, my brother and I could pretty much opt out of anything (family obligations, chores, etc.) if we gave the excuse that we were hitting the books. Which was pretty awesome. But then when we came home with a 98 out of 100 my dad would ask, with a completely straight face, "What happened to the other two points?" So I guess it only worked if we actually studied.

I've been out of that game for more than a decade, and in tackling the tests and projects coming up for my job, I find myself right back to my old habits; begging off things to study then trying really hard not to be distracted by trivial things like organizing my socks. Here we are, the night before the first test at 8:30 p.m. and I still have to go over the last third of the book.

Sigh.

White House: what's your story

Awhile back, I read about Nidhi Chanani, an whose whimsical style and desi-american flavor I absolutely love. I definitely identify with her work.

She submitted a video to the White House Initiative on Asian Americans and Pacific  Islanders' "What's Your Story" Challenge. I wholeheartedly voted for her (voting ends March 1). Her video is the center one in the top row.

Here's a link to her website and some of her illustrations. 

Happy Sunday! Let's see how much studying I get done.

old habits die hard

A few weeks ago, I got a new job.

Before: Solving problems and dealing with dozens of people (at times some were very angry) on the evening shift, carrying a phone that wouldn't stop ringing and rocking scrubs and gym shoes in a tiny office elbow-to-elbow with about six other people.

Now: Up at the crack of dawn to stare at my closet for at least 15 minutes trying to figure out what combination of *professional* gear from those dungeon days I can squeeze into and still be comfortable for a whole regular-person-shift sitting in a cubicle (all by myself!) and studying all day. Thank you, brother and inlaws, for those gift cards to professional-gear stores. They are coming in mighty handy.

Without going into the boring details, I still work for the same organization, but I'm on a massive project that requires pretty intensive certification for which we travel to the sunny hills of Wisconsin in the winter (the cheese really is as good as they say). And when we're back at home base, we just try to stuff as much of that data into our brains and collectively hope it doesn't leak out.

Talk about culture shock. I'm tempted to lock myself to my chair every morning because not being able to walk around and being by myself and quiet is driving me bananas. But I enjoy the new gig so far. It's challenging and interesting and I feel like if we get this right, a whole lot of people will benefit. Plus it relieves that itch I've had for years to go back to school, without having to actually choose what I'm going to study.

***

Those of you who knew me in school know exactly why this is the day I found my way back to this blog: At this moment, what I desperately should to be doing is study. So of course, this is what I'm doing instead. Some things just never change.

***

Here are some of the things I will likely blog about in the upcoming weeks as I further procrastinate:

• Angel07 got married! Her husband is awesome, and they look so happy. She said she felt like a movie star, and by golly, she sure looked like one.
• Ri and C are having a baby! I have known Ri since fifth grade, and we've been through so much together that I really do feel like I'm getting a niece. I cannot wait to meet this kid, but I have to wait till April.
• I haven't covered everything I wanted to post about our wedding, but I'll post-date those to December 2011 because I'm pretty sure people are tired of reading about it. But as I am unable to retain the information I highlighted just two hours ago, I'd better document the details before our anniversary because I'll likely forget that they ever happened.

resolution? um, don't skip making the swatch

Happy 2012, people. I miss this blog. I promised myself that I wasn't going to post until I had one very important task completed, one that has been a sore point for almost three months. So that's what's up with the radio silence. I hope to have that taken care of as soon as possible.

In the meantime, enjoy photos of the little dress I made for my goddaughter, which she will probably be able to wear when she is FOUR (she turned one in October). Trust me, this is a vast improvement on the last knitted item I made for her--it was supposed to be a baby-bag-thing that didn't have defined legs to make it easy for the new mom and dad. What I ended up with was a sweater that I was able to get into MYSELF. Not cute. This time I followed the directions for the 18 month size to the letter* and it still is ginormous. I did the swatch, but bored of it and quit before the requisite stitches; I just jumped into the project.

It has little froggy buttons:

In true Cadiz fashion, I ripped out a good six inches before I was through and modified the Tora Froseth pattern a little bit.

Jon picked out the buttons. Obviously, he has impeccable taste.

*You know, except where I changed the design and the pattern to suit my tastes.

anger. pride. fear. relief. gratitude. guilt.

They say that when you're about to die, your life flashes before your eyes. They also say that when you're involved in very serious situation, you may find yourself thinking of something random instead of something important.

I don't know much about the first one, but during the car accident Friday night while I was hanging upside-down by my seatbelt and calling for my brother, I kept thinking to myself, "Wow, those people who made the movie Crash got that one scene pretty damn true to life!"

***

Let me start at the beginning. 

I had Friday off because I was working Saturday. Jon always has Fridays off because he works long shifts Monday through Thursday. He was doing his thing and I was doing my thing, and suddenly we were snippety at each other, over something so trivial I can't remember what it is. I was getting all worked up on the inside about how he has yet to help with the thank-you cards and if he had just admitted to me that he didn't really want to, I'd be annoyed but they'd have all been done months ago and I wouldn't still feel guilty and is he going to pull this with changing diapers and giving time outs and homework--omg am I going to be the bad cop for life!?! On top of that, I thought he was taking too long getting ready. He said maybe I should go without him and I stormed out the door without so much as a look backward.

I had never done that before. I tell the guy I love him at the end of every phone call even if it's a 2.5-second conversation to say that he's arrived to pick me up. I ALWAYS kiss him goodbye like I saw my parents do all those years. We've even stuck to the whole "don't go to bed angry" thing. But I had let the simmer turn into a boil and was so angry. It was inane. And I knew it even before the door was closed behind me, but was too proud to turn around.

***

I went over to my parents' house--I had wanted to set up the Christmas tree before my mom got home because she always complains that no one helps her anymore. I've put this thing together like six times; a 10-year-old could do it. She got home, shook her head and pointed out that the middle part was never going to fit in the stand no matter what I tried. I then assembled the entire thing in 45 seconds. I had been struggling with it by myself a whole hour--checking the phone every five minutes to see if Jon had messaged me.

I was upset about being angry and I just wanted to hear Jon's voice. My mom called me out on it as soon as she walked in the door, and later my dad said I didn't seem myself. He warned me that it was a full moon that night and to be careful (he says that a lot). I left to go pick up my brother from the airport. Apparently they assumed I went to get Jon first and wasn't going alone.

***

It was 20 degrees out. There had been a dusting of snow in the morning, more like a layer of fake cobweb that people put out during Halloween all over the grass and the trees. The streets seemed fine. I knew I was off because of the argument, plus dad's moon thing, so I was driving extra carefully at the speed limit. Plus this horrible thought kept creeping into my head, "Just watch, self, you acted like a fool and didn't say goodbye to him, what if you got into an accident? He'd have to live with that." I know that sounds like something people say after something happens, and I admit that I have these morbid thoughts ALL the time and nothing happens, but it really was going through my head the whole day. Stupid spotted tongue.

***

My brother drives a fancy car that beeps at him if he doesn't have his seatbelt on. Oh, how I loathe that sound, and I had to hear it every time he'd call me on speaker when he was driving in Alabama. HATE. I always lectured and yelled, but he would never put it on--something about how it chafes. Seriously, it's a really annoying sound, I don't know how he could stand it. I got out of my car when I got to the airport, hugged him hello and slipped my phone into my coat pocket as he was putting his bags in the trunk. On the drive home, we were discussing dinner, the new-but-really-from-Madelyn's-wrecked-car stereo Jon had put into my car last week and other random stuff. I remember noticing that my brother put his seatbelt on as we were pulling away from the terminal and being thankful I didn't have to nag him. 

Everything was normal. I was still driving at the speed limit. I was in the left lane, there was a semi tractor-trailer next to my right and the shoulder to my left. The truck seemed like it was coming closer, my car drifted toward the shoulder--was there ice there?--I pulled it back to center. I heard my brother yell my name as it swerved back and forth a couple of times before I wasn't able to regain control. We swung around and hit the solid concrete median head-on, and my little black Altima flipped over onto its roof and slid, parallel to the median. The scraping of top of the car was such a distinct and disgusting sound. It all happened in less than five seconds.

Everything was foggy. There was this rancid, chalky smoke in the air. I had glass in my mouth. The airbag had knocked my glasses into my eyeballs so hard the lenses were smeared from the inside and they were hanging down at a weird angle. I kept asking if my brother was ok over and over, until he yelled at me to snap out of it. He was surprisingly calm, asking if I was hurt handing me my purse. I couldn't get the seatbelt off, but he was able and fell into the crushed glass on the inside of the roof. Something like eight people stopped to help us, one of whom yanked the door open, and--I'll never forget this--said, "It's pretty smoky, we didn't want you to choke. Plus this car could catch on fire any second. You guys better get out NOW."

I couldn't get my seatbelt off. People kept yelling for me to turn off the engine, but I couldn't get the key to move. The steering wheel and dashboard seemed a million miles away, as if I were fully reclining in my seat with my hair sticking straight up. I had no concept of the space where my legs were. I pushed against the roof to hold myself up so someone could unbuckle me, I don't know who. I was staggering around and couldn't stop checking to see if my brother was ok. He crawled back into the car to root around for his phone while I was panicking that the car would catch on fire with him inside. A very nice man named Pete who was on his way home to Indiana from his job in Wisconsin let us sit in his car until the police came.

***

As I was sitting there, all I could think of was what kind of horrible person could let this happen with someone else in the car, especially someone I love more than my own life? My God, the things this boy has had to face, how hard he's had to fight for his life, and it could have all been gone in a second? My brother had a pretty bad laceration to the temple, his left eyelid was purple and swollen to ten times its size, there was a burst vessel in his eye that made him look like it was bleeding, his shoulder, neck and leg were hurting. My face was bruised from the airbag, I was sore here and there, and I had glass in my mouth. Neither of us wanted to go to the hospital, but I knew that I couldn't force him to go if I didn't too.

I called Jon. He's not stubborn in a fight like me, he answered. He didn't have a chance to say hello before I apologized. The poor guy didn't have a car, or I'm sure he'd be on the road before I got past the word accident. I asked him to call and tell my parents gently and ask them to get him and come to the hospital.

I don't dare imagine the agony my mom was in, trapped at home, knowing both her babies were headed to the hospital in an ambulance.

The firefighter who looked like a caucasian version of my dad when he still had a mustache was so kind. He got me some water to rinse and spit out the glass, he took me where my brother wouldn't see so I could cry a little, then he reminded me that we both walked away from what looked like terrible, horrible wreckage. 

I refused to go in a separate ambulance, so my brother was strapped to the stretcher and I was strapped to a board on the bench. My brother knows his very complicated medical history, but so do I--they were asking me all the same questions but I kept waving my guy off and interjecting in my brother's interrogation: "Don't use tape on him, only paper tape, he's allergic! And advil! He has a pacemaker! Be careful with that leg, he had surgery there!" I was incredibly annoying. My brother gave me a look and I focused on my own questions, which were done pretty fast. Then the tears started rolling. 

"If I see one more tear, I swear to God I'm going to punch you and give you a real reason to go to the Emergency Room," he said, and then asked if they could please get his suitcase and laptop out of the trunk--that's his work stuff.

Before we took off, the kind caucasian dad firefighter said Jon and my actual dad had arrived. But we'd have to see them at the hospital. I sniffled the whole way over there.

***

Again, as we were rolling into the emergency room of this foreign hospital, it seemed like a scene from a movie--for as much as they get wrong, they manage to get this stuff eerily correct. I didn't know where my brother was, and I was as antsy as you can be when you're immobilized on a hard plastic board with a C-collar around your neck. And then Jon came in the door. Later, my dad.

I was fine, essentially just knocked around and shaken up pretty badly. My brother has a few pretty big bumps--they did lab work and X-Rays because of his medical history, and we were there a long long time before they'd clear him to leave. It's always hard to explain what his deal is to new doctors, but I was so impressed by the how in command he is about everything. As much time as I spent worrying, he spent joking with the staff.

Essentially, we are both OK. It very well could have gone VERY differently.

***

Here is what I know:

• I am alive, typing this instead of lying in a hospital bed or a surgical table or the slab of a morgue.
• My brother is alive, and insisted on going to Wrigley Field today to upgrade his season-ticket seats, but his friend kept an eye on him. 
• It was one car vs. a median wall; no other cars were hit or hit us.
• The exact same accident happened down the way about 30 minutes before our crash.
• A lot of people in my life care about me--50+ Facebook comments.
• The car is completely totaled, but it protected me to the very bitter end.

My brother posted this on the FB:

"Wear your seat belts!! They save lives including mine. Last night."

I don't think I would have been able to go on living if the seatbelt hadn't saved my brother last night.

the dress

I had wanted to wear my mom's wedding sari, but she was adamant that it was too old and homemade-looking (she had put it together herself with a border and some lace appliques). She wasn't budging.

The selection of white saris are either totally plain--in fact, white is generally worn to funerals--or SUPER ornately decorated. My aunt and cousin were going to try and find a sari for me in Mumbai, but they were feeling a lot of pressure to find one I'd love. At the same time, we made so many trips to Devon looking for one, too. I wanted something understated with a little embellishment and everything we were seeing was highly blinged out. I was ready to give up in frustration and started bugging my mother to just let me wear her wedding sari.

Of course, that's exactly when I saw something peeking out from under a huge pile of saris someone else had been looking at. The corner had the same color maroon-brown border of my mother's sari and the delicate gold-wire flower work was just perfect for me. I knew it was the one before I'd even tried it on.

The work on the bridesmaids' saris also has a golden floral design.

It was exactly what I'd wanted. My mom would have never chosen that pink color for herself, but she has this sweater in the same color that looks great on her; I told her that's what I'd like her to wear. We were preparing to search for it for weeks, but found her sari within 15 minutes of being in the first store. 

So many people who wanted to be at our wedding weren't able make it. My bracelets don't really match because I'm wearing one from each of my aunts (as well as my godmother and one cousin). Something Borrowed. I even got one from my dad's grandmother, but it's so fragile and tiny, I didn't want to try to get it over the bones in my hand. I was carrying it in a small crocheted bag that my nani made decades ago. Something Old.

My mother wore this ballerina brooch on her wedding day. Something Blue. My father's father had the necklace and earrings set made for me "to wear on my wedding day" a few years before he passed away.

My cousin and aunt bought this maangtika (it was supposed to be hanging lower down on my forehead but the weight of my pallu pulled it back quite a bit).

The back. You can't really see them, but I had peacock-blue shoes on.

Mfm made gorgeous bouquets for me and the bridesmaids (she got the hydrangeas fresh from her neighbor's yard, with permission of course). My Vinu Moushi (mom's younger sister) sent a few yards of handmade lace my nani had made for a slip long ago, and mfm used it to wrap the handle of my bouquet. My mom had carried the "Thinking Of You" handkerchief on her wedding day, too. I was so glad to have it with me; it was soaking wet by the end.

I didn't see it until I was getting dressed that day, but my mom had cut one of the lace appliques from her wedding dress and sewed it to the inside of my pallu--right at the spot at the top of my head. Even though the sari was Something New, I sort of got to wear a family heirloom after all.

malas

Despite the unfortunate meaning en Espanol, malas are the lei-like garlands used in India for all kinds of important occasions to celebrate winners and overall happiness. My mom's people have a tradition of using them at weddings--family members from each side welcome their new family with a beautiful garland of flowers.

Jon and I decided we didn't want to do a unity candle or sand or spices or any of that stuff, but our mothers brought the malas up at the end of the ceremony for us to put on each other before the kiss, essentially welcoming each other to our respective families. Officially.

I had planned on making them myself (shocker) on the day before the wedding by going to the florist, grabbing whatever was available and stringing it up. So the day before at the mehndi, when my godmother's 89-year-old mother said she had something for us, I was beyond touched. She and a bunch of her grandchildren had made these malas for us by hand. It's something they do in their tradition: Take strips of cotton and carefully remove some of the woven threads, making a very very soft fringe. It must have taken a very long time. I was teary.

 These are so much better than what I would have slapped together. And they'll last a long time, too.

Jon loves orchids. We definitely would have used our own orchids (we have a couple very impressive plants) if we could, but of course this is the year they're both dormant.

another one bites the dust

Another year of NaBloPoMo hits the archives. Big ups to Jon, Madelyn, Syar and velocibadgergirl, who made it through like champs.

I know that my wedding-themed-posting wasn't for everyone (and weddings can be a snoozefest right quickly, too). But it all seemed like a blur so it's nice to have it documented somewhere while the memories are somewhat fresh. Plus, I can't tell you the amount of arguments my blog has resolved (my brother was trying to convince us all at Thanksgiving that we sat out in the cold on Black Friday in 2005. Nope, as I said, it was 2007).

There is one person who repeatedly mentioned how much she has enjoyed the wedding coverage. So, for her, I will continue beyond the requisite 30 days until I can't come up with anything else (don't worry; that's going to happen pretty soon).

The rest of you are off the hook. That said, as always, your comments are coveted.