domesticana

It Must be in the Air

Springtime in Sonoma county is blissful: cool mornings, sunny afternoons and everyone itching to spend the whole day outside. After "quiet time" the other day, we went over to our friends' cul-de-sac for a little bicycle action on the street. When I told Ella our plans, she smiled brightly, with so much generosity in her voice and said, "Oh, those guys are so lucky to live on such a nice street!" Incidentally, we live on a highway.

With the sun still warming us low in the sky, the kids raced back and forth down the street and then spent a good hour playing with the gravel in my friend's front yard. They buried each other in it and filled their tucked-in t-shirts until they looked pregnant and chubby. They were hysterical with giggles and filthy with dust, and the whole scene was just one of those perfect life moments. Nothing special, just a simple, satisfying afternoon.

After the children had completely stretched out their t-shirts with rocks, Ella asked one the of the neighbor boys if he was going to tell his mom about his ruined shirt when he got home. He was balancing on his bike, standing still, when he slowly put his feet on the ground and said, "I don't have a mom." Not quite grasping the gravity in his voice, or maybe she did, Ella responded, "Oh, do you have two daddies?"

Witnessing their interaction from afar, I smiled at her modern assumption and then my heart just broke as he told her that his mother had died four years ago. He just has a dad now, he said. And a grandma. And a kid brother. Only a few seconds passed when they all shrugged it off and went back at it on their bikes, but I'm not so easily distracted.

We seem to be surrounded with breaking families lately. Two of Ella's close school friends' parents are going through difficult divorces (is that redundant?), and another is clearly on the brink. Then we learned that our neighbors/friends are splitting up and moving (separately) across town. On top of all that, a few weeks ago and out of the blue as far as I was concerned, my sister-in-law practically arrived on our doorstep after fleeing the state to escape her husband of 24 years. He had some kind of breakdown, and she had to get a year-long restraining order against him. What is going on, people? Is it something about that pesky Mercury in retrograde? Maybe I'm just finally old enough for all of my friends' marriages to start becoming part of the national stat? It's so depressing.

Despite all of that swirling around us, our life continues to improve and look brighter every day. New, and potentially very rewarding, opportunities are presenting themselves left and right, and Matt is beside himself with plans (and work). He's so excited and pleased and gracious that even his constant distraction with work isn't irritating me the way it has in the past. Finally having a light at the end of this long new business tunnel is definitely improving my patience with his workaholism.

Back to yesterday, after we'd said our goodbyes and packed up her bicycle, I stealthily encouraged Ella to tell me about her conversation with the neighbor boy, pretending I didn't know about his mother. She seemed to take it in stride—very matter-of-fact. Somehow that conversation segued in her mind to her neighbor friend's new living situation, and Ella said, "I wish you and daddy lived in separate houses, like S's parents, because then I would have two houses." I guess S's parents have pitched their separation to their kid as a fun new adventure, worthy of 5 year old envy. I told her that we're all happy living together, but it's nice that S is excited about her daddy's new house. Then she asked if she could have a cookie when we got home.

Apparently all this  it's not screwing with her nearly as much as it is with me!

Double Date

One of my best friends in Seattle is married to a neurosurgeon, and our most constant source of bonding lies in our husbands' unavailability. They both work way too hard, and when they finally have a spare moment neither of them feels much like being social. So, it was always the two of us with our kids, commiserating about being married to workaholics and attending family-type functions solo but together.

So, it's been a little strange to be doing things with Matt ever since we moved... Not only has he been working from home, which makes him much more available for meals and little errands and playing with Ella, but he has also been tagging along to practically everything. He even came to one of Ella's swim lessons the other day. What is my world coming to?

Last weekend, Brooke oh-so-generously invited us to Sonoma for a 'Welcome to sunny California' night on the town, and I practically jumped for joy when Matt said he was 'in'. She set it all up: the kids would stay with her mom and she and Matt would take us to their favorite restaurant in town.

Saturday morning, Matt looked at me and said, "Um, do I have to dress up?" His standard uniform is a t-shirt, shorts and flip-flops--so, yeah, honey, you do. This is a man who has a veritable horde of clothing but only ever wears the same sort of thing, and as a result he has completely forgotten whether he has anything but t-shirts, shorts and jeans. I, on the other hand, never feel like I have anything to wear because I really don't. What I needed for that night was a new top. So, we set up a playdate with the neighbors, and Matt and I went to look for something appropriate. A shopping trip together, without Ella, is a novelty of astronomical proportions.

We went to Banana Republic thinking we could both find something there and stay within nodding distance (you know, where you hold something up across the store and the other person nods, "definitely!", "hell no" or "go try it on..."). I found a few things--naturally none of which were on sale, and Matt agonized over a t-shirt and v-neck combo thing that he tried on twice and didn't buy. As I was showing him the stuff I liked, he said, "I wish you'd wear jeans more. I like it when you wear jeans." I argued that it's been 100 degrees practically ever since we moved here, but in reality I just don't have any that fit me right now (but that's another post). His response was, "Let's go get some that fit." So we ended up at Macy's, on separate floors, talking on our cell phones in the fitting rooms. As could only be expected, Matt walked out of the store with three pairs of pants and two shirts all of which cost less than my one pair of jeans. And, we had to rush home before I could find a top.

So, we picked up Ella, got dressed (me in an outfit completely inappropriate for the season, but whatever!) and drove the back way to Sonoma. We were all sort of giddy in the car. Matt seemed excited to be going out, meeting Brooke's Matt and seeing my butt in jeans for the first time in months (at least he likes it). I couldn't wait to see Brooke & Satchel again and meet Matt and her mother. Ella was positively high about getting to play with Satchel, and she could not stop talking about "swimming" in their bathtub. I'm sure most families feel this way together with some regularity, a kind of shared family excitement, but it's a truly rare thing for us, and it made the night feel all the more special because of it.

Brooke greeted us with warmth and open arms at the door, looking beautiful and glamorous (which I am beginning to think is just par), and the evening took on a surreal quality from that moment on. The Matts hit it off, the kids ran into the yard and Brooke showed me around their magazine-perfect home. It's so refreshing to meet a woman who in many ways seems to have it all--brains, beauty, happy family, beautiful home, etc., etc., and who remains so generous and excited about life and all her good fortune. No snobbery, not a hint of entitlement--just pure joy and gratitude.

After meeting her mother, it's easy to see where Brooke gets it. I didn't hesitate for even a second when Ella put up what I was confident would be a short-lived stink as we left. I knew she was in more than capable, loving hands, and I was right.

Judging from our indulgent evening, it's really no surprise that it's something of a blur. Our meals  were all fantastic, and we happily washed it down with lots of good wine. All of us share the same philosophies about food and wine; where it should come from, how it should be prepared, and most importantly that night, how it should be shared with friends and loved ones. We laughed and exchanged some family secrets and talked about blogging and babies and birth. It was a grown-up evening to the nth degree.

After dinner we strolled around the town square--I think we probably all needed to walk it off a bit. As often happens after a dinner like that, I didn't want the night to end (which sometimes translates to not knowing when to stop). So when we walked by a local tavern, I suggested we go in. Us girls had "cocktails" (I'll give you that one, Brooke), and the Matts had beers, and I felt successful in drawing out the evening for a little bit longer.

When we arrived back at their house, Brooke's mom was peacefully knitting in their quiet living room, and the children were sleeping soundly together in Satchel's bed. We got the glowing report on all the fun they had at home, and then reluctantly transfered Ella into the carseat and said goodnight.

As we drove home quietly reliving our night, I felt overcome with gratitude. Gratitude to Brooke & her family for such a wonderful night. Gratitude to the universe for our snoring girl in the back seat and our new life in this beautiful place. And gratitude for all this new time with my husband. It's been a long time since we had such a fun day together.

Marriage and money

A very good friend of mine was in town for a visit a few weeks ago, and one of the many late night topics that came up was how she and her new husband are handling the money and marriage issue. Individual bank accounts with a joint account for shared expenses? One account where all is shared? Separate accounts all the way? She and her groom haven't worked it out yet, but talking with her about it made me curious how other people deal with this very hot-button marriage topic. It seems everyone I talk to lately has a different way of handling it, but one thing was certainly pervasive across the board: it's a touchy subject in every marriage. By "touchy" I don't mean to imply that everyone fights about it--we never do--but just that everyone has a lot to say, a lot to explain and justify. I certainly do.

Before I met Matt, I had just graduated from college and taken a very low paying job that didn't really cover everything I (thought) I needed. Then my student loan grace period ended, and I just lost it. It was like I took a year off from reality. I didn't answer or return calls from the student loan people. I often left mail unopened. I just tuned it all out, and then laid awake at night stressing about what a total mess I had made. All of this was made easier by dating an older man who wanted/could afford to spoil me (he was doing a true full-"court"-press), and who paid for me to join him for all the fun things we did together.

At about the one year mark, I confessed to him what a mess my finances were, and he shared a very simple Excel spreadsheet that he'd created to manage his own finances years ago. It's bare-bones-basic but that's what makes it brilliant. Within a month or two, I was back on top of it all with a new sense of realism about what I could afford. Fortunately for me, I didn't have any credit cards and I still had one month before defaulting on my loan. So, my mess wasn't dire, and it cleaned up pretty quickly.

Clearly though, I had a ton to learn about effectively managing money, and I still do. Not to point the finger (exactly), but my parents do not have a healthy sensibility about money, and I think my brother and I are products of their example. I was always so impressed with my friend Jessica when we lived together after college. She seemed to have it all figured out: a 401K, investments, savings, but I remember there was talk about her dad helping her with this or that. Even if he didn't set it all up for her or prod her at every stage, she certainly learned from his example growing up. Having learned nothing about that stuff, I can really see the value in educating myself and passing it on.

Once we were married, Matt and I set up the usual division of labor: I do the laundry, he does the yard, I do the grocery shopping, he fixes stuff when it's broken, I do the cooking, he manages the finances. What it really comes down to for us though, in everything we do as a couple, is the question, "Who can do this better?" I'm better at doing the research and making decisions about baby and kid stuff. I'm better at (and enjoy) the, sometimes mundane, details of parenting. Matt's better at a lot of things, and money is definitely one of them. I find myself telling people that our division of money labor is mainly because our business finances figure so directly into our personal ones, and that is a legitimate consideration. But in all honesty, he's just better at it.

Over the past year as we closed out our old business and started a new one, we've been up and down financially, and thus being mostly out of the loop about our finances has been a blessing and burden. I'm relieved not to take on that stress, but it's hard to be on the outside of all of it too. Matt is bearing all of it on his already weighed-down shoulders, and I feel guilty for not being able to help. Ultimately, I hope that our close ties to the day-to-day flux of our business are cut, and that our finances become easier to manage and understand. I feel like I owe it to myself and Ella to learn how to do it. Well. 

Bad omens?

For the past week and a half, we've been waiting on pins and needles to hear back from that couple about buying our house. They seemed to really like it the first day, and came back after Thanksgiving for another look. The second visit consisted of lots of build-out talk, and they even drew up some plans. Before they flew home the following week, they gave us a $1000 check as 'earnest money,' and said they would give us their final decision on Monday. They needed some time to let things settle before making it official. Our fingers are firmly crossed.

In the meantime, Matt is having another killer flare-up of his colitis, which I'm sure can be attributed to the stress of this potential sale, the holidays in the retail business, the cold snap and the fact that he ate a piece of pie everyday for breakfast for a week. Idiot. Me as much as him, I suppose. I knew he was indulging in a slice or two for breakfast, and I didn't do anything to stop it. I asked him what he was thinking??, but he said it 'didn't seem to be bothering him.' Famous last words... Granted, they were pies that I had made specifically for Matt and Ella (honey/maple syrup sweetened, spelt, etc.), but still. He knows better.

This bout is accompanied by a relatively new symptom: vomiting. If something doesn't sit well in his tummy, it just comes right back up. If it does stay down, it's going right through him. So, he's not getting ANY nutrients. He's in pretty bad shape, even for Matt. I know it will pass--it always does, but it's such a blow. The worst thing about colitis is that it's an auto-immune thing, which means he's highly susceptible to every stinking thing out there right now. Whenever I hear about bird flu, I think to myself, 'Great, just what we need!' I shouldn't joke... I guess I'm not really.

I mentioned the cold snap factor because the cold weather certainly does seem to play a part in this illness. He always has more flare-ups in the winter, and the cold just makes him miserable. He can't stand to have any cold air on his body. Our house is a blistering 75 degrees right now. Considering that it's 35 outside, you can imagine how expensive these flare-ups can get. I made him sleep downstairs in our electrically-heated guest room last night just so I could turn the main floor heat down to a whopping 70. I heard him wake up in the middle of the night, trudge upstairs and turn it back up. The night before last he cranked it to 78! and turned a space heater on in our room. I slept without a lick on me and felt that sickening desperation I sometimes get in the summer when I'm too hot to sleep. What I endure for this man--it must be love, let me tell you.

As Ella gets older, Matt's bi-monthly flare-ups seem to be having more of an effect on her. She definitely notices that he can't play with her as much, falls asleep on the sofa before and after dinner (her prime Daddy time), and often can't rally to put her to bed. She seems to vacillate between feeling sorry for him, as she demonstrates by tucking him into bed and reading him a story, and wanting to punish him by refusing his hugs or not listening and obeying his requests. She has begun imitating his sick behavior for attention--my tummy hurts Mommy, I'm sleepy, I can't pick up my toys, and she's a pretty convincing little actress. So convincing that I think she convinces herself sometimes. I think we just need to talk to her about it openly. Maybe it's a matter of telling her (as it happens) that there's a beginning and an end to these flare-ups. That he feels rotten for a few days, but that he always gets better.

To top it all off, our store was burglarized again last night. I say again because it was less than a month ago that our cash register was stolen. We got a new one, programmed it the week before last, and lo and behold it was the only thing taken again last night. Ugh. Such a pain in the ass. This time, the  guy (we know it was a white guy in his early 20s because someone saw him do it) broke down the door and generally left a big, nasty mess to clean up today. Of course, the police aren't going to do anything.

Sometimes I kick myself for being superstitious, but I can't help but think that this burglary and the flare-up are bad signs about our potential house sale. Please, please, let me just be silly.

Has it really been that long?

So, where have I been, yeah? I can't believe my last entry was in April. It honestly doesn't seem like that many months could have passed.

As much as I've been thinking about blogging, composing little posts in my head, I was a wee bit busy this Summer. Let's see, there was that horrendous work project from the depths of hell--the one that had me up 'til 1am every night for almost a month and my hands aching from so much copy/paste action. Honestly, I had to do so much keyboard shortcut work that I didn't knit for nearly two months. Then there were all the house-guests, one of whom--my mom--stayed with us for five weeks. Then my grandpa and cousin came to visit twice, another cousin showed up for a long weekend, my mother in-law for a few days, and then a week-long stop-off from my dad. All the visits have been very pleasant, but, honestly, they were damn tiring. Then there has been the whole "starting a new company" workload, which has really upped the guilt factor of blogging. All these things, coupled with just feeling blue about still not being pregnant, have been the main things keeping me away. I've been missing it, but at the end of the day I just didn't have the energy, time or gumption.

Before my blog-world sabatical, I kept meaning to write about the pregnancy stuff, but I just wasn't willing to deal with it on this level. I've been torn in so many directions: believing that another baby will come to me when he/she is meant to come; feeling frustrated every month when I get my period again despite our half-assed efforts; trying not to get my hopes up; struggling with how to approach my husband about it each month; feeling happy with my slowly materializing independence now that Ella can get dressed, go to the potty and do a myriad other things without me; dealing with a very, very early miscarriage; contemplating IUI, Clomid and other, what I consider to be, fairly drastic measures; and just generally feeling wave after wave of self-pity as I've watched practically all of my friends get pregnant again, birth, nurse and love another baby. As Ella would say, it's been a "bummer."

In the past few weeks, I feel like I've come to a healthy place in my head about having another baby. All this desire to get pregnant has been fueled by several fires--my desire to get pregnant and have another baby being the brightest burning. Then there's the fact that Matt is 43 going on 44, and I know he won't want to have another baby when he's approaching 50, which puts my plot to have more than one more into serious jeopardy with each passing day. On top of that, Ella reminds me daily that she wants a brother AND a sister. "Maybe tomorrow," she says.

I've always thought I wanted to have a big family, and to be fair, I knew when I got married that three was going to be a compromise on Matt's part. He's a big believer in one-on-one attention with each child, and he's always said he's not sure if he's got enough to give, the way he intends to give, to more than two. But, he has said he's open to considering it, and that he wants to make me happy and understands that I do feel like I have a 'enough to give.' So, for the past two years, as we've been putting our most pathetic feet forward in our attempt to get pregnant again--amid his heath concerns and the pressures of starting new businesses--I've been feeling the heat.

I've also been feeling a little bitter, which is an emotion I truly loathe. I haven't been myself with all this preoccupation and the monthly reminders that I'm probably not going to get the family I've been banking on. I haven't felt like being funny. I haven't wanted to laugh. I've just allowed myself to be consumed by it.

These feelings make me feel so ugly, and I am so over them. A few weeks ago, Matt was talking to Ella during a mini-tantrum, and he said, "El, you can just decide to change your mind. I know you don't want to be grumpy and crying right now. You can decide to change your mind and be happy again." And you know what? She did. She wiped away her tears, sobbed for a few more breaths, picked herself up and changed her mind.

I'm probably at the 'picking herself up' stage. I've stopped feeling resentful of Matt's work ethic and passions--they're not stopping me from having the family I want because those things are a part of him, and the family I want has him in it. I always dreamed of having a warm house with affectionate faces, lots of laughing and that palpable love of a close family. In my dream there were lots of kids in that picture, but what I've been missing during this fog of disappointment is that I have that dream right now. I need to stop waiting and wishing for this or that and start appreciating what I've got.

For the past year, Matt and I have both been consumed with the demands and stresses of starting a new business, and I feel very deeply that now isn't a welcoming time in our lives. I know that our attempts have been half-assed because we both, although unwilling to admit it, have been struggling with the reality of our position. If a baby choses to come anyway, that would be wonderful. But the act of 'trying' is just so, well, trying. I feel confident that, one way or another, I'll have another baby someday. I've just decided that there's no sense rushing what isn't meant to be.

On top of the new company and baby-making woes, we've also been planning on that move I mentioned a long while back. Our plan at this point is to list our house in December with a lease back option for a couple months (tricky, I know), set off in February or March for Hawaii for work reasons for a few months, and then head to Sebastopol by next Fall. Although the Hawaii scenario may sound blissful to some, it's been rough to be in this move purgatory for the past 10 months, and the thought of packing up all our stuff and then spending a few months in Kona before we actually "move" is a little overwhelming. I'm sure by February or March in Seattle, I'll be singing a different tune about hanging in paradise for a couple months though.

So, that's what's been going on with me.

In his defense, sorta.

Last night as I was making dinner, I told Matt that I was still a little pissy about his dishwashing comment from the night before, and he seemed genuinely sad that he hadn't said what he meant.

He told me that he misspoke and that what he really meant to say was that if I am having trouble keeping all the dishes spotless, then there really must be way too many dishes ... because I'm so good at the dishes. I suppose I could take this comment in one of several ways:

1. I'm so freakin' anal that if the dishes aren't spotless something must be wrong.
2. Matt is appreciative of how hard I work and wants desperately to provide me with a dishwasher to ease my burden.
3. He usually thinks I'm the best damn dish-washer he's ever seen, but right now I'm slacking/overworked/buried in dirty dishes.

Whatever. I was mainly feeling pissy because I think the dishes look great. I honestly have no idea what he's talking about. Dirty dishes, my ass.

Speaking of dishes, I have a sink full of them, and I'd like to get them done before he gets home. I also want to make the bed, gather up the laundry, finish editing this CSS code I've been working on during naptime, put on some makeup, take Ella to the playground (as promised) and cook a fresh and healthy dinner. I've got 2 hours. Wish me luck.

Out of town

Matt was out of town all of last week, from Sunday morning to Friday night, and it wore me out. It's sad that it takes something like a week-long business trip to make me realize how much of a help my husband is to me. I often hear myself complaining about how much work it is to be married to this man, not that I would ever want to trade him for anyone else. So, it was a pleasant reminder to open my eyes a little and appreciate how fortunate I am to have him around. Even if he isn't knocking me up right now... More on that later, maybe, if I'm up for it.

Matt usually wakes up at 6 or 6:30 am, and Ella naturally gets up with him. They have a morning routine, and I usually either sleep in, go for a jog with our dog or try to make it to an early morning yoga class. Last week was slightly torturous, not because I can't get up early and forgo my routine for one measly week, but more that I was just beat. I stayed up way past my bedtime almost every night because I needed a little time to myself after spending the entire day with Ella one-on-one and then doing the whole dinner and bedtime thing. That's the other way that my husband is a prince among men: he has a nighttime routine with her as well.

Almost every night after dinner, Matt gets Ella in the tub while I do the dishes. He washes her hair and talks and plays with her. He blows her hair dry (with a brush!) and brushes her teeth (with too much paste). He puts on her pjs and night diaper, helps her tidy her room and then cuddles up to read her a book. Then they turn out the light and he makes up some crazy story about this or that--her favorite series is about "The Scary Monster." He likes to buck convention that way. He fills up her sippy cup with water, says goodnight and voila, the kid is out.

It's pretty great.

So as not to put him on too high on a pedestal, last night he made this remark as he pulled a glass from the cupboard, "Okay, you've made your point about getting a dishwasher." When I looked at him with a 'what-are-you-talking-about' look on my face, he delivered the punch-line, "The glasses haven't been very clean lately." I was so irritated I could have I don't know what. He claims he was only kidding, but as any mother who cooks all three meals a day for her family and is the only one who ever does the dishes (by hand no less) would agree, that's not funny. Not even kinda. If you want to tell me the glasses have some watermarks on them, just say it.

Regardless of his momentary loss of consideration, I still missed him when he was gone.

Is it just me...

Or does everyone think it's INSANE to bring home scallops and calamari to cook for your wife when she has the stomach flu? The package actually red: Tubes and Tentacles. I mean really, what the hell was he thinking? He was so excited about the quality of the sashimi-grade scallops that he even said, and I quote, "We don't even need to cook these through. We can just sear them." Oh yummy. All I've had to eat all day is toast, and he's talking about rare shellfish.

Dipped

My temperature has been hovering around 97.5 - 97.7 for the past two weeks, and yesterday it hit 97.7 and dropped to 96.9 today. I think that means it's time to get busy, right?

Now I have the big dilemma: to tell him I'm ovulating or to keep it to myself. In the past whenever I have told Matt that I'm ovulating, the sex gets weird or we just don't have any for some mysterious reason like a tummy ache or something else goes wrong. Naturally, this just happens to be coming at a particularly stressful time (we're trying to get out of town early next week, and he's totally bogged down with work and pressure and a pending contract that could either make or break our 2005), and I can't make up my mind.

So, internet, should I tell Matt he needs to have sex with me to make a baby or should I just try to jump him constantly for the next few days? Either way he's probably going to be reluctant. Is it better to have stressed, reluctant and pressured or stressed, reluctant and suspicious. I guess it doesn't really matter...

Please keep your fingers crossed that I can get my husband to have sex with me. (How sad is that statement.)

How quickly it fades...

My irritation with Matt, that is. We spent the weekend, all glorious and sunny in Seattle, together as a family with very, very few work obligations. I woke up early both mornings and went for walk/jogs with two different friends, sans stroller (ahh, what bliss), and the afternoons were spent with both my kid and my husband. The astonishment is still settling. Not to mention the excitement of my big surprise: Matt took us all to the bike shop for the full gear extravaganza with some of the loot from his car…

Matt sold his beloved Porsche 911 this weekend, and I think the act of doing so inspired him to kick back and spoil himself with quality family time. He’s been waffling for months about selling the damn thing, and I think it was a tad traumatic for him to sign it over to someone else. A buddy of his has been begging Matt to sell it for a couple years, and when he offered to write him a check for $14,500 the other day, Matt couldn’t refuse. So, it’s gone, and now we have new bikes, a kiddie trailer and money for the kitchen remodel. Hmm, I’m over it.

Speaking of Matt and cars, he has been on a purging kick lately, and for the first time since I’ve known him he admitted that he doesn’t have time to manage the endless maintenance that our fleet of used cars requires. Finally, the light bulb popped up over his head. It’s been one of those “Duh!” things with me for a long time now, but there’s really no reasoning with this man when it comes to anything with an internal combustion engine. Not only did he take the plunge in getting rid of the sports car, the one that’s been crowding our garage and under-driven for 22 months (the exact age of our child), he has even been heard uttering the word “new” before the word “car” as of late. He claims that it may be the first time in his life that buying a new car would make reasonable, financial sense. He just doesn’t have the time to be driving around, dropping this or that car off at this or that shop. We wake up early to take one of the cars to have something fixed at least once a month, and the other day he got this look of sheer delight as he was telling me that they give you a loaner car when you “take in” a car under warranty. He said, “Don’t you see: only one of us would have to take it in? Wouldn’t that be great? You could do it.” Frankly, that would be great.

The only catch: he wants me to trade in my 1987 Mercedes 300E for a Honda Odyssey minivan. Vanity aside (and I really can put it aside), the extra space and new features would be swell, but I really love my car. Nothing is set in stone, and we haven’t even started looking at anything seriously yet. But man, I think I may be as sad as Matt was this weekend to say goodbye to my car.

And that, my friends, is what being married to a car freakazoid does to you.