Love Actually

Tuesday was our 8th wedding anniversary, and it's got me spinning a bit this week about the love of my life...the mister, the cute hubs, papa to the big-headed-baby. In fact, come to think of it, he is the reason that baby has a big head. No paternity question here.

I've heard and read that the first year of the baby is often the hardest year of a marriage. And while I'm absolutely on board with that statement in as much as the first year of the baby is likely one of the hardest year of a life therefore by definition impacting marriage, I'd also suggest that it's a simplistic and flat point of view. So far this has been the most interesting, okay hard, let's go with topsy-turvey year of our marriage but in the most explosively beautiful way. It's the emotional equivalent of going from the crayola box of 8 colors to the ginourmous box of say 120. Seriously, it's that good. And there's a sharpener in the back.

I've never experienced this aquamarine shade of sweet. Or this brick red shade of anger. Or this much raw umber all over everything! But it really does require the help of the metallic crayons and an unwieldy number of those wax sticks o' goodness to find all of the subtle ways that I newly love the man. The way he shows up. The way he sits on the glider footrest and rocks the boy and me while we attempt first round of babysleep. The way he makes a killer bowl of oatmeal. The way he got us through the constant weeping and freaky-deaky nature of my bout with PPD with grace and gentle suggestions of homeopathic cures. He's a gem this guy, I am a fawking lucky person.

So in recovering from the madness of last Sunday night we stumbled into the day that marked eight years since we hitched n' stuff and it passed with not much fanfare. Hubs worked, I posted a "hey we're an old couple check us out' status update on Facebook and you know, that was more or less it. However (comma) we are going on a DATE on Sunday night. (Gasp!) That's right, a date. It's all thanks to my dear friend who gave me a coupon for two nights of babysitting at our baby shower. While I always thought that was pretty cool, I had no idea the true value until BHB showed up and I realized that going out together ever again was going to be virtually impossible since we are living a no-extended-family-in-town life.

And as y'all know, I've hired a babysitter in recent weeks and the value of the gift is even more apparent. That sitter thang is a luxury item! After dinner, popcorn and such, a date is pretty much the equivalent of a mortgage payment. But more than that, how can I trust anyone else sit and listen to the monitor with rapt attention in the dark of night? But since 8 years of marriage is certainly cause for celebration I guess it's all about that coupon, my adorable friend and a leap of faith. Yes. We are going people, going out, to dinner and a movie. And I know I'm supposed to like read the Variety daily since I'm a big ol film geek and totally know what movie to see, but well... you know. Help a sister out. What should we go see?

Before I go, has anyone else noticed how yummy this night is? Here in LA it's pretty balmy and tree sway-ee and the moon is just soft and delish on everything it touches. If you're wondering...yes, we bravely went outside into our front yard and despite the excitement of the week, it felt totally fine to be there. What a difference a few days makes. And if you don't know what the heck I'm talking about, scroll it on down and check it on out. (I've already linked to the last post so in all fairness I just can't do it again...)

I'm leaving you with these two gorgeous images. One is of the wedding quilt that my dear,  talented cousin made for us. This is the first anniversary we celebrate with it as it took her 7 years to make. You can see why due to it's magical magnificence and ridiculously amazing craftsmanship. It's like hanging out in a museum having this thing in my house.

And this is a glimpse of a recent sweet moment. You can see why I'm such a fan of my man. He's John Lennon to our Baby Yoko.

Fight Club

Last night as we began the get-baby-to-sleep routine that sounds like Jewel's lullabies on the ipod and the sound of cascading water into bath, we heard another very strange sound coming from the street. Brown dog jumped up to contribute his own sounds of 'hey! wtf! what's going on!' and we all rushed to the front of the house to investigate.

What we heard was awful, what we saw was worse. The sound was primal, grunting. An unidentifiable cacophony of dangerous sounds along with a high pitch of crying female voice. In the waning daylight but mostly streetlight we saw about five people in the middle of the street all grouped together. It was hard to discern what was happening at first, but then it became quite clear. Someone was getting the crap beaten out of them. There was a woman outside the circle wailing for it to stop, but also holding up her phone as if she was video taping it. To which I thought, seriously? Is that for the cops or because she had the foresight to get this for the rights to someone's story. Then there was another dude close by with his pit-bull between his legs, adding to the danger and despair.

Cute hubs had the boy in his arms, sporting the white-trash-diaper-only look. He thrust him into my arms and ran for the phone. We closed the giant door and I retreated to the couch to sob. BHB was oblivious to these events and kicked and cooed on my lap while I cried and cried as hubs talked to the 911 operator. Why was I crying you ask? It was this mental mix:

We can't stay here another day. But I can't take another move, or for that matter afford it. How can we raise a baby amongst this terrifying behavior? Is that poor guy okay? LA sucks. But I love the weather. I love this house. I'll miss my friends when we leave. My stomach hurts.

But I think it was really just the visceral reaction to violence that made me cry. It was truly terrible, and mostly the sound of it. It wasn't the Hollywood soundtrack of a punch landing and angry voices mixed in. It was, as above, such a weird mashing of grunts and the sounds of lost breath. I can't explain it, but as you can see I keep trying.

It was especially odd to close the door on that event and tune into Jewel's sweet voice singing 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow' and the bright lights of our cute kitchen and the sound of a welcoming bath. We had to move back into normality to get the baby into bed and then try to process what happened. The police helicopter overhead didn't exactly help, and as the cruiser's arrived to quiz the neighbors (they didn't come to us) I retreated into the adorable nursery with the adorable child.

Once BHB had taken an enormous amount of milk out of me, I stumbled back out into the brightness and found that my body was suddenly weak and feverish. I went to bed without eating with hopes of kicking it, but awoke with what appears to be a flu. Well, not yet puking but all over body aches and sore throat and the rest. Officially not good times.

Sorry for the text heavy post. I've got nothing to show for the above, I don't think as fast as that girl with her camera phone. But hopefully something of a lighter nature coming soon.