Cooking for Jasen is miserable. He hovers. He complains. He farts. It's a post I'm just not ready to tackle because honestly, cooking for him sucks. I hate it. He's a better cook, and he knows it. So I'm saving that for another day.
Dining with Jasen is an experience. Our first "experience" was at Carvers, a nice restaurant in Chesapeake. I was 15, and horrified when Jasen put a loaf of bread down his over-sized jeans instead of asking for a to go box. He is the definition of raised in a barn. I don't know who taught him manners, but they failed. Miserably.
This weekend we traveled to Blacksburg for the Tech game. Go Hokies! But I digress. We stayed in Roanoke, and made reservations at Hotel Roanoke for Friday night. Hotel Roanoke is the best restaurant within 75 miles of the city. Seriously.
Going to propose? Hotel Roanoke. Graduation? Hotel Roanoke. Tech game without your six-year-old? Hotel Roanoke.
We're shown to our white-linen table, and peruse the menu. Apparently, the peanut soup is a must. To be honest, I was a bit scared to try an entire bowl, so I ordered the $3 sample. It was lovely. Creamy, with some sort of chicken or vegetable stock undertone, and chopped peanuts to top it off. It's been on the menu since 1935.
Jasen takes a sip "Jesus Christ, Frances. I can make this. Get me a jar of peanut butter, a cup of water, and some chopped peanuts. And there ya go. Peanut soup. Give me my $3 back."
Lovely. We sat and talked for a bit, and Jasen is his with an epiphany. He realizes the possibilities of the flask I bought him for his birthday. I ordered a peach martini, and he ordered an $8 beer.
"Babe...I just thought of the best idea ever. I take my flask into every restaurant we go to. I order a Coke, or whatever. And then I just take it to the bathroom and add the vodka."
"You're going to take your drinks into the bathroom? That's gross honey."
"It's not gross. It's going to save us a fortune...think of how much I drink at dinner. We'll save thousands!"
"Okay. Do what you want. But I'm hiding in the ladies room while you're ducking under the table to spice up your Coke."
Dinner was great. We both learned what "Pittsburg Rare" means. Not something Jasen felt up for with a sirloin. Charred on the outside, literally cold on the inside. A cold marbled steak turned off even my meat-eating man.
After dinner Jasen immediately asked "So...where's the pisser in this place?"
I downed the remainder of my delish martini and asked for the dessert menu.
There was some chocolate concoction the waitress described as ordinary, a salted caramel cake that sounded like perfection, and Banana's Foster. I wanted caramel. Jasen wanted a sundae from Dairy Queen.
"What the f*%# is Bananas Foster?"
"It's a dessert, honey. They flambe it table-side. Watch ... that man is getting it for his little boy."
"Jesus. I'll give you Bananas Foster. You get a bunch of bananas from Harris Teeter, I'll grab a blow torch from the barn and ... poof ... an $18 dessert. Hey...that kid's got a chef's hat on. I want one of those. Not for me. For Juni."
The waitress brought Jasen a chef's hat for Juni. The entire weekend,
that hat sat on the console of the 4Runner because Jasen wanted it to
arrive in perfect condition for our little man. He may have zero manners, but his heart makes up for it.
I ordered the caramel cake, and thanks to the waitress, the chef made Jasen a vanilla sundae to save me a trip to Dairy Queen.
Monday, September 24, 2012
Thursday, September 20, 2012
Leaving Town
Couples need time away from their children. I get that. I enjoy the occasional stay at my Dad's or Jasen's mom's house. But just because Juni is gone doesn't mean the work at home is gone.
There's a routine. Go to dinner. Drive a tipsy Redneck Husband home. Wash my face, brush my hair, and find Redneck Husband snoring in the bed. The next day, there are projects ... an addition to the pool house. Fences that need mending. Laundry. Cleaning. You know the list. It never changes.
So couples need time away from their home and children. A place where they can leave normality behind and reconnect. Have fun. Worry less.
Before my diagnosis and medications, I left town every fall. Not Literally, but in my mind. The fall reminds me of learning, of college, of not having an adult life. It reminds me of childhood and being in my 20's. That's when my manic episodes would hit.
Last year, for the first time, there were twinges of the mania. I still have the same feelings...nostalgia, a sense of sadness, a sense of Juni growing a year older. But last year was also the year I won the lottery. The Virginia Tech lottery, that is. Season tickets.
Background information is needed ... before last season Jasen had not stepped foot in Blacksburg since before Juni was born. He hated it. Maybe it was because I was still young and wanted to pretend I was one of the college kids. Maybe it was because he has no clue what's going on in football. I have no idea.
That all changed last year with one addition to our trip ... tailgating. Jasen realized that tailgating is right up his alley. Cooking. Drinking. And ... well, basically that's it. Cooking and drinking. But you get my point. He's all about tailgating. It's an amazing feeling...like a date. We're not attached to each other at the hip with an adorable child between us. We're mingling. And even flirting. It's amazing.
A dear friend is letting us borrow his prime parking space for one thing in return ... that Jasen cooks BBQ at each game we attend. Jasen suddenly because the master tailgater. We bought a tent. He bought a propane grill. He has a crockpot, a table, and many, many plans.
This weekend we're going up for a noon game ... not much tailgating. In October we'll go again (sans Juni) and have another couple's weekend. These weekends are great, because he's in his element and I'm in mine. He cooks and drinks, and I laugh and talk to my Hokie friends. I see people I haven't in years. I scream until I loose my voice at the game. And if it's a good game, Jasen actually stands up and yells too. Who knew?
The final tailgate is the creme-de-la-creme of VT tailgating. U.Va. We're spending a long weekend in a cabin in the woods, and are taking Juni. He likes this. He manages through the game, and then he can play with the other kids, and do all of his boy stuff with Jasen and my Dad at the cabin.
But leaving town without Juni takes my anxiety to an extreme level. What if we crash and both die on I-81? What if we take rte. 460 and crash and both die? Basically, I'm completely stuck on the idea that we're leaving our child and could possible never return. Scenarios run through my head of people telling him the news. Of his sweet little tears. And it sucks. It just plain sucks. All of my friends leave their children for a night or two several times a year. Some leave for a week at a time. Why can't I? That's just it. I can. Fighting my anxiety and graduating from Virginia Tech taught me that my anxiety won't win. Ever. It's just a matter of holding on long enough until it subsides. Which, by the way, isn't fair. To me, or to Jasen. He just doesn't get it.
He's worried about how to keep the BBQ warm. I'm worried about my orphaned child. But this is the type of leaving town I enjoy most. Before, I was left in my own semi-imaginary world within my head. This time, I actually get to leave town. And I'm sure, return safe and happy, ready to give Juni a big, fat Mommy hug.
There's a routine. Go to dinner. Drive a tipsy Redneck Husband home. Wash my face, brush my hair, and find Redneck Husband snoring in the bed. The next day, there are projects ... an addition to the pool house. Fences that need mending. Laundry. Cleaning. You know the list. It never changes.
So couples need time away from their home and children. A place where they can leave normality behind and reconnect. Have fun. Worry less.
Before my diagnosis and medications, I left town every fall. Not Literally, but in my mind. The fall reminds me of learning, of college, of not having an adult life. It reminds me of childhood and being in my 20's. That's when my manic episodes would hit.
Last year, for the first time, there were twinges of the mania. I still have the same feelings...nostalgia, a sense of sadness, a sense of Juni growing a year older. But last year was also the year I won the lottery. The Virginia Tech lottery, that is. Season tickets.
Background information is needed ... before last season Jasen had not stepped foot in Blacksburg since before Juni was born. He hated it. Maybe it was because I was still young and wanted to pretend I was one of the college kids. Maybe it was because he has no clue what's going on in football. I have no idea.
That all changed last year with one addition to our trip ... tailgating. Jasen realized that tailgating is right up his alley. Cooking. Drinking. And ... well, basically that's it. Cooking and drinking. But you get my point. He's all about tailgating. It's an amazing feeling...like a date. We're not attached to each other at the hip with an adorable child between us. We're mingling. And even flirting. It's amazing.
A dear friend is letting us borrow his prime parking space for one thing in return ... that Jasen cooks BBQ at each game we attend. Jasen suddenly because the master tailgater. We bought a tent. He bought a propane grill. He has a crockpot, a table, and many, many plans.
This weekend we're going up for a noon game ... not much tailgating. In October we'll go again (sans Juni) and have another couple's weekend. These weekends are great, because he's in his element and I'm in mine. He cooks and drinks, and I laugh and talk to my Hokie friends. I see people I haven't in years. I scream until I loose my voice at the game. And if it's a good game, Jasen actually stands up and yells too. Who knew?
The final tailgate is the creme-de-la-creme of VT tailgating. U.Va. We're spending a long weekend in a cabin in the woods, and are taking Juni. He likes this. He manages through the game, and then he can play with the other kids, and do all of his boy stuff with Jasen and my Dad at the cabin.
But leaving town without Juni takes my anxiety to an extreme level. What if we crash and both die on I-81? What if we take rte. 460 and crash and both die? Basically, I'm completely stuck on the idea that we're leaving our child and could possible never return. Scenarios run through my head of people telling him the news. Of his sweet little tears. And it sucks. It just plain sucks. All of my friends leave their children for a night or two several times a year. Some leave for a week at a time. Why can't I? That's just it. I can. Fighting my anxiety and graduating from Virginia Tech taught me that my anxiety won't win. Ever. It's just a matter of holding on long enough until it subsides. Which, by the way, isn't fair. To me, or to Jasen. He just doesn't get it.
He's worried about how to keep the BBQ warm. I'm worried about my orphaned child. But this is the type of leaving town I enjoy most. Before, I was left in my own semi-imaginary world within my head. This time, I actually get to leave town. And I'm sure, return safe and happy, ready to give Juni a big, fat Mommy hug.
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