When I was growing up, my parents used to not let me go out on Sunday afternoons because they said we needed to set aside time to "just be."
"Be what?" I used to ask, or more likely whine. "Be-ing is boooring!"
Since moving back home I've brought this up with both of my parents, laughing as I reminded them how frustrated I used to get about it. My dad said he remembered me giving almost as much input into the "Formula for a Balanced Life," like asking my 'rents to tell me I couldn't go out if I was feeling too swamped or just didn't feel like doing something with my friends. And my mom and I came to the conclusion that one of the most irritating parts of this institution was that we never distinguished between "family-time" and "me-time."
To this day I struggle to separate "me-time" from "doing-things-I-want-to-do" time. I'm sure I'm not the only one who spends a lot of my life doing things I have to do, ticking things off my to-do list, things that need to get done. Whether I want to do them or not. So when I have a spare moment to recalibrate, do I spend it checking in with myself or doing something solely because I want to do it? Tough choices. And usually the things I want to do involve spending time with people I love, including people I live with, people I go out with, people I visit occasionally, and people I can really only communicate with by phone.
The dilemma I constantly face these days is this: I don't have time to love everybody I love in life. (This dilemma also means I have been known to eat 2-3 dinners in a single evening, sometimes several times throughout a week. And then I have to find time for an extra-long workout to keep my girlish figure.)
Since I don't have a solution to that problem, here are a few examples of me finding myself stuffed threefold.
So. Friday. J's college roommate came up from D.C. to celebrate his birthday, first with a very late dinner at Sushi Sumo. Most of the sushi was delicious, except the uni (better known in English as sea urchin). It just had this slimy consistency of too-chewed gum. Like when it gets to the point of dissolving in your mouth. Anyway, I'll try anything once.
...But don't quote me on that.
My favorite thing we got was the Dynamite Roll, which came served atop a flashing blue faux ice cube in a kinky-stemmed martini glass. I forget what was in it, but it was wrapped in soy paper and it was delish. I also got to try sake for the first time, warm, at the sushi bar where one of the chefs whipped us up a free special sample while we waited for the rest of the party. Turns out I like sake quite a lot, though it did kick my simmering desire to go to La Ronda for canelazo into second or third gear. Worth it, definitely.
(Also, hilariously, the adorable hostess asked to see my ID but not Jason's. He got a kick out of this because he is always complaining that he only gets ID'd when he goes out with me. As for me, I have mostly resigned myself to being ID'd until I am 55 years old and finally look more than 17. Optimistic? Welcome to my life.)
After dinner we hit up Moodswing, quite possibly the only dance club in the state of Delaware, and located approximately 4 minutes from my house. Convenient. I felt very underdressed all night--except at iHop in the wee hours of the morning--but especially when the bouncer told me they normally don't let people wear weatherproof boots inside the club. I still feel a little sheepish about this, but in my defense I really didn't think there was a single nightclub in Wilmington. But they let me in "just this once," and I pretty much danced the night away. The photographer from Spark magazine said it was usually packed, but maybe the rain kept everybody in their weatherproof boots and out of the club, because I could probably have singlehandedly counted the people there on Friday.
I slept through Zumba on Saturday morning but, according to tradition, Asha and I hit up the Y anyway. She definitely holds me accountable. We're good for each other.
She had made this elaborate plan for all of us to have people over on Saturday night to play Cranium, since Thom had just got home and really needs to meet some people in this state. Unfortunately none of my friends could make it, but it's always fun chilling with my sibs anyway. We got a huge box full of Chinese food and read our fortunes "in bed" style, staged rousing Moulin Rouge singalongs and played the penis game. Seriously, we are just the coolest people ever.
After the game we watched Mulan and I fell asleep about half an hour into it. Fail.
And then I slept through church on Sunday (I'm sensing a trend here) and in gratitude for everyone who didn't wake me up for church I decided to clean the whole kitchen. Plus, staying home on Sunday morning usually has good repercussions of the Sunny V Sunday variety, namely delicious french toast, smoothies, good tunes blasting, etc.
I also watched Legends of the Fall on Sunday, and while I admit it was a pretty excellent specimen of film, I will also admit that I cried throughout most of the second half. Maybe because I am a certified sap, but maybe because it hit all the right heartstrings, or wrenched them, maybe, in the family/starcrossed love department. I have been needing a good cry, though, so it's all good.
About 4 minutes after the movie was over J came to pick me up and was a little taken aback that the movie he left for me to see over a month ago left me choking on tears... But no hard feelings. We wanted to check out the Newport Restaurant but it was closed so we took a loop around the Newark Reservoir. It was cold up there, and windy... But the sunset was to die for. J tried to take a picture but his phone died right at the key moment. Oh well. This is why we have mental imaging capabilities. And also why I used to sneak my dad's oil pastels out of his desk drawer to do posters of Caribbean sunsets when I was little.
I have been weirdly nostalgic for Quito lately--note the canelazo cravings, and the reservoir reminded me of the reservoir behind my Aunt Lori's house, where Natalia and I used to go running sometimes. In a flash of brilliance, J remembered this Peruvian restaurant called The Chicken House, which reminded me (of course) of this Peruvian grill a few blocks from the hotel in Quito... Instead of sending me over the edge into a deluge of homesick tears, though, this place just made me the most happy girl in history. I ordered the chuleta a lo pobre, basically a pile of porkchop-topped comfort food like rice, fried egg, french fries, and maduros (sweet bananas). Oh, and a maracuyá pisco sour, and flan for dessert. Mmmmmmmmm...
I got home after this feast to find the house dark and a single place setting on the dining room table. SO SAD! I had meant to leave time to hang with the fam after spending the afternoon with J, but in line with my social dilemma that did not happen. (And are we really surprised?) So I tiptoed up to my parents' room to see if they were still awake, because I like to chat with them. They're cool people.
Long story short, I ended up squashed in my parents' bed with all three of my siblings and both of my parents--a really adorable family puzzle which fit together a lot better when more of us were under four feet tall and 100 pounds. OK, when any of us were so pint-sized.
But, this is why my family is the bomb-dot-com. Seriously. It is always some raucous good times with us.
So what is the difference between me-time and love-time? I pretty much consider blogging me-time, but I'm doing it in Maria's room under the guise of "helping her with physics." (This is our code for "sitting together while each doing our own thing"--an activity I love more than almost anything in the world. Is "sitting together while each doing our own thing" me-time? Or love-time? ...Or both?)
Here it is, I really think so: me-time is Sunday morning, and love-time is Sunday afternoon. Family time is Sunday night all crammed into a queen-sized bed, or any time a few of us spend around the dining room table. And all of it is important. And home is where -time happens, where my heart is the clock.
"Be what?" I used to ask, or more likely whine. "Be-ing is boooring!"
Since moving back home I've brought this up with both of my parents, laughing as I reminded them how frustrated I used to get about it. My dad said he remembered me giving almost as much input into the "Formula for a Balanced Life," like asking my 'rents to tell me I couldn't go out if I was feeling too swamped or just didn't feel like doing something with my friends. And my mom and I came to the conclusion that one of the most irritating parts of this institution was that we never distinguished between "family-time" and "me-time."
To this day I struggle to separate "me-time" from "doing-things-I-want-to-do" time. I'm sure I'm not the only one who spends a lot of my life doing things I have to do, ticking things off my to-do list, things that need to get done. Whether I want to do them or not. So when I have a spare moment to recalibrate, do I spend it checking in with myself or doing something solely because I want to do it? Tough choices. And usually the things I want to do involve spending time with people I love, including people I live with, people I go out with, people I visit occasionally, and people I can really only communicate with by phone.
The dilemma I constantly face these days is this: I don't have time to love everybody I love in life. (This dilemma also means I have been known to eat 2-3 dinners in a single evening, sometimes several times throughout a week. And then I have to find time for an extra-long workout to keep my girlish figure.)
Since I don't have a solution to that problem, here are a few examples of me finding myself stuffed threefold.
So. Friday. J's college roommate came up from D.C. to celebrate his birthday, first with a very late dinner at Sushi Sumo. Most of the sushi was delicious, except the uni (better known in English as sea urchin). It just had this slimy consistency of too-chewed gum. Like when it gets to the point of dissolving in your mouth. Anyway, I'll try anything once.
...But don't quote me on that.
My favorite thing we got was the Dynamite Roll, which came served atop a flashing blue faux ice cube in a kinky-stemmed martini glass. I forget what was in it, but it was wrapped in soy paper and it was delish. I also got to try sake for the first time, warm, at the sushi bar where one of the chefs whipped us up a free special sample while we waited for the rest of the party. Turns out I like sake quite a lot, though it did kick my simmering desire to go to La Ronda for canelazo into second or third gear. Worth it, definitely.
 |
| Calle La Ronda at night (2009) |
(Also, hilariously, the adorable hostess asked to see my ID but not Jason's. He got a kick out of this because he is always complaining that he only gets ID'd when he goes out with me. As for me, I have mostly resigned myself to being ID'd until I am 55 years old and finally look more than 17. Optimistic? Welcome to my life.)
After dinner we hit up Moodswing, quite possibly the only dance club in the state of Delaware, and located approximately 4 minutes from my house. Convenient. I felt very underdressed all night--except at iHop in the wee hours of the morning--but especially when the bouncer told me they normally don't let people wear weatherproof boots inside the club. I still feel a little sheepish about this, but in my defense I really didn't think there was a single nightclub in Wilmington. But they let me in "just this once," and I pretty much danced the night away. The photographer from Spark magazine said it was usually packed, but maybe the rain kept everybody in their weatherproof boots and out of the club, because I could probably have singlehandedly counted the people there on Friday.
I slept through Zumba on Saturday morning but, according to tradition, Asha and I hit up the Y anyway. She definitely holds me accountable. We're good for each other.
She had made this elaborate plan for all of us to have people over on Saturday night to play Cranium, since Thom had just got home and really needs to meet some people in this state. Unfortunately none of my friends could make it, but it's always fun chilling with my sibs anyway. We got a huge box full of Chinese food and read our fortunes "in bed" style, staged rousing Moulin Rouge singalongs and played the penis game. Seriously, we are just the coolest people ever.
After the game we watched Mulan and I fell asleep about half an hour into it. Fail.
And then I slept through church on Sunday (I'm sensing a trend here) and in gratitude for everyone who didn't wake me up for church I decided to clean the whole kitchen. Plus, staying home on Sunday morning usually has good repercussions of the Sunny V Sunday variety, namely delicious french toast, smoothies, good tunes blasting, etc.
 |
| The Original Sunny V Sunday <3 |
I also watched Legends of the Fall on Sunday, and while I admit it was a pretty excellent specimen of film, I will also admit that I cried throughout most of the second half. Maybe because I am a certified sap, but maybe because it hit all the right heartstrings, or wrenched them, maybe, in the family/starcrossed love department. I have been needing a good cry, though, so it's all good.
About 4 minutes after the movie was over J came to pick me up and was a little taken aback that the movie he left for me to see over a month ago left me choking on tears... But no hard feelings. We wanted to check out the Newport Restaurant but it was closed so we took a loop around the Newark Reservoir. It was cold up there, and windy... But the sunset was to die for. J tried to take a picture but his phone died right at the key moment. Oh well. This is why we have mental imaging capabilities. And also why I used to sneak my dad's oil pastels out of his desk drawer to do posters of Caribbean sunsets when I was little.
I have been weirdly nostalgic for Quito lately--note the canelazo cravings, and the reservoir reminded me of the reservoir behind my Aunt Lori's house, where Natalia and I used to go running sometimes. In a flash of brilliance, J remembered this Peruvian restaurant called The Chicken House, which reminded me (of course) of this Peruvian grill a few blocks from the hotel in Quito... Instead of sending me over the edge into a deluge of homesick tears, though, this place just made me the most happy girl in history. I ordered the chuleta a lo pobre, basically a pile of porkchop-topped comfort food like rice, fried egg, french fries, and maduros (sweet bananas). Oh, and a maracuyá pisco sour, and flan for dessert. Mmmmmmmmm...
I got home after this feast to find the house dark and a single place setting on the dining room table. SO SAD! I had meant to leave time to hang with the fam after spending the afternoon with J, but in line with my social dilemma that did not happen. (And are we really surprised?) So I tiptoed up to my parents' room to see if they were still awake, because I like to chat with them. They're cool people.
Long story short, I ended up squashed in my parents' bed with all three of my siblings and both of my parents--a really adorable family puzzle which fit together a lot better when more of us were under four feet tall and 100 pounds. OK, when any of us were so pint-sized.
But, this is why my family is the bomb-dot-com. Seriously. It is always some raucous good times with us.
So what is the difference between me-time and love-time? I pretty much consider blogging me-time, but I'm doing it in Maria's room under the guise of "helping her with physics." (This is our code for "sitting together while each doing our own thing"--an activity I love more than almost anything in the world. Is "sitting together while each doing our own thing" me-time? Or love-time? ...Or both?)
Here it is, I really think so: me-time is Sunday morning, and love-time is Sunday afternoon. Family time is Sunday night all crammed into a queen-sized bed, or any time a few of us spend around the dining room table. And all of it is important. And home is where -time happens, where my heart is the clock.
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