P-R-O-G-R-E-S-S
As odd as the following picture is, it is still imperative that I share it.
Why? Well because this picture? This picture spells P-R-O-G-R-E-S-S.
Ali and his trash can…
Let’s dissect, shall we?
- Ali is holding a trash can. This, from a guy who informed me on Day 3 of our marriage that he would no longer be throwing the trash because he didn’t like the gust of air that barraged him when he opened the trash chute.
- Ali is holding a trash can, on the subway. This, from my L.A.-born husband who once said he could never live without a car. And who, I might add, doesn’t particularly share my love for public transportation.
- Ali is holding a trash can, on the subway, in an un-air conditioned car, in August. This, from someone who can’t handle temperature extremes of any kind.
- Ali is holding a trash can, on the subway, in an un-air conditioned car, in August, which is indirectly preventing him from using his cell phone (note his other hand), thus rendering him idle for 14.3 minutes. I’m sure no further clarification is necessary on this one.
Pasta, salad, and mashed potatoes at Bistro Milano (looks better than it tasted) and double chocolate cookie at Maison Kayser (tasted better than it looks).
And the next day? When we took the trash can out of the box and realized it was far too small for a family of 3 (one of whom is notorious for throwing everything away)?
Ali returned it to Home Depot without one word.
Family picture on Broadway, outside of “Annie.” Highly recommend this musical!
Well…maybe he sighed. A really long Ameena-style sigh.
And when he returned to Home Depot he did so via a cab instead of the subway.
And then he swung by Best Buy and picked up a couple of Internet cables to make himself feel better.
But regardless, I learned two things from this experience: 1. My expectations have recently taken a giant nose-dive, and 2. I should stop fighting it and order everything – even trash receptacles
questions
When Ali and I got married we moved into a 2 bed / 2 bath condo. I took the master bathroom and he moved into the guest bathroom.
There was no need for discussion.
Shaved Ice (literally), a trip to the Farmer’s Market, weekend pics from the Summer Streets event
When Maya came into the picture, we moved into a 2 bed, 3 1/2 bath condo. Although I was initially mystified by this seemingly idyllic floor plan (must have involved a female architect) I quickly got over myself.
I took master bathroom A, Ali moved into master bathroom B, and there was still one left over for each Maya and our guests.
There was no need for discussion.
Love the evenings at Lincoln Center
When Ali, Maya, and I looked at apartments here in NYC we did nothing but discuss:
- Why is a third bathroom such a luxury here?
- Are people in NYC not as selfish and demanding as we are?
- And those lucky few who have a third bath, how in the world can they afford to fork over $14k a month for it?
- We are obviously in the wrong line of work.
Nobody could shed any light on our discussions, nor did they want to. I believe our broker said something along the lines of, “You are lucky to find a place with two bathrooms.”
That shut us up really quick.
A pretty sunset…one of the last few before Ramadan ends.
So sharing a bathroom with Ali doesn’t bother me as much as I thought it would. I mean, I’ve learned to keep my mouth shut when I see his pajamas in the corner, crumpled into a little ball. And on a good day I can shut my eyes really tight and ignore the fact his towel is not on it’s designated hook.
My point is this: If the fact that I’d rather be navigating through Ali’s collection of toothpaste in New York rather than enjoying my spacious, one-tube-of-Crest bathroom in Los Angeles doesn’t speak volumes about my love for this city? Then I don’t know what does.
smart
Last week we redefined the word “togetherness.”
Truthfully, our family bonding overload had less to do with me putting family first, and more to do with me feeling guilty about sending Maya off to summer camp mere minutes after relocating to a new city.
Scootering around town with Maya, our first dinner in our new place, a rainy outdoor concert in Lincoln Center.
In any case, since Maya needs to be occupied – at all times – there has been little rest for the weary. Or the fasting.
- We visited Best Buy (Ali’s idea of fun) where Maya and I learned about the importance of HDMI inputs. While there, Ali researched and finally purchased a Smart TV. (I have yet to figure out how it differs from any other TV – except that I feel less smart when I use it.)
- We went to Central Park (Maya’s idea of fun) where a kid threw Maya’s water bottle in the sand and then called her a name. (Apparently annoying kids live on both coasts.)
- We spent hours at Bed, Bath, and Beyond, West Elm, and CB2 (nobody’s idea of fun but necessity demanded these trips). While there, we debated the benefits of vinyl versus cloth shower liners and square plates versus round plates. (Note: My refusal to pack basics like dishes bit me in the a@#, just as I knew it would.)
Dinner at PizzArte, more pasta at home, “decent” enchiladas at home (per Ali), and a picnic in Central Park.
By the weekend we were all sick of each other. One rain filled visit to Lincoln Center, a few tears, and several sarcastic comments later, I finally stepped in and put a stop to family time.
We came home, I Googled away, and minutes later I’d enrolled Maya in two weeks of intensive ice skating.
(My idea of fun. And the best idea of the week.)
While I'm not going to win Mother/Wife of the Year Award anytime soon, I haven't killed anyone yet or shot myself in the head. And that, my friends, is how I calculate success these days. 
FANCY THAT FANCY THIS 