In BC times (“Before Child”), my Chinese American husband never missed a gift-giving occasion. Flowers were delivered on my birthday, or sometimes, “just because.” There were platinum earrings to match my engagement ring at Christmas. An emerald necklace was mine on Valentine’s Day.
It took me a while to realize part of Andy’s motivation was to overshadow—and in some cases replace outright— all gifts from previous boyfriends.
In AD times (“After Dalton”), Andy’s gift-giving prowess deserted him. One year he completely spaced on stuffing my stocking (a huge family tradition) or giving me any Christmas presents. Since that was the first year we didn’t spend Christmas with my family, that meant I had nothing to open on Christmas morning.
Our son actually stopped stuffing his face with gummy worms, looked over his giant wall of toys/crumpled wrapping paper, and said, “Mommy, you must have done something terrible.” Continue reading I Heart Competition (#335)
Holidays were huge in my white family. We wore green, pinched each other anyway, and listened to the Irish Rovers on St. Patrick’s Day (despite being Protestant or atheists). Small gifts appeared on Valentine’s Day morning. There were Easter egg hunts and chocolate bunnies. Our birthdays began with presents and towers of doughnuts. Christmas magic (and excesses) went on for days.
Holidays were not big in my Chinese-American husband’s family. Growing up, he got a red envelope with cash, usually from his Popo, on Chinese New Year.
That was it.
Even though some Wong family members were very earnest Christians, there were neither Easter baskets nor Christmas stockings. Continue reading Celebration Mash-Up (#316)
I titled this post “Valentine’s Day” because it’s the season, but really? Valentine’s Day is a euphemism for sex. Romance, too, but mainly sex.
In our house, BC stands for “Before Children.” Back during Valentine’s Day BC, my husband snuck home from work for “nooners.” We had sex whenever we wanted, but there was always guaranteed sex on Valentine’s Day, his birthday, and our anniversary.
AD stands for “After Dalton,” our son. Valentine’s Day AD? Bahahahaha.
I learned from sisters and mom friends that’s normal. If you’re a halfway decent mom, sex and romance disappear after kids.
It’s not because you didn’t try. Wait, let me rephrase. It’s not because you didn’t want to try.
Okay, maybe it is because you didn’t want to try. Continue reading Valentine’s Day: BC vs. AD (#276)
The roses are blackened
The violets are dead
Your liver is poisoned
By sugar and bread.
The news is disheartening
An Orange Cretin is King
And won’t do a damned thing. Continue reading An Anti-Valentine for America (#175)
About three years before I met Andy, it was A Very Bad Year for Dating. My boyfriends were:
The Emotionally Abusive Dude
Broody, Moody, Emotionally Unavailable Dude
Sometimes, you just have years like that. Continue reading Black Valentine (#115)