:::because it’s time to get real:::
(and you have yet to see my crazy...)
I strongly believe that the only real difference between being married to someone and being obsessed with them is a label. And a ring, I guess.
Whenever I am away from my husband, I am thinking about him. I think about his day and his blood sugar. I rehearse the conversations we have had and I think of new ones I think we will someday have. I consider the way his feet look, how his toes are naturally curled. I imagine a bear dancing and it brings me joy, because it reminds me of him.
I often joke (after my third drink) that I got married to escape "The Herpes". In reality, marriage saved me from way more than that (don’t worry, the herpes is a joke. I am a huge proponent of safe sex and I wasn’t that promiscuous). Marriage has saved me from heartbreak, from infatuation. I really, really, needed someone to love. I needed someone to devote everything to. And when I met hubs, he totally fulfilled that need. So now when I go to the grocery store and I can only think of what he might like to eat, or when I doodle his name on a post-it while on a boring sales call, or when I (totally creepster-ishly) run my finger around the outer lobe of his ear while he sleeps-- well, these actions are completely acceptable. Because somehow, I got this amazing creature to sign a legal contract that society validates as proof that we are a team.
I doubt that most marriages are this way but I wouldn’t trade my bi-polar, creepster love for my husband for anything. I really think if I knew his skin would grow back, that I might just bite parts of his body off for fun so that he would be with me all day. It is that intense, or that sick, whichever way you look at it.
Tonight I will return home and we will do our own things, separate from one another. We might go to a book store and roam about. We might lie on the couch and he will prop his feet against my chest, so we make a little pile of human. He will chase the dog across the living room and treat him like his very own son and I will watch them from the corner, smirking and fulfilled because he is mine.
::Man of my life::
Showing posts with label Marriage. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Marriage. Show all posts
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Annoyance
I despise those women that go home and talk to their husbands and then dispense the knowledge they gained like they just traveled to the holy grail. You do not have all the answers. Your husband has no more answers than mine does. I wonder were these women go when they look for the truth—to the foot of the man they love? The whole process of love and marriage is so intense, that I feel like we lose ourselves along the way.
Choosing a spouse is much like a major purchase. Certainly, it is imperative that you find something intriguing and charming in the thing you are about to purchase (be it a house or a man);new windows, or strong arms, for example. It is imperative that you love your major purpose more than any of your friends or family because, after all, you are buying it. Choosing a house, just like choosing a spouse, is a long and drawn out process. You may find that you despise most houses, no matter how much potential they may have. Still other times you will find that you fall for a house, only to have another buyer grab it away from you. And occasionally, you will find yourself waiting so long for the process of buying the house to be complete that the commitment loses its appeal all together and you walk away, on to a more immediately available home.
Once you finally have your house, you feel so fulfilled. You want to scream to the world, “Look, look what I bought! I love it and it loves me and we will have a long and happy thirty year commitment together!”-- And it is right about there that the similarities between the purchase of a spouse and the buying of a house, end. And they end abruptly.
Sane, strong women do not go around asking their home what they should do with their lives, or conferring with the walls about the predicament of their close friends.
“Wall, I just feel that she is so delusional on this. Why would she not want the same things I do? Why is she waiting for this unavailable man, why is she chasing dead end dreams. Please give me advice that I can then dispense immediately back to her?”
The women on our favorite sitcoms, the women we are told to envy and manipulate, do not sit down in the middle of their living room and wait for advice from the ceiling to pour upon them. But these very same women—the ones on tv, at our workplaces, in our bridge clubs—-they go straight home to their other major purchase and covet every single word the man (or partner) says.
Don’t get me wrong, I love my husband. He was the best “purchase” I ever made. And there was a time, say from the ages of 22-23 that I coveted everything he told me as fact, as truth, as pure, gifted knowledge. But soon after a year or so of marriage, I got the freak over that shit. Your husband knows no more than you do on general subjects. Certainly, he is a guru in the subject he specializes in--be it tools, computer graphics, financials --but he is not a wealth of knowledge on every subject under the sun.
That is my soapbox. This is my point. Be proud of your mate--he was probably a darn good purchase. But know that dispensing the knowledge he gives you back to your friends is probably not the best idea. Take his opinion and advice as you would that of your friends or Oprah, mix it with critical thought and believe in your own thoughts. After all, you were analytical enough to make a great purchase on your own.
Choosing a spouse is much like a major purchase. Certainly, it is imperative that you find something intriguing and charming in the thing you are about to purchase (be it a house or a man);new windows, or strong arms, for example. It is imperative that you love your major purpose more than any of your friends or family because, after all, you are buying it. Choosing a house, just like choosing a spouse, is a long and drawn out process. You may find that you despise most houses, no matter how much potential they may have. Still other times you will find that you fall for a house, only to have another buyer grab it away from you. And occasionally, you will find yourself waiting so long for the process of buying the house to be complete that the commitment loses its appeal all together and you walk away, on to a more immediately available home.
Once you finally have your house, you feel so fulfilled. You want to scream to the world, “Look, look what I bought! I love it and it loves me and we will have a long and happy thirty year commitment together!”-- And it is right about there that the similarities between the purchase of a spouse and the buying of a house, end. And they end abruptly.
Sane, strong women do not go around asking their home what they should do with their lives, or conferring with the walls about the predicament of their close friends.
“Wall, I just feel that she is so delusional on this. Why would she not want the same things I do? Why is she waiting for this unavailable man, why is she chasing dead end dreams. Please give me advice that I can then dispense immediately back to her?”
The women on our favorite sitcoms, the women we are told to envy and manipulate, do not sit down in the middle of their living room and wait for advice from the ceiling to pour upon them. But these very same women—the ones on tv, at our workplaces, in our bridge clubs—-they go straight home to their other major purchase and covet every single word the man (or partner) says.
Don’t get me wrong, I love my husband. He was the best “purchase” I ever made. And there was a time, say from the ages of 22-23 that I coveted everything he told me as fact, as truth, as pure, gifted knowledge. But soon after a year or so of marriage, I got the freak over that shit. Your husband knows no more than you do on general subjects. Certainly, he is a guru in the subject he specializes in--be it tools, computer graphics, financials --but he is not a wealth of knowledge on every subject under the sun.
That is my soapbox. This is my point. Be proud of your mate--he was probably a darn good purchase. But know that dispensing the knowledge he gives you back to your friends is probably not the best idea. Take his opinion and advice as you would that of your friends or Oprah, mix it with critical thought and believe in your own thoughts. After all, you were analytical enough to make a great purchase on your own.
Monday, August 3, 2009
So far
This Saturday I had the privilege of hanging out with a newlywed couple. I am closer to this couple, I would estimate, than I am to any other and so acting as their third wheel does not overly frustrate me. Things were a little hairy, and I was quickly reminded of how great it is to have a few years of marriage under my belt. I would not say that my marriage is perfect, because anyone that says that is lying directly to your face and may be prone to drinking mouthwash for a buzz before heading to a soccer game. I would say however, that Art and I are in that magical lull of time where all the hard work so far has paid off and the hard road ahead of us is not overwhelming or threatening. I love being married, and love even more the comfort of knowing someone well enough to navigate even the roughest seas with the knowledge of a veteran.
This visit also gave me the rare opportunity to realize just how far I have come, and how far we have come as a couple. As we look at houses, we rarely give ourselves the credit we deserve. We got through my undergrad, we got through (almost) the first quarter of Art going back to school, I got a great job with Wright State, we learned to budget. In all reality, we are right on track. Sometimes it just takes visiting people that are a few steps behind you to realize it.
This visit also gave me the rare opportunity to realize just how far I have come, and how far we have come as a couple. As we look at houses, we rarely give ourselves the credit we deserve. We got through my undergrad, we got through (almost) the first quarter of Art going back to school, I got a great job with Wright State, we learned to budget. In all reality, we are right on track. Sometimes it just takes visiting people that are a few steps behind you to realize it.
Friday, June 19, 2009
The Glovebox
It is Friday, June 19th. I have no major plans for the weekend other than Father's day. When you have three fathers, this hallmark holiday takes a little more planning. One father is rather easy, as he is slightly borrowed from my husband (who truly owns him by both shared blood and shared name). The other two are completely my own-- I am the only daughter to both of these men, and I do what I can to make this holiday special.
It is Friday June 19th and it is not a special day. The anniversary of the day my husband and I met came and went with a soft sign, and the anniversary of our wedding is still months away. We are busy again, something we both anticipated the way a person in the ocean expects an oncoming wave-- you are so focused on the climax, you don't enjoy the calm. It is just a normal day.
It is Friday June 19th, 2009 and I think you can see the path I am laying. It is slow in the office and there is little noise, few phone calls, only three sole bodies and one of them smells (but that is another story).
Art picked me up today and I watched his face as I made my way down the cement stairs leading to the parking lot. He was in his old Explorer and the sun reflected off of the dull hunter green paint in splashes of color and light. He smiled wide at me and I smiled back. I climbed in the car on this ordinary day and broke the perfect silence with immediate, desperate conversation. Because everything is a big deal to me, I had to share the latest news. We made it past one row of cars and to the stop sign before he asked me to open the glove box. We made it past another parking lot, the sun glowing off the window, bouncing back out to the ground, before I opened the red jewelry box inside the glove box. It was perfect, on a really great day. I told him I was just happy for the company, for the surprise. I meant it.
It is Friday, June 19th and I am content with the lull between waves.
It is Friday June 19th and it is not a special day. The anniversary of the day my husband and I met came and went with a soft sign, and the anniversary of our wedding is still months away. We are busy again, something we both anticipated the way a person in the ocean expects an oncoming wave-- you are so focused on the climax, you don't enjoy the calm. It is just a normal day.
It is Friday June 19th, 2009 and I think you can see the path I am laying. It is slow in the office and there is little noise, few phone calls, only three sole bodies and one of them smells (but that is another story).
Art picked me up today and I watched his face as I made my way down the cement stairs leading to the parking lot. He was in his old Explorer and the sun reflected off of the dull hunter green paint in splashes of color and light. He smiled wide at me and I smiled back. I climbed in the car on this ordinary day and broke the perfect silence with immediate, desperate conversation. Because everything is a big deal to me, I had to share the latest news. We made it past one row of cars and to the stop sign before he asked me to open the glove box. We made it past another parking lot, the sun glowing off the window, bouncing back out to the ground, before I opened the red jewelry box inside the glove box. It was perfect, on a really great day. I told him I was just happy for the company, for the surprise. I meant it.
It is Friday, June 19th and I am content with the lull between waves.
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