Among a flood of other emotions right now, I'm filled with love for Cub.
All of us will be better than okay.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Monday, September 28, 2009
married or cohabitating couples survey
1) Have you ever created an actual written contract (even a napkin kept under a refrigerator magnet counts) after "getting something in writing" from your partner? (e.g. "I will stop leaving damp towels on the carpet" or "I will not keep take-out leftovers in the fridge for more than a week.")
2) Do you have (and keep to) a chore chart with household duties split equitably and posted in writing?
3) What issues, if any, are off-limits or closed to conversation?
2) Do you have (and keep to) a chore chart with household duties split equitably and posted in writing?
3) What issues, if any, are off-limits or closed to conversation?
Saturday, September 12, 2009
but grandma!
We're finally dressing up this Halloween. Excited because I'm (sort of) getting my way on the literary character pairing: Little Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf.
Him: "But where are we gonna find you a wolf costume?"
:P
Him: "But where are we gonna find you a wolf costume?"
:P
Friday, August 28, 2009
kkhh
Three things I love about my sweet Cub:
1) He turns off the TV/Xbox/computer when I get home, and we talk. This means the world to me.
2) He is always looking for ways to improve himself, and us as a couple.
3) He is darn cute.
That said ... I really need to b!tch right now. This is merely a rant, a rant. (Picture Mercutio laughing it off: "A scratch, a scratch.") <-- On second thought, that was right before he died of his "scratch" so nvm, don't picture that.
Last night we spent a few minutes planning tonight's date. Despite the fact that we went to see "GI Joe" last week (which I enjoyed, but it was definitely his pick), Cub tried for "D9" for tonight AND, after he asked where I wanted to eat and I replied Tenkaippin, he said, "How about pho?" I dislike pho and large-screen gore really bothers me (he knows both of these things), but the mother of all irritations happened after his insistence that I take an HPT this weekend because I have been "moody" and "eating a lot." If I have explained ovulation to him once I've explained it a thousand times, but he still seemed pretty convinced that a little zygote was responsible for my new and unattractive behavior.
So then. As we were getting ready for bed, he complained that the cat (my cat, the little old one) had crapped in her litterbox and that the smell was permeating the entire bedroom. (A definite exaggeration, but I moved to take care of it right away.) Here is a list of things I did while he tucked himself into bed:
- emptied the entire contents of the litter pan into a trash bag
- vacuumed the bathroom floor
- disinfected the bathroom floor with bleach
- hauled a 30-lb box of cat litter in from outside
- refilled the litter pan
- vacuumed some more and filled the canister to the very brim because I asked him a week ago to empty it.
- took the box of litter back outside. <-- at least it was lighter then
Now I know. Our mothers are not insane shrews who shriek at our fathers for nothing. Our mothers (all of whom are a million times the housekeeper I am) have shit to do so our homes do not fall down around our ears, and what they'd like is a little help.
This would be less annoying if he weren't so convinced that I'm pregnant. The man thinks I am pregnant, yet it's fine with him that I inhale noxious cleaning product fumes and carry heavy crap back and forth and clean out the litterbox at 11 p.m. (pg women aren't even supposed to scoop out the litterbox due to the ammonia.)
However, THE single most irritating thing about all of this is that I still have not worked out a way to tell him how ridiculous last night was. He asked me this morning, and I told him, but after he apologized and said he should have done the litter himself, it was more, "See? So moody. I bet you're pregnant." I have learned from Vickie (and from my other good friend, Past Experience) that to yell is to shoot myself in the damned_foot. But only if my aim is poor. Sometimes a woman needs to raise her voice.
All I know is, he's buying the HPT and we are so not eating pho on our date tonight.
1) He turns off the TV/Xbox/computer when I get home, and we talk. This means the world to me.
2) He is always looking for ways to improve himself, and us as a couple.
3) He is darn cute.
That said ... I really need to b!tch right now. This is merely a rant, a rant. (Picture Mercutio laughing it off: "A scratch, a scratch.") <-- On second thought, that was right before he died of his "scratch" so nvm, don't picture that.
Last night we spent a few minutes planning tonight's date. Despite the fact that we went to see "GI Joe" last week (which I enjoyed, but it was definitely his pick), Cub tried for "D9" for tonight AND, after he asked where I wanted to eat and I replied Tenkaippin, he said, "How about pho?" I dislike pho and large-screen gore really bothers me (he knows both of these things), but the mother of all irritations happened after his insistence that I take an HPT this weekend because I have been "moody" and "eating a lot." If I have explained ovulation to him once I've explained it a thousand times, but he still seemed pretty convinced that a little zygote was responsible for my new and unattractive behavior.
So then. As we were getting ready for bed, he complained that the cat (my cat, the little old one) had crapped in her litterbox and that the smell was permeating the entire bedroom. (A definite exaggeration, but I moved to take care of it right away.) Here is a list of things I did while he tucked himself into bed:
- emptied the entire contents of the litter pan into a trash bag
- vacuumed the bathroom floor
- disinfected the bathroom floor with bleach
- hauled a 30-lb box of cat litter in from outside
- refilled the litter pan
- vacuumed some more and filled the canister to the very brim because I asked him a week ago to empty it.
- took the box of litter back outside. <-- at least it was lighter then
Now I know. Our mothers are not insane shrews who shriek at our fathers for nothing. Our mothers (all of whom are a million times the housekeeper I am) have shit to do so our homes do not fall down around our ears, and what they'd like is a little help.
This would be less annoying if he weren't so convinced that I'm pregnant. The man thinks I am pregnant, yet it's fine with him that I inhale noxious cleaning product fumes and carry heavy crap back and forth and clean out the litterbox at 11 p.m. (pg women aren't even supposed to scoop out the litterbox due to the ammonia.)
However, THE single most irritating thing about all of this is that I still have not worked out a way to tell him how ridiculous last night was. He asked me this morning, and I told him, but after he apologized and said he should have done the litter himself, it was more, "See? So moody. I bet you're pregnant." I have learned from Vickie (and from my other good friend, Past Experience) that to yell is to shoot myself in the damned_foot. But only if my aim is poor. Sometimes a woman needs to raise her voice.
All I know is, he's buying the HPT and we are so not eating pho on our date tonight.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
$well
We sat down with Cub's financial advisor last night. Usually these things cause head-spinning and make me feel stupid, but I guess that's the difference between sitting down at 20, 25, and now at 30. Retirement means something at 30. (Discussing portfolios and IRAs made me wish it had meant something to me at 20 and 25, but as Jim put it yesterday, "You're well ahead of people in your age bracket who've given nary a thought to their futures." I'm not sure that a norm-referenced assessment of our financial health/attitude is the best way to approach this, but knowing that we don't suck the most, well, helps.)
My mom claims that when I was little, I thought money came out of machines. (Well, in a literal sense, it does, doesn't it?) Obviously I eventually figured out that first you need to strap some shoes on your feet and go out and earn it, but in a lot of ways, my money mind still functions at a very rudimentary level. 1) Bleep bleep bleep ... turn off alarm clock and go to work. 2) Get paid. 3) Pay taxes. 4) Put most of the rest in the bank. 5) Put some in pocket and go buy food because we need to eat or cute shoes because I want some.
Banks and I, we get along. It's concepts like mutual funds, money markets, CDs, TSAs, risk analysis, and 401Ks that take me a really long time to break down and digest. 1) Bleep bleep bleep ... turn off alarm clock and go to work. 2) Get paid. 3) Pay taxes. 4) Give my money to a guy in a suit so he can distribute x percent of it here, plant y percent of it there, put a little bit in stocks for sh!ts and giggles, and sit back and (hopefully) watch it grow into nice fat savings and/or retirement funds. You can't touch it till you need a hip replacement. And a mean troll of a recession could come and gobble up a lot of it with very little warning.
It's a nice feeling, though, the security that comes with knowing you're planning for something. ... God willing, we're gonna grow old together.
:)
My mom claims that when I was little, I thought money came out of machines. (Well, in a literal sense, it does, doesn't it?) Obviously I eventually figured out that first you need to strap some shoes on your feet and go out and earn it, but in a lot of ways, my money mind still functions at a very rudimentary level. 1) Bleep bleep bleep ... turn off alarm clock and go to work. 2) Get paid. 3) Pay taxes. 4) Put most of the rest in the bank. 5) Put some in pocket and go buy food because we need to eat or cute shoes because I want some.
Banks and I, we get along. It's concepts like mutual funds, money markets, CDs, TSAs, risk analysis, and 401Ks that take me a really long time to break down and digest. 1) Bleep bleep bleep ... turn off alarm clock and go to work. 2) Get paid. 3) Pay taxes. 4) Give my money to a guy in a suit so he can distribute x percent of it here, plant y percent of it there, put a little bit in stocks for sh!ts and giggles, and sit back and (hopefully) watch it grow into nice fat savings and/or retirement funds. You can't touch it till you need a hip replacement. And a mean troll of a recession could come and gobble up a lot of it with very little warning.
It's a nice feeling, though, the security that comes with knowing you're planning for something. ... God willing, we're gonna grow old together.
:)
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
in sickness and in health
Usually, we get sick one at a time.
You know, 'cause it's more convenient that way.
One of us catches something, the other spends a few days making tea, fetching water, heating up soup, walking the dog when it's actually the other person's turn, and babying the sickypie 'til all's well again.
This time? Holy inconvenience. We're dragging ourselves around the apartment, hacking, coughing, moaning and groaning. We used up the Zicam days ago. Now I'm chugging Robitussin in the car and he's offering me his codeine stash and we've gone through a quarter pound of li hing mui in less than 24 hours. No one has the energy to massage the muscles we abused yesterday. Pretty much all we have the strength to do is look at each other and say, "I wish we weren't sick."
Ah, togetherness.
You know, 'cause it's more convenient that way.
One of us catches something, the other spends a few days making tea, fetching water, heating up soup, walking the dog when it's actually the other person's turn, and babying the sickypie 'til all's well again.
This time? Holy inconvenience. We're dragging ourselves around the apartment, hacking, coughing, moaning and groaning. We used up the Zicam days ago. Now I'm chugging Robitussin in the car and he's offering me his codeine stash and we've gone through a quarter pound of li hing mui in less than 24 hours. No one has the energy to massage the muscles we abused yesterday. Pretty much all we have the strength to do is look at each other and say, "I wish we weren't sick."
Ah, togetherness.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
the yin, the yang
Making pork chops again. It's a Blue Bayou recipe with cumin, coriander, and tons of black pepper. Memo to self: next time freeze chops individually, not in a big lump, which makes defrosting a PITA.
Cub finished the rice and is playing COD 5 as I cook, presumably because we're having a "sit-down" dinner tonight - meaning no Travel Channel hosts joining us for dinner, no Ghost Hunter re-runs. Just us.
Made a mental list of things I love about Cub ...
1) He is extremely fair.
2) He loves and takes care of our dog (and shields him from my wrath when I am at wit's end and am ready to toss him out the car window). He also takes care of the plants I insist on buying but sort of give up on when they refuse to thrive.
3) He is too busy living life to blog, tweet, or post photos on the internet about it. He leaves all that to me.
4) His cooking, at the end of the day, makes everything better.
5) He is order to my chaos.
6) He abandons any and all electronic devices after being called just once. Sometimes, he turns the Xbox off with nary a word from me. Amazing.
7) He's never glued to his phone, has never left the room to make or take a phone call.
8) He jives with my friends and I with his.
9) He works hard, is a quick learner, and is very reliable.
10) He loves me.
Things I'm not nuts about but have accepted about Cub ...
1) Not only is he too busy living life to post photos on the internet, but he never takes photos. Ever. I love taking photos and am glad to be the primary photographer in our relationship, but it would be nice to be in one or two pics that aren't arm-out or timer-set snaps. However for the most part I've gotten over my aversion to the timer and no longer feel stupid sticking a camera in a tree, for instance, and running back to my spot, or grabbing him in sankaku-jime to hold still for a photo. Because of me, our kids will have beautiful photo albums chronicling their lives as they grow up. Because of him, they probably won't care :P.
2) He is extremely fair. This belongs on the above list because obviously fairness is good. It belongs on this list because this fairness nearly eclipses any shred of chivalry he could possibly possess. The other day when we argued about whose car we should sell when it was time to get a CRV, and I had forced him to see that it didn't make sense to get rid of my Saturn in order to keep his beloved truck because in the event of a baby landing we'd still only have one vehicle that would hold it, he said fine, the truck could go. But then I'd have to park on the street half the time, instead of parking in the garage, ten steps from the door, 100 percent of the time as I do now. The sole reason the current arrangement exists at all is because I bought the apartment and was living here long before he was. Now, I will carry six loads of laundry to the door by myself, will change my own windshield wiper blades, and get elbow-deep in vermicast when it's time to harvest. But park my car a block and a half down the street every other week - big fat no thanks. When you come up with a way to make it sound okay that you made your wife walk home in the dark while you skipped to the door in ten steps, let me know.
3) He is order to my chaos. It's on the above list because balance is good. It's on this list because my creativity thrives on chaos and sometimes when he attempts to extinguish my chaos, it cramps my creativity.
4) He hates books. Okay, he doesn't hate books (I would not have married a book hater), he hates their presence all over the apartment. When we met, I kept books in the kitchen, in the bathroom, in the bedroom, on the desk. Needless to say, they are now confined to shelves. Aside from PBS giveaways, books are the one thing I refuse to get rid of, and I hope this is something that he will eventually accept about me.
5) Lifestyle habits that are hard to break. Excessive snacking and bouts of insufficient exercise are things we're both guilty of. He's very outdoorsy and over the past two years I've become a big fan of the outdoor workout, but somehow, we can't get rid of our joeys and we have yet to stop, on a night out, at one or two beers (him) or half an order of fries (me). At least this one's something we clearly can work on together.
Cub finished the rice and is playing COD 5 as I cook, presumably because we're having a "sit-down" dinner tonight - meaning no Travel Channel hosts joining us for dinner, no Ghost Hunter re-runs. Just us.
Made a mental list of things I love about Cub ...
1) He is extremely fair.
2) He loves and takes care of our dog (and shields him from my wrath when I am at wit's end and am ready to toss him out the car window). He also takes care of the plants I insist on buying but sort of give up on when they refuse to thrive.
3) He is too busy living life to blog, tweet, or post photos on the internet about it. He leaves all that to me.
4) His cooking, at the end of the day, makes everything better.
5) He is order to my chaos.
6) He abandons any and all electronic devices after being called just once. Sometimes, he turns the Xbox off with nary a word from me. Amazing.
7) He's never glued to his phone, has never left the room to make or take a phone call.
8) He jives with my friends and I with his.
9) He works hard, is a quick learner, and is very reliable.
10) He loves me.
Things I'm not nuts about but have accepted about Cub ...
1) Not only is he too busy living life to post photos on the internet, but he never takes photos. Ever. I love taking photos and am glad to be the primary photographer in our relationship, but it would be nice to be in one or two pics that aren't arm-out or timer-set snaps. However for the most part I've gotten over my aversion to the timer and no longer feel stupid sticking a camera in a tree, for instance, and running back to my spot, or grabbing him in sankaku-jime to hold still for a photo. Because of me, our kids will have beautiful photo albums chronicling their lives as they grow up. Because of him, they probably won't care :P.
2) He is extremely fair. This belongs on the above list because obviously fairness is good. It belongs on this list because this fairness nearly eclipses any shred of chivalry he could possibly possess. The other day when we argued about whose car we should sell when it was time to get a CRV, and I had forced him to see that it didn't make sense to get rid of my Saturn in order to keep his beloved truck because in the event of a baby landing we'd still only have one vehicle that would hold it, he said fine, the truck could go. But then I'd have to park on the street half the time, instead of parking in the garage, ten steps from the door, 100 percent of the time as I do now. The sole reason the current arrangement exists at all is because I bought the apartment and was living here long before he was. Now, I will carry six loads of laundry to the door by myself, will change my own windshield wiper blades, and get elbow-deep in vermicast when it's time to harvest. But park my car a block and a half down the street every other week - big fat no thanks. When you come up with a way to make it sound okay that you made your wife walk home in the dark while you skipped to the door in ten steps, let me know.
3) He is order to my chaos. It's on the above list because balance is good. It's on this list because my creativity thrives on chaos and sometimes when he attempts to extinguish my chaos, it cramps my creativity.
4) He hates books. Okay, he doesn't hate books (I would not have married a book hater), he hates their presence all over the apartment. When we met, I kept books in the kitchen, in the bathroom, in the bedroom, on the desk. Needless to say, they are now confined to shelves. Aside from PBS giveaways, books are the one thing I refuse to get rid of, and I hope this is something that he will eventually accept about me.
5) Lifestyle habits that are hard to break. Excessive snacking and bouts of insufficient exercise are things we're both guilty of. He's very outdoorsy and over the past two years I've become a big fan of the outdoor workout, but somehow, we can't get rid of our joeys and we have yet to stop, on a night out, at one or two beers (him) or half an order of fries (me). At least this one's something we clearly can work on together.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
suuuuuure
Cubby: Want me to make pork chops for dinner?
Me: Yay!
Cubby: 'Kay, just grab a pack from Sam's and bring it home. Oh yeah, there's surf, so maybe you can start the rice. That way I can just cook up the chops when I get home from the beach.
Me: OK.
Cubby: If you want to chop some onions too, that'll make it quicker when I get home and start cooking.
Me: OK.
Cubby: And if you want to brown the chops in the pan before I get there so I can just put it in the oven when I get home, you can.
Me: So ... you want me to make pork chops for dinner?
Cubby: Yay!
Me: Yay!
Cubby: 'Kay, just grab a pack from Sam's and bring it home. Oh yeah, there's surf, so maybe you can start the rice. That way I can just cook up the chops when I get home from the beach.
Me: OK.
Cubby: If you want to chop some onions too, that'll make it quicker when I get home and start cooking.
Me: OK.
Cubby: And if you want to brown the chops in the pan before I get there so I can just put it in the oven when I get home, you can.
Me: So ... you want me to make pork chops for dinner?
Cubby: Yay!
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
:(
Cubby - sick. Feline child - incurably naughty. Abode - a woebegone mess. Ariadne, our Wandering Jew - suicidal.
:)
Bills - paid in full. ($10 & $25 promotional "cash" cards from favorite stores - in trash.) WiiFit slalom Beginner level - conquered. Abs and glutes - hurt SO good from J-class. Kona - spending the day with his daddy.
Cubby - sick. Feline child - incurably naughty. Abode - a woebegone mess. Ariadne, our Wandering Jew - suicidal.
:)
Bills - paid in full. ($10 & $25 promotional "cash" cards from favorite stores - in trash.) WiiFit slalom Beginner level - conquered. Abs and glutes - hurt SO good from J-class. Kona - spending the day with his daddy.
Monday, April 20, 2009
randomisms
A friend, on Friday: "So, how is it? Is married life for you?" From me, a resounding yes. We are only two months in and already I could write a book on how much work it takes to be truly happily married (sometimes we debate - is he that much of a drama queen or am I that much of a shrew?) but I wouldn't have this any other way.
...
Cubby, Saturday night while drifting off to sleep: "You know how some people have really hot wives, and some people have awesome wives who really love them? I was just thinking that I'm so lucky to have a package deal."
Of course the next morning he had no memory of saying such a thing, but :) anyway.
...
Our house is a mess. The kind where very soon it will be difficult to extricate anything we need from any given pile. Where, though, is the time to rectify this? (An ounce of prevention ... I've got to have a banner printed up.)
...
Cubby, Saturday night while drifting off to sleep: "You know how some people have really hot wives, and some people have awesome wives who really love them? I was just thinking that I'm so lucky to have a package deal."
Of course the next morning he had no memory of saying such a thing, but :) anyway.
...
Our house is a mess. The kind where very soon it will be difficult to extricate anything we need from any given pile. Where, though, is the time to rectify this? (An ounce of prevention ... I've got to have a banner printed up.)
Thursday, April 16, 2009
don't judge us by our bedtime
Last night as we drifted off to sleep in a sea of pillows, blankets, sheets and the huge wedding quilt my aunt made us (it's been chilly), we heard the left-side neighbors come home with their dog.
Cubby: "They were out late."
Cat: "Mmmmph."
Silence, as we both drifted back toward dreamland.
Cubby: "Well, actually ... maybe we're just in bed a little early."
Cat: "What is it, nine?"
Cubby: "Not quite."
Cubby: "They were out late."
Cat: "Mmmmph."
Silence, as we both drifted back toward dreamland.
Cubby: "Well, actually ... maybe we're just in bed a little early."
Cat: "What is it, nine?"
Cubby: "Not quite."
Monday, April 13, 2009
window open
Teeniest chance that we could blitz up to my favorite place in the world (next to Disneyland) this summer. Mini-moon? We'll see.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
cuz you know that you're toxic
Saying goodbye (sniff) to some Farberware pots and pans to make way for our new stuff. We got a 14-piece Kirkland set from Scott's sister, which I was really jazzed about, but my parents expressed concern over stuff they'd read about nonstick cookware and asked if we wanted to exchange it for All-Clad or maybe Calphalon. So I looked up anodized aluminum and it seems to be a safer alternative to Teflon, but the thought of all the dinners we cooked in Farberware Teflon pans is starting to sicken me ...
Friday, April 3, 2009
:)
Apparently, once you hit 30 your goods are on display for everyone to see, reflect on, and discuss. Not that this bothers me, as I blog it all out there anyway - I was just surprised to hear of male coworkers giving each other advice on OPKs, folic acid and The Baby Dance. The XXs at the NSY have chimed in, to be sure, but who knew the XYs were so opinionated?
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
a reprieve from KP
The BF made ahi - Susie's Black style for him (teriyaki sauce); garlic and pepper, well-done, for me. He was in charge of the asparagus tonight, and he made it completely different than I'd instructed him to. While heavy on the balsamic vin, it wasn't a bad variation. And I wonder if the balsamic had anything to do with the fact that this, for once, didn't happen.
BF fell asleep in the middle of Ghost Hunters, so I sent him to bed, and now I have the couch to myself. Howling wind, raspberry herbal tea, The Lost Continent, and snoring husband tucked in tight.
:)
BF fell asleep in the middle of Ghost Hunters, so I sent him to bed, and now I have the couch to myself. Howling wind, raspberry herbal tea, The Lost Continent, and snoring husband tucked in tight.
:)
hey mama, welcome to the '50s
I'm no June Cleaver (one checkered apron and a permi-smile short) but am tickled to report that I now cook dinner on a semi-regular basis - without flogging myself when things don't come out as planned. Go with the FLOW, I say. Let creativity reign! (It's much nicer than saying what I actually think: Eat it or beat it, suckers.)
I've also taken to making Scott's workday lunches, which (at his insistence) is invariably a turkey pastrami sandwich and a big Romaine salad. (Well, 'salad' is a generous description of what it actually is: a big GladWare container of chopped lettuce.)
A couple of weeks ago my cousins gave us a bag of School Kine Cookies, bite-sized chocolate chip shortbread yummies that I knew I had to hide if I expected them to last more than a couple of days. I put a few in his lunch every day and hide whatever's left. This morning, as he kissed me goodbye before leaving for work, he told me that the guys at work see the cookies as a barometer of our relationship's health. "When I only get three, they ask me what I did wrong last night," he said.
LOL.
I've also taken to making Scott's workday lunches, which (at his insistence) is invariably a turkey pastrami sandwich and a big Romaine salad. (Well, 'salad' is a generous description of what it actually is: a big GladWare container of chopped lettuce.)
A couple of weeks ago my cousins gave us a bag of School Kine Cookies, bite-sized chocolate chip shortbread yummies that I knew I had to hide if I expected them to last more than a couple of days. I put a few in his lunch every day and hide whatever's left. This morning, as he kissed me goodbye before leaving for work, he told me that the guys at work see the cookies as a barometer of our relationship's health. "When I only get three, they ask me what I did wrong last night," he said.
LOL.
and on the 52nd day, she blogged
Fifty-two days in. The Day was beautiful - some parts were a blur, but I remember three things with amazing clarity: 1) his smile as I met him at the altar, 2) how surprisingly overcome I was at the statement of intentions (maybe the only time in my entire life I've been rendered speechless), and 3) how bouyant I felt all day. For lack of a better description, I felt like people were carrying us around on their shoulders, or on chairs like in a Jewish Hora. The outpouring of love was immense. We didn't think many people would come to the actual wedding ceremony, and we were cool with that. As long as our close family was at the church, everyone could show up to party at the reception and that would have been awesome. But so many people came to the church, and it reminded us how blessed we are to have all of these people in our lives.People have asked us how things have changed since and it takes serious thought before coming up with anything, really, since we lived together for so long before taking the plunge. (And that word, 'plunge,' that's a stretch - it's more of a gentle wade-in, I'd say, because 'plunge' implies high-risk behavior, the outcome of which is more uncertain than anything else.) Things have changed, though. I feel ... sewn-in now. As a semi-claustrophobe in matters of elevators and the heart, I'm surprised at how much serenity this brings. He is not the one that so many years ago I would ever have imagined loving, let alone marrying. He's not the one that I expected to love me. He's not the one I expected to date for more than a month. He is just, the one.
These 52 days have been filled with love (praise God!), relief (that we'll never have to plan another wedding, ever), adjustment (to weird schedules, changing roles, new names), friction (from surprising sources, like shrimp skewers and gondolas), and laughter (always). His new job has been the catalyst of many changes - like our new wake-up call (3:30 a.m.) and my experimental new role as household cook. Many more changes are on the horizon, but for now, I'm enjoying the time we spend together.
This might be the only entry of its kind (deeply reflective and slightly smushy) in this blog. Really I just wanted a new space to jot a few daily thoughts on married life - e.g. Am I becoming the primary household cook, and if so, how do I
So. Marriedness blog. Here we are. :)
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