Falling More in Love with Your Spouse

There was the beautiful bride in a princess dress, her groom standing next to her while candles lit the fireplace in front of them.  Behind them sat 250 people and in front of them the minister began to speak the words that would start them in their marriage.  There were some funny stories, a prayer or two and then the minister started to get a bit heavy into what he thought marriage was.  This part, was where many people in the room began to shift a lot in their chairs, while catching their spouses eye, wondering where this guy was going with this speech. We were all with him till he said the following words to the couple:

“How much you love one another, right now, in this moment, is it.  You will never fall more in love with one another because marriage is hard.”

He continued for another, very long, 20 minutes about how hard marriage is and how tough things are going to get and on and on and on.  Hey, I know, it is tough and you don’t have to sugar coat everything but woah.  Just woah.  I can tell you what people were talking about after the ceremony was over and it wasn’t about how pretty the bride was.  It was about how apparently none of us will fall more in love with our spouse but we sure as hell will start hating them more. I don’t know where this man got his license to marry anyone or what his marriage is like (he was fairly young) but I don’t think he could have been more wrong.

I can tell you I fall more and more in love with my husband.  Some days more than others but I can honestly say that I love him now more than the day we were married.  I can’t imagine standing there on our wedding day and someone saying what that minister said.  It was more than rude, it was appalling to those who were married in the room.  Your wedding day should be the one day that you and your new spouse can look with rose-colored glasses into your future and dream of perfection instead of hell.

How would you feel if that was your wedding day speech from the minister?  Or do you agree with him?

The Vacation That Just Wasn’t

Apparently there is such a thing as a bad vacation.  There is such a thing as regretting the thousands of dollars you spent to travel to another country.  There is such a thing as wishing you would have booked your tickets for another place, perhaps with a beach.  There is such a thing as sitting across from your best friend wondering what the hell has happened to her.  There is also such a thing as watching too many Friends episodes.  That last one really shocked me, but it all happened.

Our trip to England was set up to be a great time.  How could it not be?  Aren’t all vacations great because you are not at home or work?  It fails when your friend doesn’t take time off of work and owns a home day care.  It fails when you spend time changing diapers and the wail of a child outside your door wakes you.  It falls apart when you feel as though you are inconveniencing your friend by being in her home.  Then there were the nights where you were left on your own in the living room to be quiet as the household wanted to go to bed by 9pm. There I sat, with my sister, watching show after show of Friends and staying up till the wee hours because we weren’t tired after doing absolutely nothing all day.  It just went from there.

I tried to not be negative, I tried to relax and enjoy the down time but my sister finally spoke up and I knew I wasn’t the only one.  I texted my husband, feeling horrible for feeling this way but he agreed, it wasn’t really fair.  The last time we went to visit was quite the opposite.  If your friend is coming to visit, shouldn’t you take the time to spend time with them?  And that was just the thing, I don’t expect to be entertained but I would like to spend quality time with the person I flew a lot of miles to  visit.

We managed to get out a few days and see some sites but it felt forced and there was a gray cloud hanging over us.  I felt defeated and promised my sister another trip somewhere else one day soon.  Maybe a safari in Africa?  I was reading Chelsea Handler’s Uganda Be Kidding Me (Highlight of my whole trip) and quickly considered purchasing more wine and a new plane ticket.

I speculated about my dear friend, where she is at in her life and just what she might be thinking.  Her mind was elsewhere the whole time and while I saw glimpses of the person I know, it was few and far between.  We Skype every week, we talk on the phone all the time, text daily and yet here sat a person I didn’t know, treating me like someone she didn’t know.  I was lost…..and quite frankly a bit hurt, which is probably what it all comes down to.

My sister and I did what any normal person would do, we drank a lot of wine.  I got hammered the night before we left, as it was my sister’s birthday, and was still a bit drunk when we got to the airport the next day.  I’ve done this every time I have  left that country and figured I didn’t want to change things this time around.  We sipped mimosas at the airport and kept our buzz going with Delta’s free boxed wine on the flight while we Frozen like the real adults that we are.  We tried to keep with the motto “Hey, we are going to make the best of this vaca!” but we were really happy to touch down in the good ole US of A and call that vacation done.

Distance, timing and well, I’m on my own

Last week my husband enjoyed four days and three nights, away from me, in the warmth that is Vegas.  A place that involved above freezing temps, shorts, flip flops and he even managed a bit of a sunburn one day.  I was jealous to say the least but since I’m leaving for England soon, I won’t whine.

While he was gone I enjoyed our king size bed, salad only dinners and perhaps a few extra glass of wine, all by myself. While he was gone someone made a comment to me along the lines of “Don’t you realize how much your husband actually does for you once he isn’t around to do it?”  My answer-no.  They looked a bit taken aback.

Here’s the deal.  My husband works insanely long hours and when he is done with work he goes and works until late at night on the flipping of our rental home. All this fun spills into the weekends as well.  We really don’t see one another much and yes, this wears on me but I know there is somewhat of an end in sight when he is done with that bloody house.  In the meantime, I’m on my own.  I take out the trash, I do the laundry, I find the screw driver and fix shit on my own.  I go check out the scary noise or chase the grill cover down the road when the wind takes it.  I’m picking up his end of the household chores and trying to hold out eating dinner until he can fall in the door.  And to be honest, he is useless when he does come home late at night.

So how did I really feel with him gone?  I needed the break just as much as he did.  I didn’t have to worry about where he was, or a dinner time, or trying to stay up late so we could have a face to face conversation for a few minutes.  We have been spread thin on time together and I didn’t realize just how much until he took that trip because life didn’t really change a whole lot. It is sad really but these are those times you just have to get through.  It forces us to make sure we get out for a date night, or we try to grab lunch together (even if sitting at his job site.)  It forces us to communicate so we don’t spin out of control on schedules or who needs to be where and when.  It forces us to pay full attention to our marriage because this is a time where it could be so easy to just let it go on cruise control.

I’m fully appreciating the fact that we are able to do this right now and handle it.  My first marriage never could handle this.  At this point the only thing I’m truly worried about is if the trash will ever make it out when I’m in England and if the Husband will eat anything besides cookies.

It is now a thing. A group effort, thing.

It is official.  Making a baby just turned into a group effort.  As in my sweet OB/GYN, her sweet nurse, a lady who drew my blood like a vampire and oh, yea, my Husband and I.

Last Friday was the first big sit down on how 16 months after pulling the goalie no one is knocked up.  Namely, me.  I love my doc to death and I think we would have a lot of wine chats if she didn’t spend so much time up in my woman business.  She quickly started listing off what we can do and laid out a battle plan as I nodded my head and adjusted the gown that kept falling off my shoulders.  (Not everyone is a 6XL, could we make those fit a bit better?)

We decided to not start on fertility pills quite yet as we don’t want a December baby and my Husband and I will not see each other whatsoever in March to be doing the deed on a regular basis.  Also, since I’m heading to England I don’t want to go all jacked up on hormones.  My friend and I already sob enough in Heathrow airport when we see one another, no need to add more to it.  The month of March will just be to rule out all the basics and then I will start fertility drugs in April.  Ready or not.  I walked out the door of the hospital with tons of paper describing procedures and possibilities along with the cost of everything that is not covered by insurance.  (Holy cost. Once more-Holy Cost!)

I kept myself in check most of the day, going to work after my appointment and sticking to a normal routine.  I ran things through my head as very black and white.  I came home to sit with the Husband and discuss everything with him as he didn’t go to the appointment with me.  It was then that the gray area came out, the emotions snuck up on me.  We are heading down a road that can quickly spiral out of control if you don’t keep ahold of the reins.  The options, the money, the time, the emotions and much more that we have to take into account.  I was suddenly very overwhelmed and the calm mannerism I have had regarding all of this for the past 16 months went out the window.  I cried.  I ugly cried.  I wanted to stomp my feet and ask why the fuck we can’t just have something go smoothly?  Why can’t one thing just be easy?  I wanted to yell at my family and friends for their shitty support.  I wanted to just throw in the white flag and say forget it.  I climbed in bed and went to sleep instead.

The big problem is that all of this takes me back to fighting for custody of Rebecca.  A story I will share one day.  I feel like I’m back in the same spot fighting for my kid.  Fighting an uphill battle that people don’t want to talk about with you.  Can’t I just go through the process of bringing one kid in my house the old fashioned way?  I decided I have to cope how I coped back then.  One day at a time.

The Day I Fell More in Love With My Husband

It was 17 degrees out.  It was once again blowing snow and the sky hung above us with an angry gray color.  We were dressed warmly head to toe, the Husband and I, and we had a long day of work in our yard ahead of us.  It was my idea to have the trees cleaned up in this winter dread and my idea to do our own yard clean up instead of paying the guy to do it.  This horrible morning was supposed to turn to blue skies and 50 degrees, which it would but in the start of that morning it didn’t feel that way.

We lined our trucks up next to one another and the Husband started the chainsaw while I started loading my truck bed with limbs.  My hands were already frozen but he wasn’t going to let me leave him to it alone, we didn’t work that way.  We got into a groove, cutting and loading, trying not to slip on the ice patches in the driveway or on the side of the house, minding the dog underfoot.  We hauled to the dump, unloaded and retraced our tracks back home.  Over and over again and mostly in silence.

It was well past noon and we hadn’t eaten anything.  I stopped to give my back a break and shake some life into my tired arms.  I realized the sun had in fact come out and I was actually sweating.  I stripped off a few layers and looked over at my Husband.  For some reason I really noticed him.  I saw the guy sitting across from me at our first date discussing his recent deployment to Iraq.  We sat with such manners lost in conversation for three hours that night but what we didn’t discuss was how we would spend a Saturday three years from then in the cold.  That man took a few dates to hug me and more to kiss me for the first time.  This Saturday he rolled his eyes because I struggled with unloading my truck as fast as him so he came over to help and gave me a quick peck on the cheek as he jumped in my truck.

I remember the first time I jumped into that truck of his on our second date and found a box of cigarettes in the center console.  He quit smoking a week later when I told him there was no way I could date him if he kept it up.  On this Saturday he accidentally backed that truck into a tree and busted his tail light and bumper up.  This time I kept my mouth shut and let him cuss and rant. We didn’t know three years later how many bumps and bruises that truck of his would get.  And I’ve learned to keep my mouth shut a bit more.

By the end of the day we were covered in mud, leaves, snow and sweat.  We hosed off our pickups and sat on our truck beds facing each other trying to decide on how much energy we had to go out for dinner.  All those late nights on the phone when we first met didn’t cover who would wipe the dog shit off the floor mats before going inside to shower.

When I noticed my Husband that day I was stuck on the man I met just a little over three years ago.  The things you don’t talk about when you are on those first dates.  All the unknowns of a life and marriage still ahead of you. The man I slowly, hesitantly, fell in love with was working his ass off next to me and somehow over three short years we became this team.  I stared at him for a few minutes and realized how much more I love him today than I did the day I married him.  Sometimes life gets complicated and we rush through the days but in this day, at the oddest time, I fell in love with my Husband and our marriage even more.  I took pause, I slowed down, and let life sink in around me a bit.  It wasn’t during a trip, it wasn’t a life changing event, it wasn’t romantic but it was the best feeling of happiness and contentment and for that I am grateful.

My Sister.

There are those people who go on and on about their sisters and how they grew up being best friends, telling one another everything.  Then there is the story of me and my sister.  We did not grow up being best friends nor did we tell each other secrets late into the night.  I had other friends for that.  We shared a room in which we drew literal lines down the middle of the floor and often beat the crap out of each other.  Ok, she beat the crap out of me because I was really little but I tried to swing my fists when I could.  In fact we didn’t even start working on any type of a friendship until I was divorced. Who says good things can’t come out of a divorce?  Take that another step when my sister started on her own divorce journey and here we sit today.  While we aren’t sharing every deep dark secret, we do have a strong relationship now.

I remember going on a couple of trips after/during my divorce that were life changing for me.  The kind that open your eyes, change your perspective and restore your faith in the human race.  Just what my sister needs on the heels of learning she is officially divorced.  Time to move on and forward.  Which brings us to today and my quest for living better in the year 2014.  Through a series of events, that proves everything happens for a reason, I found myself booking a ticket to England without my husband but then realizing I could take my sister.  She deserved a break.

I broke it to her carefully.

Text to my sister: Is your passport valid?

Sister: Do we need bail money?  I can get an alibi.

This is how we have built a friendship that most are born with as siblings.

So in less than a month I’m “dragging” my sister with me to England to visit my best friend.  The best friend who has been my “sister” all these years.

This isn’t just any trip over the pond.  This is a trip that will change our relationship even more.  There is something about becoming older, realizing how precious these memories can be and being so grateful for the opportunity to spend this time together.  I’m happy to give my sister a chance that friends, bloggers, and strangers gave to me after/during my divorce.  The chance to get away and see the world again.  The chance to have that relationship that we weren’t born with.  We are even going to share a room and I don’t think we’ll need to draw a line down it.

Life doesn’t always stay tucked away

I’ve moved on in my life in such a way that my past is happily tucked away where it belongs.  In the past.  I didn’t shove it there and ignore it.  No, I dealt with it and moved on to not just the next chapter but the next book.  I tucked the other book nicely on the shelf and went in a forward motion.

The funny thing about this new job of mine, with old friends, is they have all these memories and old stories that mingle with my old memories that have been tucked away in that book.  There really aren’t a whole lot of other people in my current life that know much about the old life.  The old life that had other friends, a different husband, a different job and a different me for the most part. I’m not ashamed of that old and different part of me, it is just the fact that I’m not used to an old story being mentioned about that one night out at the bar that I had left tucked away.  And that day at the office we gave up on work and spent the afternoon drinking martinis.  Do you remember that meeting where we all just about gave up?  Suddenly a past that never runs into the present is no longer black and white.  There are grey areas.

I’m slowly getting used to this grey area that they give me.  I always knew the past with its stories, memories and even people were going to sneak out of that book and accidentally be standing in my present whether in my office or elsewhere.  They are good memories that, shockingly, I can look at now and smile and see the good in them without my brain going to all the pain that eventually came.  The good parts outweigh the bad parts.  I can say that when those pieces fall out of the book I am reminded of just how far I’ve come and it makes me want to kiss my husband one more time before I tell him goodnight because I am one lucky woman.

I’m going to drink this glass of wine, not make a baby tonight

I was just pouring my wine for the Super Bowl party.  Friends and family were tucked into the corners of my home balancing chips and dip with their drink.  The TV volume was turned up too high and everyone was trying to be heard in their own conversation while waiting for the game to start.  A friend of mine leaned in close to me and mentioned she couldn’t wait till I had some baby news to share with her.  I poured more wine into my glass than normal.  I ignored her comment.  She suggested that when everyone leaves then my Husband and I should go in and make a Super Bowl baby.  I nod my head and take a big ass gulp of Chardonnay.

This isn’t the first time she has made these comments.  Always while I’m pouring a glass of wine, she will mention that I obviously don’t have the big news yet.  She’ll make them again next week and the week after and so will others.

I walked away with my glass of wine and stepped over her kids who were trying to kill one another.  I found a seat and eyed the husband across the room until we made eye contact and I could exchange a look with him.  Every couple has those looks they can share. The entire conversation in one stare.  He glanced from me to the other woman and knew.  He offered me a smile because what else is there to say or do.  In the room full of people there was only one other couple that had somewhat of an idea of how the comments sting.

I later sat with the woman who would understand and we whispered about her recent appointments so others would not hear.  But not the advice filled woman.  No, she came over to pipe in again.  Offering up her opinion and making it into this cute, happy, just get drunk and fuck process.  Well, that may have worked for her but here was me and another woman and we are beyond the basics of what they taught us in sex ed, thank you very much.

It was much later in the night after people started heading home and I had too much wine in me.  The girl was also a little drunk and offered up another bit of advice about going on in to make a baby.  Without hesitation or care for anyone around me I offered back a retort that tonight I don’t want to make a Super Bowl baby.  I don’t even want to have sex with my Husband tonight.  I don’t want to go make a baby to make you fucking happy.  I don’t want to pee on sticks or worry about how our appointment is going to go at the end of the month. I want to drink a glass of wine, enjoy the company of everyone and just live right now without you throwing in my face, daily, that I’m not fucking pregnant.

I’m sorry, was that rude?  There is support and there is not having manners.  I’m tired of making everyone else comfortable with me not getting pregnant.

Everyone left and I sat, exhausted, with my Husband on the couch.  He grabbed my hand.  I closed my eyes and lingered in my buzzed state of mind.  I let go of the anger.  Took another deep breath and let that one go.  A few more deep breaths later I calmed down and let it all go.  The comments will come again but what happens behind our closed doors at night and how we handle this is for us.