warning: gratuitous lovey-dovey-ness ahead

Holy moly, I love this man.

That is all.

golf? really?

Julie: “Wait a minute, you’re telling me you have your own set of golf clubs?” she says, fighting disbelief.  I detect the slightest traces of a snicker in that sweet little voice of hers.

Me: “Yep.  They’re baby blue.”

Julie: “I have your permission to give you a hard time about this, right?”  What she good-naturedly means but does not say is, “I know you’re trying to be a supportive wife and all, but golf?  Now you’ve officially gone off the reservation.”

Yes, friends, I went golfing for the first time on Thursday night.  I was speaking with an acquaintance at work and told her that Justin was resuming golf now that the weather was finally starting to appear almost June-like, but that he kept on having a hard time scheduling with his buddy.  “Well, you should totally just head out there and play, too,” Pamela said. 

I mentioned this conversation to Justin when we were out to lunch later that day, and his eyes took on a shine the way they do when I say something like, “Man! When is it going to be football season again?” or, “Sure, grilled cheese and tomato soup sounds good for lunch.”  “Play another game of DOTA.  You’ve earned it.”

(Ok, so actually I don’t really say that last thing very often, or ever, but you get the idea.)

We stopped by Play It Again Sports on the way home from lunch, bought a beginner’s set of clubs (did I mention they’re baby blue?), and set a tee time for later in the evening.  How hard could it be? I reasoned.  You wear awful pants, bend over, stick your ass out, and hit the white ball.  Done and done.

Like this guy:

Justin took me over to a little side area with a net where folks can get warmed up and practice.  A few swings into this whole brouhaha, I realize: there may be a little more to this game than I’d previously believed.

Already feeling self-consciousness rising within me to approximately the level of my throat, I trek on over to the first hole.  My golf bag is fashioned to hang from my shoulders kind of like a backpack, but it keeps me a little off-balance and the way the clubs clink with every step feels noisy on the quiet course.  This is one of those moments I’m going to make a complete and utter fool of myself.

We’re just about to tee off when we hear a voice come over the loudspeaker.  To me it sounds just like the “Wah wah wah waaah wa wah” from Charlie Brown, but my husband determines we should wait — we have two people joining us.

“What?” I ask Justin, my voice rising a few octaves instantly.  Oh, crap.  Witnesses to this disaster?

Two gentlemen in their fifties join us on the green.  That awkward feeling rises approximately to the level of my eyeballs.  But we all shake hands and introduce ourselves, we explain this is my first time, and Stan and Beau smile to welcome me.

It could be that had we golfed with cold, rather snarky people, it could have ruined the experience for me forever.  (By the way, don’t you just love that word “snarky”?  I do).  But these guys were cool and laid back and extremely helpful.  For instance – Stan, after watching a rather impressive run of me swinging eight times without hitting the ball, decided to have mercy on my soul and take some action.  He had me line up my swing.  Then he stood in front of me and placed his hand on my head.  “Okay.  I’m going to hold your head down while you swing, alright?” 

It’s been a while since someone I’ve been acquainted with less than half an hour has grabbed me by the top of my head, but as Justin didn’t appear alarmed, I kept my cool.  Amazingly, I didn’t hit Stan’s shins, but the golf ball.  (I’m going to patent a product for beginning golfers that pretty much just involves a dude in his fifties who will stand in front of you and hold your head down while you swing.  You see, that’s what you have to do. You have to use your mind and come up with some really great idea like that and you never have to work again!).

It certainly was one of the worst rounds of golf Raspberry Ridge has ever seen, but I did hit the ball less-than-obscenely a couple times, and even managed a Tiger Woods fist pump a time or two, just for grins.  I’ve had muscles hurt the last few days that I wasn’t aware I had, but I’m sufficiently recovered enough to head out to the driving range this afternoon for some more punishment.

Ah, the things we do for love.  Like see The Incredible Hulk in the theater.

Side note: I really hate CGI characters other than Gollum.  It’s been completely downhill ever since then.

Next time: join me for a rousing tale of my forays into the exciting game that is Warcraft 3.

(Then again, maybe not.  A girl’s got to draw the line somewhere).

Animoto.com

fun with videos…

Animoto.com

Year one: Nailed it!

Howdy.

So has anyone else noticed that Christmas started the day after Halloween this year?

I’m a little creeped out.

There are some people who are slight grinches — Justin — who complain about Christmas starting up the day after Thanksgiving, but I think that works ok.  Seeing Starbucks employees in their “Spread the Cheer” shirts and seeing the Santa display up in the mall the first day of November seems a little excessive, however.  The way things are going, ten years from now, we’ll begin Christmas decorating sometime in August.

Hey!  It’s our first anniversary tomorrow!  I can’t believe it snuck by so quickly, although I guess it’s not suprising, given work and school and a few moves tossed into the mix.  It’s been pretty amazing… one year later, I’m still blinking in astonishment, wondering how this became my life.  I am blessed to have the husband I do, and the past 365 days – with all the ups and downs that naturally accompany them – have only served to make me more certain of it. 

Everyone said before we got married that the first year is the toughest, and although there was a learning curve to figuring out how to live together (like learning to put the condiments away)… I think I spent more time laughing than anything.  There were so many times it felt like we were just goofy kids masquerading as grown-ups by occasionally doing responsible things like paying bills and going to work.  The rest of the time?  We played.  Whether it was watching the Seahawks lose, playing laser hockey on the Wii, watching back-to-back-to-back episodes of the Office, or playing online poker — we played.  It’s had to be cut back some since school started, but still, we play. 

There were times I cried too — I’ve always done that when I am overwhelmed – but even in that I experienced a deep-seated joy — that of being loved and understood when you can’t be at your best.  There’s nothing like someone pulling you close and holding you there even though you are a red-faced mess of snot and tears.  There’s nothing like consistently having someone in your corner, cheering you on.

It’s been good.  I’m a lucky girl.  I know one year is no big deal in light of folks that have been married fifty years and head to Starbucks and still sit there holding hands (Justin and I got to know this couple when I was a barista)… but this first year fills me with hope that the best stuff is still ahead of us. 

Justin planned a trip for us this weekend… we’re headed to the lovely “Bavarian” village of Leavenworth.  And — just like in Whistler on our honeymoon, it’s supposed to start snowing the first night we’re there!  I don’t think I can express how cool that is.  To me, all the world is magic when there’s snow falling.  And there’s nothing funnier than one or both of us totally biting it on some ice, falling down in one big clumsy heap.  Heh heh. 

what a man wants, what a man needs…

Okay, so here’s what was meant to happen on that last post.

Justin and I were fairly busy last week — he was finishing up his last week of training at the call center, and I am training into a new position at work.  “Phlebotomist: [fluh-bot-uh-mist] -noun. 1. a specialist in phlebotomy. 2. a nurse or other health worker trained in drawing venous blood for testing or donation.”  I had never heard this word before I went to work at the plasma donation center.  And now I’m going to be poking people in the arm.  Scary.  People really like it when I tell them I’m an English major.  Makes them feel safe, somehow, like they’re in truly proficient hands.

Anyway, we took it real easy yesterday and had some great conversations throughout the day.

One thing we’ve done ever since we’ve been married is that we do little checks on what our pre-marital counseling literature called “The Love Tank.”  Basically it’s just a little way to check in with each other and make sure we’re both feeling loved and nurtured, that things going on inside the other person are okay.  Sometimes we have a rough day and need to take some time to refill some of what that conflict consumed — to reassure each other, to be tender.  Sometimes even a force outside the marriage can take its toll — a bad day or week at work, conflict in another relationship, etc. — but it’s still good to know if you’re partner is feeling down or depleted, because then you can make an even stronger effort to bolster them up.

I know.  It’s a little silly.  We laughed too.  But we use it more often than not as a way to open up the conversation.

We were having the Love Tank talk last night, and after a day of slowing down and curling up together, we were doing great, but I asked Justin if there were any things that I could do differently, things that he wished looked different in our marriage.

This, and I don’t misquote him in the slightest, was his response: “No, not really.  I mean, you watch entire football games with me now, and you’re even doing a fantasy football team this year, which is above and beyond and not even what I expected from you.  No, we’re good.”

WHAT?

Seriously, if I could change one thing about myself, it’s that I respond emotionally when first presented with difficult information.  Translation for the layperson: I get a little pissed off about stupid things and it takes me a moment to return to being what J calls “a reasonable human being.”  I was assuming this would be the area of growth he would want from me.

Nope.  I can keep my brief outbursts of feisty.  If I’m watching football with him once a week, we’re good.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?  I laughed hard for a few minutes and had to regain my breath before we resumed our conversation.

If ever I needed a more perfect picture of my sometimes-cluelessness as to what Justin wants and needs from me, I couldn’t do better than this.

Who knew that the secret to happiness in marriage was to watch the NFL?

Okay.  In no particular order, here’s my little list of some of the things I’ve learned/am learning to be for my husband.  I write it as much as a reminder for myself as I write it for the five people who may or may not stop by today.

Buddy

People have laughed at the fact that Justin’s favorite pet name for me is Buddy, but it’s the truth.  He needs a playmate in me.  This means sharing time together, but it also means sharing interests.  You should see the look on this kid’s face when he catches me reading football news on the net.  He brags at work that his wife is doing a fantasy football league with him.  When I remember the name of a coach or a person’s position or what is going on with a particular player (Michael Vick has been a gold mine for me), it is like screaming a big huge “I LOVE YOU!!!” to him.  This blows my mind, but it’s true. 

When I really think about it, it shouldn’t be surprising.  Justin and his dad used to watch football together when he was little, and his dad passed away several years ago.  He and his closest friends have been in a league together for over seven years, and never stay in such good contact with each other as much as during football season.  Each year, their draft is a big deal and they almost all make the trip out to see each other. 

Simply put, this is something sacred.  I would never have developed an interest or understanding of football on my own, but by making this sacred for me too, I’ve allowed something my husband loves to be something we share together.  There’s a limit, of course – I’m usually only good for one full game in a given day – but by welcoming football rather than treating it as competition for Justin’s time, I win.  I’ve actually grown to like it quite a bit since I understand the game more, and by taking an active interest in the game, I’ve told Justin that what’s important to him is important to me.  That, and I get to sit with Justin when a bunch of us watch the game, rather than having to hang out in the other room with all the girls, talking about scrapbooking or puppies or some such nonsense.

This principle applies when it comes to playing Texas Hold’em online together, visiting his friends, watching movies together, etc.  (And in return, he’s not afraid to play some Scrabble or watch a little Pride and Prejudice with me, either.)  The point is, when we’re not at work, 99% of the time, we’re playing somewhere together.  Or, occasionally, doing something useful around the house.  But mostly just playing together, cracking slightly inappropriate jokes, laughing.

Lover

No worries, I’m not going to get graphic here.  But I would be remiss if this wasn’t on the list somewhere near the top!  This is a topic I’m fairly passionate about, because I know this is an area wives tend to screw up a lot.  Husbands do too, but they’re known for it, and it’s allowed us women to sneak under the radar without being called on our baloney.

Here’s the deal.  Somewhere in Justin’s vows, between promising to help me keep track of my glasses and keys, and loving me fiercely all the days of his life, Justin promised to be loyal to me.  He promised to be faithful.  What no one ever says out loud, but what I thankfully knew when I signed up for this is — his promise means I have a big responsibility.  He promised to meet his needs physically with me only.  All the other needs — emotionally, relationally, recreationally — although I’m meant to be a large part of meeting them, other people play into them as well.  But this one area, that’s the need only I can meet.  The brutal truth is, if I don’t meet that need, it doesn’t get met.  That’s a huge responsibility on my part.  That’s a huge amount of trust on his part. 

Wives usually are all about meeting their man’s needs emotionally and relationally, but what they don’t always realize is that, if their husband’s needs are not being met physically, there will be damage emotionally and relationally.  It makes me sad to hear of men who are made to feel guilty for needs that are legitimate and healthy, when they are trying to meet them in a healthy and legitimate way – with their wives.  It frustrates me to hear men degraded as sex-fiends just as much as it pains me to hear women put down as needy and over-emotional.  It’s stupid and cruel, to put someone down for their needs rather than being concerned and intentional about meeting them as much as you can.

I hear stories.  I never want it to be Justin’s story.  Or mine, for that matter.  For this reason, this topic is not off-limits when we’re checking up on the state of our marriage.  And for this reason, I decided that when I married him, I was committed to not only taking on this need, but to doing my best to bless him in it.

So, we’re figuring out what works.  For us, that means we compromise and are really gracious with each other.  In wanting to meet his needs, I’ve made the choice to cheerfully show up for Team Lawlis even if sex wasn’t top of my list at that given moment.  (Justin is realistic and doesn’t have skyrocketing expectations when this is the case).  Recognizing my need for 8-9 hours of rest, when I’m super sleepy and the kitchen’s closed, he’s totally okay.  When timing and desire aligns, we make the most of it.    Good times.

(Hopefully I did okay there… I know this is a hard topic to talk about).

Partner

Not boss.  Not manager.  Partner.

This one is pretty simple in principle, although it gave me fits in the beginning.

–If I want help from Justin, I ask for it.  I don’t nag him, although I do ask him to write it down if he’s been busy and it’s been forgotten a few times.  I don’t assume he knows what I want from him when it comes to helping out around the house.  I simply ask or leave a note, and most of the time, he jumps right on it.  It is SO nice. 

–When he takes something on, I don’t go behind him and tell him the few spots that he missed.  I hate when people do that to me, so I try my best to avoid it, although I’m sure I’ve been critical before.  It may not be exactly as clean as if I’d done it, but it’s still cleaner than it was, and that’s something to celebrate.

–I take into account that he does things that I don’t do.  He mows the lawn, he takes out the trash, he works on our piece-of-crap cars.  Sometimes I mow the lawn so he doesn’t have to.  (The cars, he’s still stuck with).  But I realize that there will be things I’ll need to cover so he has time to do that outside manly stuff that he’s so good at taking care of.

–Most of all, I let him know that I notice he folded that load of laundry, or that he did the dishes before I got home from work.  (In fact, if I forget to say something, he asks about it to make sure I know he thought of me while I was gone: “Did you see that I got the dishes done for you?”  It’s adorable).  Every man wants to know he’s appreciated, that the things that he does matter.  I’m sure there’s things he’d rather do than vacuum the living room right before company arrives.  But every time, he’s there.

Cheerleader

This one is probably my favorite one.

Justin is not impersonal.  He’s always making people laugh, always saying some off-the-wall random thing that people weren’t expecting.  Alternately, he’s always wearing some off-the-wall random shirt that people weren’t expecting.  He plays well with others, is confident.  Is quick to make friends, or at least to make acquaintances who consider themselves friends.

I get to be a part of that world, and I really enjoy it.  I never laugh so much as when I’m hanging out with J.

But there’s another side of Justin that the world “out there” isn’t a part of.  A vulnerable side that only a few see, and that I see most of all.  I get to be there when he’s having a rough day.  I get to be there when he’s feeling discouraged or worried.  I get to be there when he’s having trouble sleeping or when a nightmare has intruded on his dreams.  I get to be the one to say, “You’re doing great.”  “Way to go, babe!”  ”Things will be okay.”  “I’m really proud of you.”  “Set your mind at ease.”  “Will a back scratch help?”

I get to be the one to see the look on his face when I slow down and tell him how much I love him.  And why.

Other than being a Buddy, this is my favorite part of being a wife.  Just as his words mean the world to me, mine have tremendous power with him, and it’s fun watching how much happiness they bring him when I just take the time to say ‘em out loud.  I seriously had no idea how much of an effect they would have. 

My words of praise probably mean the most.  I’m learning to be liberal with them, to catch him doing things right.  It’s not real hard.  :)

*****

These are pretty “duh” offerings, I know.  No rocket science here.  But these are the things I’m learning as a newbie wife.

These are the ways I’m keeping my vows the best that I know how.

Justin,

I am so happy to be standing here with you today.  You are more than I even knew to ask God for — the answer to countless prayers.  I hope you know, not only here in this moment, but always, what a joy you are to me.  I love you and I choose you today with my whole heart.  I’ll always choose you.

I promise to be your buddy, your lover and your companion all the days of my life.  In the big moments as well as small, uneventful ones, I promise to be by your side.  When you’re cracking jokes and goofing off, I’ll be the one laughing a little too loudly at all your craziness.  When you’re watching movies, I’ll be the one curled up beside you on the couch, trying to garner just a few more movie quotes.  Whether your football team is winning or losing, I promise to cheer along with you… at least, on most Sundays.  On all those trips to Starbucks, I’ll gladly ride shotgun.

I promise to cheer for you relentlessly and to cherish your dreams as if they were mine.  When you succeed and those around you applaud, I’ll be the one cheering loudest, a huge proud grin on my face.  In seasons of struggle, I will believe in you — sometimes enough for both of us.  I’ll always be there to listen and offer words and arms of comfort.  When you fail, even when you let me down, I promise to choose to see the best in you.  In moments when circumstances bring out the less-than-lovely in us, I promise to be quick to say I’m sorry and quick to forgive.  I will always be truthful with you.

No matter what comes our way, I promise I will fight for you, and will fight for these promises we’ve made.  I will be faithful to you not only in body, but in my heart and mind as well.  What’s ours is sacred and I will guard it as the precious thing it is.

Justin, I love you.  I’ll love you my whole life.  Thank you for loving me and making my life so sweet.

(In case you’re wondering, no, I didn’t make it through these vows without crying.  I am a wimp).   

new job descriptions

Funny story:  Friday afternoon I attended Justin’s graduation from his two-month training at the call center where he works.  Justin has a ton of call center experience, but this was his first-ever graduation.  No kidding, they had baseball caps with the graduation cap squares on top, and everyone walked up to get their certificate of completion, the whole deal.  I was a bit sheepish — it felt a little like attending someone’s graduation from junior high school, but I wanted to have a mental picture of where Justin spends his workday and am not usually one to turn down extra time with him, so I went.

While sitting at one of the tables, Justin was being his characteristic funny, sarcastic self.  One of the girls said, “So, he’s always like this, then?”  I smiled and said, “Yep.”  Another piped in, “How do you handle him?”  I thought for a second, smiled even bigger, and quickly replied, “I laugh a lot.”  I meant it.

I like the thought that Justin is his same self when I’m around, that there’s not this pressure to be on “best-behavior” when I show up.  I like it even more that this is somewhat shocking to people.  A person being themselves!  And loved all the more for it!

I know guys who have this “best-behavior” mentality, in some respects.  They reserve the moments of being themselves for Guys’ Night Out, or for golf outings, or for poker night.  They have no problem with swearing, but won’t swear around their wives because they find it distasteful when those same words come out of the little missus’ mouth.  They like sarcasm, but don’t like when she picks up on it and her joking sometimes bites him a little more harshly than he expected.  They feel constricted by their new responsibilities, weighed down, but would rather talk about it with the guys than with their wife.

I know that all relationships work differently, but the thought of being in this situation makes me sad, for both people involved.  From my perspective, home should be where you are MOST yourself.  Your marriage should be the one relationship where you use the fewest filters possible, where you share the biggest and sometimes most ridiculous fears.  I’m all for guys’ nights (and girls’ nights) and poker tourneys, but I enjoy knowing that  Justin’s real self doesn’t need those occasions to bust on out.  (And I secretly like that he often doesn’t want to go play poker unless I can come, too, even though I still push him to go). 

I married my husband because I like him when he’s being himself.  

*****

That said, there were still some adjustments that I had to make, both before we got married, and this past nine months.  Some of them, I knew were part of the deal.  Others, well, they surprised me a little quite a bit.  

What follows was my first big shift from “me” to “we.”  I had intended to write a little list, and at one point there really was a link to the story I shared above, but then this story came out instead.  It’s painful, but a good’un.  What’s the saying?  Thank God we’re not what we used to be… thank God this ain’t all we’re ever gonna be. 

*****

Just before we got married, my mother-in-law Karin gave me a little present, and I thought it was pretty appropriate, given her relationship to my beloved: a book entitled The Proper Care and Feeding of Husbands… by Dr. Laura Schlessinger.  Truthfully, I hadn’t read any of her stuff before, but knowing of Dr. Laura as a Conservative with a capital-C, I was a little skeptical, although I thought it was sweet that Karin had given me the book.  I’m not saying my prejudices were correct, I’m just being honest that I put the book in the “To Read Later… Probably Much Later” pile.

About three months after we were married I busted the book out while waiting for Justin to get done with a very long dental appointment.  I settled into a chair at the Starbucks across the street and began reading.  If you’ve ever heard Dr. Laura on the radio, you know it’s an understatement to say that she’s not real touchy-feely — but I teared up about halfway through the first chapter.  She wrote about how women tend to think of their needs as more important, and tend to downplay — even sometimes outright disrespect and degrade — their man’s needs.  I read for another half hour, stopped, bought a card, and started writing to Justin.

I’m a “card” person — Justin has a menagerie of cards and letters in his nightstand — but this is the one card he read three times before putting down, the one that kept him silent a moment before he spoke, the one he said really meant a lot to him, with wavery voice.

The thing is, while we still really enjoyed our first few months of being married and while most days were pretty peaceful, I wasn’t exactly a pro at being a wife (of course, NOW, I have it ALL figured out.  Just kidding).  That, and thanks to our little friend The Pill, I was slightly really emotional.  (This was really hard for me — I’d never been one of those girls who was forever using PMS as an excuse to go on a bitch rampage — but those first few months adjusting were truly awful). 

I got frustrated easily.  I nit-picked about the housework.  Rather than asking for help (a request that would have been honored pretty much immediately), I would turn myself into Housework Martyr, banging dishes and pots and pans rather loudly as I washed them, then declining his help when he’d immediately jump up from the computer and offer it.  In my tiny brain, it was too late.  He hadn’t read my mind and anticipated that I wanted the dishes done.  His game was more important.  And so on and so forth.  Bitter, party of one…

(I know.  I sound like a horrible person.  But find me a new bride who hasn’t pulled something like this one at some point or another, and I’ll pay you money). 

As I sat there in Starbucks, thinking, I realized we only watched the movies I picked.  This is a small thing (except that Justin is HUGE into movies), but as I continued to think about other situations, us often doing what I wanted to do — I realized I still had way too much me in my marriage.  I still thought of me first.  Always.  It wasn’t that didn’t really love Justin, that I never considered Justin’s needs, it’s just that I wasn’t considering him first.  As the girl, I was a bit too much in princess mode.  If you know me, you know how much I hate admitting that.  But it was the truth.

On our wedding day, Dan gave us new job descriptions as he led us through our vows.  He said Justin’s job to wake up each morning and ask, “How can I serve my bride today?”  Mine was to ask myself how I could serve my husband. 

I realized that my husband was way better at his job description than I was at mine.  And he wasn’t getting very much credit for it.  I was deeply shamed to think that if Justin responded as harshly as I did sometimes to a misunderstanding or a misstep, I would be heartbroken.  My sensitivity was still often only for myself.  When my needs weren’t met, I was hurt and angry; I was far too busy thinking about that to think about what Justin needed from me. 

I wrote Justin from my heart and let him know that I see all the ways that he serves me.  I named them, one by one.  I made sure he knows that I notice and that he’s appreciated.  I let him know that he’s been far better at his job description than I had been at mine, but that I was going to be better.  I thanked him for being patient with me, and for loving me despite the fact that I didn’t have this all figured out yet.  Justin had told me only the night before that he still had a lot to learn as a husband, but I confessed that it was me who had far more to learn.  I said that I wanted to deserve how much he spoils me. 

It was a long letter, and hard to write.  To realize that you sometimes grieve the one you love most in the world, and that they continue loving you and serving you even when you’re too self-centered to see it — that’s humbling.  Justin never complained.  Not once.  And thinking about that now, I still get that ache that I sometimes get right down in my sternum when something really nails me right in the heart.

An elderly man stopped as he was passing my table and asked me what I was doing, writing so furiously in this card.  I said, “I’m writing my husband.  We’re newly married and I realized that I don’t let him know often enough how much I appreciate him, so I’m trying to do that now.”  I was a little choked up, and my eyes were a little more shiny than I wanted to show this stranger.  The man grinned at me, real big, told me congratulations and that he’s a lucky guy, and squeezed my shoulder gently as he left.

One of the things Dr. Laura wrote that stuck with me (man, that’s so not something I ever throught would come out of my mouth!) was this:  A good man is hard to find.  He’s not hard to keep.  Meaning, essentially, that once you’ve found that good man, the things you need to do to keep him happy are fairly basic, if a woman is willing to put some effort into them.  There was story after story in this book of men, good men, loyal men, who were simply beat down and neglected by their wives to the point that it’s not super surprising that they withdrew and became silent roommates rather than husbands and friends.  It broke my heart.  I never felt like I needed to worry about Justin going anywhere — he’s one of the most loyal and honest beings on the planet.  But making sure that he’s happy — that his needs as a person are met — that has become one of my main concerns as his wife, his friend.  I never want his sweet heart to feel taken for granted.

I’m obviously not perfect at it, and Justin’s learning too, but there’s a lot of grace in this home, and we celebrate when we get it right.  I’m just really grateful that I got smacked upside the head early on by this book, and was able shift direction quickly.  I know our marriage has been better for it — it’s not super hard to enjoy your marriage when you’re both serving each other and meeting the other’s needs, all the while feeling like you got the better end of the stick. 

And the moments when that doesn’t happen quite right — well, love covers those too.

notes from the married front (part one)

So this has been my dilemma this past several months.  I don’t like writing any less than I did when I was posting daily… but have been incredibly reticent to write like I used to.  For one, my stories nearly always tend to involve this whole other person in them.  This person is very open with me, but tends to be far more private with the rest of the world than I am.  He gave me permission when we were first married to continue to be myself with the blog, that is, to continue to write just like I used to.  After all, he said, in the beginning, it was my writing on the blog — one post in particular –that brought about the big email that started us on our way to where we are now.  (Crazy, huh?). 

I’ve always had permission, I’ve just been hesitant to use it.

That, and I’ve wondered sometimes if life now is all that interesting.  Most of my pals here online are single.  I wasn’t sure if life now is anything one would want to read about.  A single friend recently encouraged me that it’s kind of fun reading about the married antics, that it’s actually kind of encouraging, given how many marriages don’t sound all that fun.

So here I am.  Few thoughts buzzing around, some things I’ve been learning (learning, always always learning!).

Before I jump into this, the disclaimer: I’ve been married a little more than eight months at this point.  I don’t know much.  Newly marrieds are often idealistic, and no couple more so than J and I — an INFJ and an ENFJ respectively.  (We did some study on personality type before we were married, and had to laugh as we were reading about the category we both fall into — the idealists.  It was weird to basically see many of our tendencies spelled out.  I highly recommend giving these tests a go — they’re pretty amazing, and it’s just fun to learn more about yourself.) 

But the deal is — I know that I don’t know it all.  Or even most of it.  I just want to share some of the things I’m learning, some of the things I’m trying to figure out.  Etc., etc.

******

As a single person, whenever I’d see the man in black and the woman in white walk back down the aisle out of the church, grinning ear to ear, I’d sigh a little to myself.  There they go, off into their happily-ever-after.  And here I am.  Still on my own.

The thought would soon pass – until some goofy older guy would ask when I’d get myself a man, at which point I’d console myself with some cake — but I’m not that far this side of the altar that I don’t remember what that felt like sometimes.  To be envying them just a little, even as you’re trying so hard not to.  To be doubting God a little or a lot, even as you’re trying to trust that he knows you, that he knows what’s best and how to bring that about.

I’ll never forget my friend Grace’s wedding.  I have been friends with Grace and Andy since their beginnings as a couple, and couldn’t have been more ecstatic that their big day had finally come, or more honored to be a bridesmaid.  After the wedding, they had a lovely reception.  Except — I had no one to sit with.  I had assumed that there was a table set aside for the bridal party, as had my parents, so they didn’t save me a spot.  There wasn’t a table set aside.  I ended up awkwardly pulling up a chair at a table half-full of people I’d never met before in my life, sitting there feeling lonely and sad and inwardly cursing the guy who had recently dumped me.  I ended up getting over it and haltingly asking the table of eight with all my friends (and their boyfriends) in it to make it a table of nine, which they gladly did, thank God.  Grace and Andy have been married two years and I still remember exactly how that felt.  Awful.

Before I was married, I had a tendency to fully idealize the couple.  It’s not hard to do.  Candlelight is flickering, vows are being spoken, she’s never looked lovelier and he’s never looked more happy.  I assumed that they were all headed for their happily-ever-after. 

A lot of them weren’t, in the end.  I know people not married much longer than J and I who are most likely going to get a divorce.  I know others that just don’t seem like they’re enjoying life with each other very much.

One of the things I see here on the other side of the fence here in Marriageland is that being married doesn’t make you compatible, or good friends/playmates, or respectful, or self-sacrificing, or a good match.  It definitely doesn’t make you perfect.  It just makes you bound for life.  I used to think that everyone who was married had entered that state because they were brilliant companions for each other.  It’s not necessarily the case.

The truth is that we have to learn how to be those things for each other.   Some have a much harder time of it.  I believe that some marriages are somewhat ill-advised due to the reasons for the marriage (the white dress is not a good one) and the compatibility of the people entering it – but the fact is that no matter how great a match a couple is when they begin, not one of them is exempt from making adjustments, big and small, for the sake of their marriage.  It’s part of the deal.

Now, I have to be honest here and say that when I walked down the aisle, I walked toward the only man that I wanted to share my life with.  I feel like I’ve won the lottery in that department.  I’ve said it before, but I still can’t believe this is my life.  When people complain about their husbands, I can’t really relate.  I married a great guy.  I’m happier than I’ve ever been, and I know how good I have it.  Justin gets haircuts a little more often than he did before, and he has fewer holes in his T-shirts, but he’s essentially the same man I married, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.  I’m sure I’ve changed in small ways, but I’m essentially the same girl who walked down the aisle to Justin.

Some of the not-great things about me haven’t changed, either – as much as I wish they were totally different — those kinds of softenings tend to happen by degrees over time.  One of the things that gives me such peace is when I apologize for some moment of not-at-my-best-ness.  Justin’s response is usually something like this: “Buddy, I know you.  I knew you when I married you.  I knew this was what I was signing up for.  And it’s okay.  We’re okay.  I love you.”

Yeah, I’m not kidding when I say that I have it really good.

We make adjustments, but in most cases who we are — our deep-down tendencies and preferences — that doesn’t change to a great degree.  Justin tries to be a good sport, but I see an antsy look in his eyes when we’ve hit our third store in the mall — so if I’m headed out for a big trip, I go on my own.  I have learned to appreciate and enjoy football — profootballtalk.com and nfl.com are now a regular stops of mine – but Justin knows I’m only good for about one game on a Sunday, unless there’s a BIG one other than the Seahawks, in which case we’ll watch two.  Although we try hard, sometimes we don’t communicate like we want to.  Sometimes I respond emotionally and get overly feisty. Sometimes Justin doesn’t know where the line is when he’s jokingly provoking me. 

Just this past week we abruptly finished a pool game when I was highly oversensitive to Justin’s post-win taunt.  But seriously!  The guy’s ape-like arms are a huge advantage, and I’d been struggling!  It was a major improvement over when we were playing poker heads-up and I got so mad at being bullied that I threw all my cards at Justin, though, so I’m impressed at our growth.  

Yes, that bump is funny now.  We’re headed down to the pool hall later this week to give it another go. 

The point is, we’re not perfect.  Sometimes petty things don’t seem so small at the moment, and sometimes it takes a while before these things become funny.  But Justin and I have benefited from the fact that we knew each other well before we took the leap, and although there have been a few surprises, we knew for the most part what we were signing up for, and the good stuff so clearly outweighed any potential difficulties that it wasn’t hard to choose the whole package. 

Even in the moments when the difficulties rear their head, we remember this.  And there’s a very real, tangible grace there.  Justin’s stuff isn’t all that scary to me.  Mine isn’t all that bad to him.  We’re learning how to support each other where the other is weak, how to cheer each other on in our strengths.  No one’s keeping score.  And we’re finding Team Lawlis quite the team.

One of the best things I’ve learned during this first season of our marriage is that the bumps we hit aren’t as scary as I thought they’d be when we first began our marriage.  When you first get married, you DREAD that first argument, those initial misunderstandings.  You want to do it all right, never mess up.  But the bumps have actually brought some very deep peace, because, while those occasionally messy moments aren’t fun, they teach you that you don’t have to be perfect all the time to have a happy marriage.  You find that love and grace really do exist, that you don’t have to achieve perfection to live in their embrace.

When we’ve hit our little newlywed bumps, I’ve never once doubted that I chose the very best for myself when I chose Justin.  The bumps confirm it.  There is no one I’d rather be learning all this stuff with — no one who forgives so easy or whom I find so easy to forgive.  And the rest of the time — which is the great majority of the time – I’m having more fun than I’ve ever had, whether we’re laughing at each other as we talk or we’re just all snuggled up in bed (sometimes this is one and the same scenario).

Not perfect.  Perfect for each other.  Not quite the cliche I always thought it was.

I’ll write more about this marriage craziness when I can.  I’m excited to finally have given myself permission to write about this journey, but also know it’s not really advisable to do it all in one post, so goodbye for now.

it’s probably a poor idea to throw a baseball mitt at your husband’s head (even if he deserves it)

This is how the “Welcome to America and Our Awesomeness/Congratulations on Fleeing Canada” sign should have looked.

Justin is at work.  I am not.  Current mood: Lazy.  Major accomplishments for the day — coming in 1st in a big online poker tourney, which always makes me feel good, and doing a load of laundry.  Impressive.  A post is just the thing to complete my industrious trifecta.

The two of us had a really fun weekend.  Yesterday we bought J a mitt and went down to Cornwall Park to play catch for a while.  We also brought a blanket and read for a while once my arm got tired (I try WAY too hard not to throw like a girl, which wears me out rather quickly).  Justin bought Love in the Time of Cholera during our last used book binge, but I picked it up first and am really enjoying the read.

Someone, I won’t say WHO (it was Justin), decided it would be a good idea to start a grass fight, pinning me down and throwing fistfuls of torn grass in my face and hair.  The struggle probably lasted a little longer than it should have, with me struggling against this big dumb animal and his ape-like arms.  Not fair.  I lose EVERY wrestling match.  I decided the only just retribution for grass down my pants and shirt was to throw his shoes as far as I could, and then throw his mitt at him as he ran to retrieve them. 

Unfortunately, it hit him right in the neck/head area — not the hind-quarters area as I’d intended — and the firstborn-sibling pleasure of having “gotten” the other person disolved quickly into “Oh, crap, that probably hurt.  I bet I’m going to get busted.”  Although a look of irritation immediately crossed his face, as in “I can’t believe you just did that — what the hell is wrong with you?”, it was fleeting, and we proceeded to enjoy the rest of our slow and easy-going afternoon.

We’ve been married eight months now, and I am having the time of my life.  I don’t want to get too “mushy-gushy,” as my brother and I used to call it when we were little, but I am so deeply grateful to have such a companion.  I’m not sure what I thought married life would be like, but I sure didn’t expect to laugh this often or play this hard.  What a playmate I got in my husband, jumping on the bed to wake me up from a nap, yelling, “Wake up!  I want you to come play with me!!”  I didn’t expect to hear ”I love you, Cuteface!” – or so many reasons why – so regularly and with such heartfeltness.   I didn’t expect to be so like-minded with someone, or to be able to find such easy compromises in the areas where we differ.  Justin dispenses grace to me so easily, it’s impossible for me not to know how loved I am.  We have our moments, to be sure, but they are few and far between, and the rest is so… easy.  Fun.  Deeply satisfying.

I keep on looking around, going, “How, exactly, did this become my life?”  I’m trying my best not to take it for granted, to savor each moment’s sweetness.

Yes, even pinned down on a blanket with a mouth full of grass.

                          

best year ever

So it’s seven thirty p.m. or so on a Monday night, and I find myself with a few moments on my own, with the hubby at work.  (Blockbuster.  We find it’s most fiscally responsible to work for those companies who supply our vices).

It’s been a bit of a tough month.  Starbucks is a wonderful company and I have pretty much the coolest set of coworkers that one could ask for, but the truth is that I’m not sure I fit in the high-caffeine, high-speed, high-maintenance world that is the Siren’s domain. 

(Another sad truth is that I’m fairly ready to strangle anyone who crosses my path when I’m still at work rather than in my bed at 11.30 p.m.).

I’m sticking with it, trying to give myself time to learn all 5,000 drink modifiers and trying to work on my inner attitude a bit.  We’ll see.

I’m fairly sure that much of the frustration has to do less with mopping at 11 p.m. than it has to do with still not being sure what I want to be when I grow up.  Feeling stuck between knowing I want more than serving an excellent double-tall-three-pump-vanilla-soy-extra-hot-no-foam-latte — but not knowing what that more consists of, and not having a good sense of how to search it out.  I mean, the glorious executive title of “Mom” is in there somewhere, God-willing, but, God-willing, we have several years before I jump into that role, and I find myself wondering what to do vocationally with the interim.

(By the way, we got a quick note from Justin’s grandpa down in California, and we laughed out loud when we read the following: “How are you two doing.  Is Stacey PG yet?  Well sometimes it takes time.  Don’t give up…”  I see a troubling genetic link with this twisted sense of humor…)

That’s the hard part. 

But there’s also a very sweet part to the season in which I find myself.  March 11th I’ll have been married to my best friend for four months.  On March 18th it will have been exactly one year since the e-mail that started it all, with a simple, “I’m on your side and I’m cheering for you,” and an oh-I-used-to-like-you-back-in-the-day.  I look at the past year of my life and I am amazed at what has transpired. 

One moment, I’m living in the Little Blue House, wondering if it’ll ever happen for me, if I’ll ever find my match.  (I moved out just in time too.  I hear the LBH has also become home to an otter right below its floors, and a urine odor has forced the poor new tenant to flee in horror and disgust.) 

The next, I’m living in the Little Grey House in Bellingham, a bit sleep deprived (I’m a light-sleeping sprawler married to a 6′5″ cuddlebug who doesn’t snore but whose annoying habit of simply breathing keeps me awake), but so blessed to wake up to an “I love you” and a “You’re beautiful” each morning.  When truthfully, I am neither beautiful nor lovable when first I wake. 

Usually, I’m a little on the angry side, especially when working early morning shifts.

Given the choice between wondering what I want to be when I grow up, or wondering who I want to be with when I grow up, I’d pick the former any day.  It is a pretty special thing to be able to be frustrated, be searching, be a little lost, even — and be held tight until the torrent of tired sobs and tears is soothed for the moment.  I always — ALWAYS — felt bad for my teary response to life’s overwhelming and wearying moments.  No more.  Justin jumps right in there with me and is unafraid to let me fall apart for a while, knowing I’ll be better for it once I’ve felt sorry for myself for about a half hour.  He’s good.  He knows how to be there, how to love me when all I am is a bunch of I’m-sorry’s for not having it more together. 

 It’s not something I would have known how to search out in someone, not a personality trait that I’d have been able to see in him before I chose him, not even something I knew I needed, but it’s there, and it is one of God’s biggest displays of grace to me that I’ve yet seen.  And I get to live with it.  Laugh with it.  Struggle to fall asleep next to it. 

I wake up in its arms.

March 18th, 2006-March 17th, 2007 has been the best year ever, and we’ve only just begun.

Okay, off to bed with me.  It’s 8.10, and I work at 4 a.m. tomorrow morning.  Early morning coffee drinkers, watch yourselves. 

someone’s blogging…

My husband is the man.  That is all.

 Oh, and I really like working for Starbucks.  Next time I’m on a caffeine high I’ll write about my love for green aprons, Sirens, and all things coffee-related.