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Love is simultaneously being annoyed with someone and knowing that he is the most important person in your world. It is having and holding and finding both insufficient to express how much you care. Not knowing where your own needs and the needs of the other person stop and start because there is only one true need, and it is the one you share. Love is judging your partner only by what he is capable of instead of against some objective ideal, and being grateful when you get his very best no matter how lame his best may be. It means that when you’re apart whether for a few hours at work or a few days on a weekend trip, the best part of the apart time is coming back together and telling each other everything that happened. It’s thinking the same thing at the same time, not because you’re so much alike but because you see and hear and experience everything together in one collective memory that informs everything new you encounter. Love is knowing you could live without the person if you had to, but not being able to imagine doing it by choice. It’s the glue that sticks you, not to each other, but to a meaningful life in general.

Everyone likes to see a woman with a Burberry scarf and a Birkin bag wobble on her Jimmy Choo’s and fall flat on her ass.  It’s just a sick little part of being human.  It’s schadenfreude.  If it happened to me it just wouldn’t be amusing.  As a matter of fact, when it does happen to me, people run over in a panic and ask if I’m okay.  That’s how I know I look like an everyday citizen.  I get help but at the price of knowing that I’m not high fashion.  It’s a trade-off.

Saturday night I felt like if anyone else had seen what unfolded there would have been laughter at my expense.  I was temporarily raised up from the level of middle class suburban wife and office worker.  Josh and I went to the restaurant at the hotel where we got married to celebrate our first anniversary a few days early.  I put on one of my best dresses, wore my best jewelry, spent real time on my hair, carried a designer bag, and wore the most expensive pair of shoes I own (this isn’t saying much when you live for the buy one, get one sales at Payless, but still).  I felt hot.  I felt like the best version of me that is possible.  That feeling should have been my warning signal.

I got up to go to the bathroom four times during dinner.  I think the baby had some part of herself on my bladder.  On trip number two, when I finished peeing, I used the toilet paper, threw it in the bowl, and then pulled up my panties as I started to stand.  I guess the wad of paper had only gone into the bowl halfway, so the bottom was soaked, but the top of the wad was sticking up at the level of the seat like the tip of the iceberg.  I’m only guessing, because had I actually seen it, what happened next might have been avoided.  This is my Titanic.

Somehow the top of the wad of t.p. got caught in the bottom of my panties.  When I came to a fully standing position I had a large wad of soaked and soiled toilet paper dripping down my leg, onto the floor, onto the toilet seat, and still attached to the panties themselves.  My problem solving skills went into action.  I was far too mortified to get maintenance, so I needed to handle this myself.  Step one, remove t.p. from panties, and place inside bowl in its entirety (if only I had thought of this several moments earlier).  Step two, clean self with hand soap.  Step three, attempt to sanitize and dry toilet seat.  Step four, wipe up floor (feet go there, no sanitization required).  Step five, say a little prayer of thanks that the hotel lobby has completely self-contained toilet stalls with floor-to-ceiling doors, that contain toilet bowl, sink and soap dispenser all at once.

When I got back to the table, I attempted to tell Josh what had happened.  I laughed so hard describing the scene that I nearly peed my pants.

My brother got married this past Saturday.  It is a pretty awesome thing to imagine him married.  Both of us married.  We were both single for so long that this never seemed like a realistic outcome.  And yet, here we are.  We’ve both managed to grow up, in every sense.  For a long time we both wanted to be married but did everything the opposite of how you would do it if marriage was your goal.  Sex with random people, dating emotionally unstable people, carrying on long distance relationships…the inevitable outcome was that we were always on our own.  When the time was right we both wound up with exactly who we should be with.  I found my sensitive geek, and Paul found a person who is strong enough to fight him and sensitive enough to need him.  Our perfect matches.

Every little thing that went wrong, and it really was just little things that went wrong, was completely overshadowed by the unbelievable joy that I felt.  I loved seeing Paul so happy.  I have a great new woman to call “sister-in-law”.  And actually, I’m claiming an additional sister-in-law in Nicole’s sister, just because I can.  I have such a small family that I’ll take what I can get, especially if it’s someone cool.

And check us out.  I may have had to struggle to be content in the family I have, but we’re just stronger for the struggle.  It’s a good place for me to be, and a good home in which to raise my child.  From left to right, my family is Josh (husband), me, Nicole (new SIL), Paul (brother), Emily(1st cousin) and Jon (1st cousin).  They’re good people.  I’m a lucky girl.

Last night I got the crap kicked out of me.  Josh hit me.  First with a pillow at about 2:30AM, and then with his arm at about 3:15AM.  He threw the pillow at me because it was in his back.  I can see where throwing the pillow I sleep with to support my pregnancy belly is much easier than shifting, or than saying to me “move your pillow”.  He was mostly asleep, which is something of an excuse.  At least the pillow was soft.  When it hit me it woke me up, but it didn’t do any physical damage.

The arm to my face is, of course, a totally different story.  Waking up at 3:15AM to the sensation that someone is trying to break your nose is never fun.  Realizing it’s your husband who’s swinging at you is even worse.  I never did get back to sleep.  I had all that time in front of infomercials and Law & Order re-runs to be pissy.  When Josh came downstairs at 6:30 he told me that he could explain why he hit me, and that it was actually quite funny.

 Josh went on to explain that he was dreaming about me.  In his dream I was initiating intimate time together, and climbed on top of him.  He reached out in his sleep to put his arms around me.  As I was not actually on top of him, but to the side of him, that’s when I got hit in the face.

When he finished this story I said “how long were you sitting there, awake in bed, before you came up with this explanation?”

He was asleep.  There is that to consider.  So, I let it go.  Still, when I think of my sweet mild-mannered husband punching me in the face it’s somewhere between annoying and funny.

Another summer, another family wedding.  My brother is getting married in six weeks.  A few months ago I had dinner with my husband and my brother’s fiancee, Nicole.  We talked about marriage - what makes it hard and what makes it amazing.  Nicole’s parents divorced years ago, and mine have been together for 40 years this August.  Nicole has heard from my brother and me about the ups and downs that my parents had along the way.  There were fights and tensions, and some of those still exist.

So the question is “what’s the difference?”  What’s the stuff that differentiates a marriage that works from a marriage that doesn’t.  ALL marriages are difficult, at least at some point.  So, she asked, from an affianced woman to a newlywed, “what makes it work?”

I told her that the difference is the willingness to stand there and MAKE IT WORK.  No matter what.  That knowing you’re independent, and capable of taking care of yourself, you choose not to.  You choose to continue the marriage and to figure out how to live together.  Even be happy together.  It’s easy to walk away, and hard to stand there and work it out.  Leaving just takes the problems to the next relationship, and working it out fixes the issues for life.

I told Nicole this was the most important lesson my parents taught me.  She told me that when she asked my brother the same question, he had the exact same answer.  I don’t think that’s just because we grew up in the same house.  I think it’s because knowing when and how to work it out is truly the “secret” to staying together.

Sometimes the best part of having a secret is finally getting to tell everyone what it is.  That’s why I’m truly enjoying telling everyone that I’m pregnant.  Yes, pregnant.  It’s the best news I’ve ever had.  When I say it casually as part of a conversation (”well, now that I’m pregnant the pollen is only bothering me more” for example), everything else stops because the listener wants to go back a step.  Everyone smiles.  There have even been hugs at work.  And, when I am not completely exhausted or nauseated, I’m excited and happy all the time.

 I keep debating the merits of tacky/fun t-shirts.  Ones that say “Needs Coffee” or “I’m not fat, I’m pregnant (and fat)”.  If I saw them on someone else, would I think they were cute?  Can you wear the shirt in front of the same people more than once?  I mean, it kinda loses it oompf, right.  And in my opinion, all maternity clothes must be able to be worn at least once a week for the next few months as they have a very short shelf-life.

I’m due November 25th, so I’ve still got a long way to go.  This is the most important thing I’ve ever done.  But in the middle of it, I just feel like it’s a means to an end.  I can’t wait to find out who’s in there.

The hardest part of marriage, at least for me, is not being angry.  You can be hurt and upset and even raise your voice on occasion.  You can be angry in the moment.  But once the moment passes, so must your rage.  Try to hold on to the rage, and you will find yourself googling your state name with “divorce law” to find out whether your husband gets half of your 401(k).

I remember fights my parents had when  I was young.  Fights that could last all night, or two days.  If you brought up the subject of the fight a week later they could still get steamed.  They, or my mother, had an inability to let things go.  My dad could walk it off where my mom couldn’t let it go.  I have worked to make sure that, at least in most cases, I do not take either approach.  I have found that if I step back and breath, whatever seemed so important just goes away.

When I get angry Josh sometimes tells me to stop repeating myself.  If I’m doing that I know I’ve gone into the bad place and I need to just stop.  If I have a point, and I keep repeating it, he drowns me out like white noise.  If I wait for a quiet moment, and clearly state the problem once, I get heard.  This pattern is still new to me and I’m struggling with it, but I think it’s working.  I know it’s better than getting and staying angry.

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t make me really furious sometimes, because he does.  We’ve been watching Celebrity Apprentice.  One of the celebrities is Tito, an ultimate fighter.  He dates Jenna Jamison, one of the most famous porn starts alive.  Tito is rich and has a hot girlfriend.  I could see being envious of him in the “boy Tito has it good” type of way.  A few weeks ago when we were watching, Josh said ”if I had a multi-million dollar company and was dating Jenna Jamison I wouldn’t be complaining” which is totally different.  All I could think was “if you were dating Jenna Jamison then you’d be cheating on your wife, and she’d make sure you were complaining”.  I really wanted to yell.  I’ve been in an insecure place about my body - I didn’t need to be reminded of how far I am from the ideal.  Instead I just said that I was having an insecure moment, and that the comment hurt me for that reason.  I felt inadequate.  Could he please focus on the good other people have without wishing it on himself?  It worked.  No fight.  No anger.  Point made and apologies on both sides - I apologized for being so sensitive and he apologized for hurting my feelings.

I have lost my mind to anger in recent memory.  When we flew back from Savannah and our bags went to Chicago I was angry with the customer service we received, and then angry at Josh for not doing something about it.  I wound up storming around the airport for almost an hour before I went back to normal.  Part of my anger was definitely that I wanted Josh to step up and take care of things, but the bigger part was probably that I had PMS.  I hate admitting that.  If Josh had said to me “is this because of PMS?” that would have sent me into a tail spin.  But, alas, PMS is a part of life.  I didn’t realize how bad it could be until I went off the pill.  Boy, this sucks.  Here I thought I had control of my life, my anger management and my personality and all along it was thanks to little pills that controlled my hormones.

I have so much to say about the honeymoon that it’s hard to organize into entries.  I’m really glad we waited a few months.  The weather was perfect, and we already have our stride going as a married couple.  We’ve been married for five months and all my issues with the permanency of marriage got ironed out pretty quickly because they were about theoretical marriage and not my marriage in particular.  There’s a lot of pressure to be romantic on a honeymoon, and I think we did our version of romantic pretty well.  Our version is good food, time together, and trips to archaeological sites.  It works for us.

As I mentioned, we started in New Orleans.  Our first night there we walked around on Bourbon Street and went to Harrah’s.  The next morning we walked around the French Quarter for a few hours.  In the afternoon we went on a walking tour of the Garden District with a very informative guide.  Hearing the history was good, and walking around such a beautiful area was even better.  The tour left us off at Commander’s Palace, so we decided to go in and look at the menu.  They had a reservation available for 9PM so we took it.  We’re definitely glad for that choice as it turned out to be the best meal of the trip.  We had this grand plan to take a cab back to the French Quarter afterwards so that we could get Hurricanes at Pat O’s.  Afterall, it was Saturday night in New Orleans and we had a hotel on Bourbon Street.  Instead we had a glass of wine each with dinner, and passed out in our hotel hoping that the street musicians didn’t start playing again in the middle of the night.  We slept in and got ready for the cruise.

The boat itself is kind of overwhelming.  Josh said it’s one of the smaller boats he’s been on, but really anything that can safely keep 3,000 including crew afloat is going to be pretty large.  We went on the Norwegian Spirit which is a nine year old boat, so it was nice but it showed a bit of wear.  Overall I was happy there.  My frustration with wanting to see more of a country than I can in 7 hours remains, but the flip-side is that on a cruise the getting there is part of the reason to be there, as opposed to just being a means to an end.

We didn’t get to Guatemala.  We were both pretty disappointed in that.  We still got to see Honduras, Belize and Mexico.  I’ve never been to those countries, or even to that part of the world, so everything felt brand-new.  In Honduras we docked in Roatan, which is an island off of the mainland.  Because we skipped Guatemala we had more time in Roatan than planned, but it was the place with the least to do.  We took our time getting out in the morning.  When we got ashore we were mobbed by cab drivers looking to take us around the island.  For $40 we hired Raoul for three hours.  Between his English and Josh’s Spanish we got along pretty well.  The Hondurans who live there are mostly in shacks, and the foreigners who come in to scuba dive and vacation live in gorgeous condos.  There are some mansions going up on the beach that reminded me of those on the coast in Florida, and a school building that made me want to cry.  Every time we bought something I said to Josh “I don’t care if they rip us off - just leave dollars in this country”.  We went into an internet cafe and got an hour of internet time for $2.  On the ship it was 75 cents a minute.

Next we went to Belize.  We’ll have to go back there sometime soon.  We signed up for a tour to Xuantunich, a Maya ruin right on the Guatemala border.  The drive was about two hours in each direction and well worth it.  There was, once again, the mix of mansions and shanties, but here we saw more growth potential.  Two minority groups I didn’t expect were Asians (in particular Taiwanese) and Amish.  There were Chinese restaurants and Asian groceries just like we’d see at home.  The Amish were in horse drawn carts on the side of the road.  Apparently the locals love them because they’ve brought advanced farming and cattle rearing methods to the area, and lowered the price of home building by improving the materials that are locally available.  I don’t know why I was surprised that Belize was a melting pot.  Maybe that’s my ignorance showing.  Anyway, the present day development of their national identity as a 25 year old independent country was as interesting to me as the Maya.  And the Maya are fascinating.  This particular ruin is just a huge pyramid with surrounding residences and temples in the middle of the jungle.  There is no road access - you have to hike up a foot path to get there.  I was too scared to go all the way up to the top.  It had rained the night before and the limestone rock was still damp.  Combined with my unsure footing and the lack of surrounding medical support staff I figured it was asking for trouble.   I went far enough up to see the carvings and told Josh to take good pictures of the rest.  Afterwards they took us to a “typical Belizean lunch” of stewed chicken, rice and beans, potato salad and plantains (washed down by a Diet Coke).  The drive back to the boat was quick and we were able to steal a few minutes of shopping in the tourist village before leaving.

Mexico was the hottest day of the trip.  It was about 90 degrees clear skies, so the sun was brutal.  I don’t do well in direct sunlight, but we had tickets to the ruins at Tulum so I put on a big hat and lots of sunscreen, and off we went.  This was a way more touristy experience.  First they took us to a souvenir shop for half an hour.  There were free tequila shots available, but as it was 10AM we decided to pass.  Then we got back on the road to the site.  It’s enormous.  We went on December 21st, the winter solstice.  At sunrise on that day every year the sun lines up with the main building so as to peak through the central window of the temple and create a spectacular glow.  We weren’t there for 6AM, but at least we saw pictures.  There were other spots aligned for the other solar events of the year throughout the complex.  It’s an extensive site with wonderful spirituality.  Unfortunately we were there with about 7,000 other people, or at least that’s what it looked like.  There were tour buses lining the parking lot and people in every corner.  We did manage to have a good time there though, and the area was quite beautiful.

There’s so much more I could say.  I’ll have to do another entry later about the time on the boat, and about bonding with Josh.  I will say that I’m extremely spoiled by having that much time together.  It’s hard to leave each other in the morning.  I guess that’s how a honeymoon should make you feel.  Meanwhile, until I can write more, here are the pictures:

Honeymoon Pictures

I’m back from my honeymoon, and there’s so much to say.  I won’t say it all now in the interest of getting some perspective before spewing.  I definitely enjoyed myself though.  So, why “finally back”?  The only difficult part of our trip was getting home.  Our flight was delayed for four very long hours.  I understand why this happened.  There was a large and windy storm in the place our plane had to fly through in order to get to us.  There was no storm in New Orleans where our boat had docked, but there was one near Albany.  So, our plane sat in Albany until it was safe to fly.  Does that annoy me?  No, not really.  I’m assuming that the airline and pilot prioritized the safety of the passengers in Albany over my returning home in a timely manner, and that’s just fine.  What really messes with me is that we had to call friends and family and request that they log on to their computers in order to find out information about our flight.  No one at the airport posted or announced anything.

What annoyed me more, so much so that I was actually amused instead of angry, is that at 4PM, about a half hour before we were originally scheduled to leave, an airline employee announced our flight at gate A6.  Looking at the board, our flight was marked “delayed” and scheduled for gate A7.  There was a flight to Charlotte on-time for 4:25 that indicated it left from A6.  All of the passengers from both flights went up to this man and asked if he had this right - if in fact that plane was for DC and not Charlotte.  He insisted that it was heading to DC, and started tearing off boarding pass stubs.  The front of the line walked to the plane, only to be turned back by the flight crew who said that the plane was headed towards Charlotte.  I suppose the silver lining on this one is that the flight crew was paying attention and discovered the mistake.  At least SOMEONE isn’t totally incompetent.

When the plane finally arrived there were only 13 passengers taking it to DC.  It had originally been a full flight, but the rest of the people had to make connections out of DC that they would have missed had they waited.  Extra bags of pretzels, a full can of soda and ample leg room didn’t make up the difference, but it was something.  We were afraid we’d miss the last metro train.  Technically the trains were still running but we have to make a connection at Metro Center and there was no way to guarantee that would happen smoothly.  So, we got into a cab and walked through the door of our house around midnight.  Getting into bed has rarely felt so good.  I woke up 9 hours later in the exact same position in which I had fallen asleep.

To me, any marriages in which the bride is less than 30 that survive more than 10 years are miracles. I’m not talking about marriages that took place 40 years ago that last through today. I understand why those marriages happened so young. My understanding is that women in that time either didn’t have sex before marriage, or did have sex and took their fun with a huge side helping of judgement. Somewhere after the pill became widely available and before Clinton redefined the word “is”, the sexual standard for women in this country changed. We started to own not only our bodies and ourselves, but discretion over them. Discretion is a beautiful thing. Suddenly it’s not whether I’ve had sex that matters, but that I have determined with whom, when, how often and who’s on top. It leads to good outcomes. Before all this discretion existed women had to wait until marriage or fear for their reputation. I can understand getting married young - I wouldn’t want to wait either. If it’s marriage sex or no sex at all, then marriage liberates a woman.

Once you remove the societal judgement for sexual activity and make the tools of promiscuity readily available, it just makes sense to stay single. Unless you believe in the open marriage, singleness means sexual freedom, and marriage becomes the restrictive state. There is another option, which is marrying someone who thinks there is mutual exclusivity and cheating anyway. That’s foul behavior, and as it involves deception I won’t consider it a real option. So, marrying young is the source of limitation. For some people early marriage still works great - they find a partner they love early in life and work it out from there. For a lot of other people, and for most of the people I know, the resentment in the marriage grows faster than the love. No matter what, both spouses are likely to change dramatically, and will have to work at growing together instead of apart. But that may just be a part of marriage in general that is exaggerated by all the things that naturally take place in your 20’s, like achieving education, starting a career and using the word home to refer to the place where you live - not the house you grew up in.

Before 30 it’s easy to be single. After 30…people start giving you that “there’s still time” bullshit. Time for what? They’ll tell you “I’m not worried about you yet.” Okay, I’m not worried about me either. What’s your point? It’s annoying. Now you’re marriage age, even by today’s standards, and here comes the judgement police. And I love the friend who got married young, and is now on the brink of divorce. She’s always the most charming. “You’ll find your guy, and be blissfully happy just like I am. I just know you’re next.” It’s the sort of call that makes you want to throw up and dial all your friends to see who else has been told their next all in the same motion.

Now that I’m in my early, or really well on my way to mid, 30’s it’s reached a different point. Careers in place, the attractive bit of DC already taken to bed and comfortable living arrangements free of roommates secured, it feels like a good time for a marriage. So, is the guy who comes along now the right guy because it’s a good time for it? Or is it a good time for it because some right guys happen to have come along? A wise woman once told me that first you get ready to be married, and then the man in front of you is the right man to marry. Is it that simple? Was I the problem for 33 years, and Josh just happened to be there? It doesn’t matter for me either way - to worry about the reason I married Josh would be the sort of bellybutton contemplation that leads to nervous breakdowns. It’s an interesting idea though. And, since the guy has to be “ready” too, do you look for guys who are ready or when you’re ready is that just who you find? The reality is that it’s hard to find someone who you want to spend time with forever. It’s even harder when there are so many other options.