Dulywed: Year 4

Dear Mack,

If not for the utterance of the words Happy and Anniversary, the celebration of our fourth year of marriage would have been just like any other day. You and me, on the couch, medical books in our laps, waiting for the guy to show up with the Chinese food.

There was no fancy dinner, no gifts, not even the exchange of cards. We both had tests looming, Thanksgivings to recover from, and slight hangovers from those $3 Kamikazes you forced on me and Shannon the night before. Instead of the typical things like fruits or flowers, we gave each other time and understanding.

Looking back on the past year, I think time and understanding is just about the best thing I could have asked for.

This was the year I went on overnight trips to Memphis, Lake Charles, Indiana, Memphis, Indiana, Louisville, Louisville, Louisville and left you at home to fend for yourself. Of course, I ordered you pizza from a distance a couple of times, and I premade some meals and put them in the freezer for you, but even as much as I know you love (and need) food, I know you love (and need) me around more. You're probably starting to twitch with the urge to deny that, but it's a fact. After four years of marriage, I am the one person you neeeeeeeeed in your life.

And, to be fair, I neeeeeeeed you in mine.

I need to ask you where you're going when you leave the room, even if your answer is always a smart-ass, "France." I need to call you when my day is done and see how yours is going. I need to feel that mix of annoyed and humored when I hear you turn on the shower to rinse down your pee or when you grope me while I'm sorting laundry. I need to pass you my plate to when I've had enough and ask you questions that I'd normally save for Google. I need you to fill our house with music, to help me get a thicker skin, to challenge me to dream bigger than I've ever dreamed before.

I don't need you to drive me anywhere because you are a panicky old man driver with road rage who can't remember where he's going.

When we went to DC this past March and got in that huge fight over coffee or something as equally stupid and you stormed off and left me and I was roaming the city without a way to get in touch with you, I can't begin to describe the panic I felt. Not because I was worried something would happen to me or to you but because you are my person and even when I hate you, I need you to be there.

You have become the yin to my yang, the highs to my lows, the dish-puter-awayer to my dish-washer. We have in our fourth year found balance, a balance that can only come from succumbing to reliance, from settling into need. As much as we are still two distinct individuals, it feels like we're finally family.

Thank you for giving me these past four years to work my way into this depth of trust, this degree of love, and thank you for understanding my needs and tolerating them, even when they make your head want to explode. Like, I need a cat.

I love you, Thomas. Happy Anniversary.

Needy Bitches

The Lil' Lady

I hosted a baby shower for Leiah and Lillian (in utero) last weekend, and since I didn't have a Halloween party this year, I channeled all my ideas into her shower. I love to plan a party and this was just the fix I needed.

When my mom was pregnant with Leiah, she thought she looked like a little bug running around the screen during an ultrasound. That sort of stuck, and we've called Leiah all sorts of things associated with bug... Buggy, BugWug, Leiah Bug. It was only right to have a lady bug themed party for Leiah's little baby girl.

I started planning like I usually do... with a google image search. There were a lot of red and black party things, but I wanted pink and green for some reason. A few evenings spent perusing the web, a few trips to Target and Michael's, and a few VIP helpers later, and we had a bonafide baby shower!

We decided to make it kid friendly since Ben and Renee were gonna be there, which meant that Kate and Caroline got to come in matching outfits, Iris discovered a hankering for icing, and Leiah's brand new baby niece got to give us a little bit of baby fever.

 

For the game I decided to play Baby Pictionary. It was so funny to watch Ruble try to draw a baby carrier. I think she also had to draw placenta. Ha!

And now we wait until January!

Basically.

I don't like the military. I don't like guns and shooting and killing, and I feel like we should be able to settle our differences with words after all these years of civilization. I know that's totally unrealistic, but, hey, aim high, right?

When Bubba announced that he was joining the Army last spring, I was a little concerned. I was worried he might regret his decision when the order to go to Afghanistan came through. I was selfish and smart and didn't want anything to happen to him. But more than that, I wanted Bubba to be happy. So I decided that if he's happy joining the Army, then I'd support him. Not our troops per se, but Bubba's decision.

A couple of weeks ago he finished basic training and we got to go to Ft. Knox to watch him graduate. Ft. Knox freaks me out. You can feel the rules and the parameters and the protocol and the regimen everywhere you go. It was absolutely one of the most uncomfortable places I've ever been, on par with that one bazaar in Iran when I thought they were leading me to a dungeon to cut my head off.

It wasn't until after the graduation ceremony that I started to settle down. Not settle in, but settle down. It probably helped that I wandered into a crowd of 200+ of the best dressed male specimens I've ever seen.

Those uniforms are magical, even with berets.

Bubba and his buddies (we took a couple extra out since they're way more handsome in groups) were hilarious. They wanted to go to the bookstore and passed around Mack's computer paying bills and checking email and eating up technological freedom.

Apparently they'd been using their leisure time to sit on the floor, so this was like a trip to France to them.

We probably spent two hours at Barnes and Noble. They read magazines and made phone calls... making sure to stand still while talking. Apparently that's an Army mandate: no walking and talking. There's also one that says you can only do it missionary style. 

Bubba and I had been writing letters while he was in basic, and he'd said all he wanted to do was watch a movie and eat wings and pizza. That plan got scrapped since they were given pizza the night before, so instead we went to Ruby Tuesday after coffee and pastries so they could eat steak and chicken. And chili cheese fries. And something called a brookie that made them want to vomit but that they couldn't stop eating.

Everywhere we went they'd put their beret on when we got out of the car, take it off inside the shop, put it back on to go outside, take it back off in the car. On and off, on and off, on and off, all the time. They also opened the doors every time we went somewhere and had actual manners. Which made them even more handsome in their little outfits.

 

Maybe the military's not such a bad thing after all. Not because I approve of wars, but because I'm a huge fan of consideration of others.

Must be basketball season.

Our house is not a nutty sports house (thank god). Yeah, I've watched way more judo videos than I ever really cared to, but I'll take that over segues into sleep starring Sports Center. But when it comes to UK Basketball, I've still got a soft spot.

It's one that was permanently imprinted on my right hand when I was 8 years old and would watch games with my dad who would get so excited and high five me so hard that I'd lose feeling.

With my learned devotion to UK also came a learned disdain for U of L. I used to have a t-shirt of a UK Wildcat pouring out a bowl of cereal made up of other basketball mascots, and the U of L Cardinal was standing at the opening of the box freaking out, knowing he was about to be devoured. I also used to chant, "UK, all the way... U of L, go to hell." Remember, I was 8 at the time, but cussing was allowed so long as it was used to disparage U of L.

During a visit to Heather's earlier today, I discovered that UK fandom still goes hand in hand with U of L hatred. Chase, who is 6, is mastering the art of handwriting with this:

Bonus

My mom and dad used to give me money for my report card, but for some reason, that stopped after I moved out. If I had to guess, I'd say it must have something to do with us making a career out of getting an education.

Those little bonuses were great motivation, so I've adopted a reward system based on the one my parents taught me. 

Last week we had our second exam of the semester. Studying for it was really hard, so I rewarded myself with this.

This week I got my grade... an A. Earning that A was really hard, so I'm rewarding myself with these.

Other rewards I'm considering include a facial, a kitten cat, and a scooter rack. If I've learned anything in my life, it's that being spoiled is freaking amazing.