Dulywed: Level 13

Moltenson,

Well, well, well. Lucky number 13. The ol' baker's dozen. The year of lace. The time of intricate entanglement. That point of "cheaper to keep her."

When I start thinking about how we got here, how have we made it this far, how we have never committed murder or ran away, I am bewildered. I have no answers. I have no idea. I only know that I am here and so are you and that feels pretty awesome.

This, our 13th year of marriage, we both entered our 40s. We have lost the battle of grey hair. You've officially crossed over to more salt than pepper, and I welcomed my first grey eyebrow hair. I've reached that point where if I eat a healthy meal I gain five pounds and if I think about cake I gain ten. Your "gramps" are better since you got treated for those worms, as is your snoring, which may have been the end of us if it had kept progressing. You take naps around 4pm, a routine you call N&N (news and naps). While you bury yourself under the weighted blanket and explore varying levels of unconsciousness for a couple hours, I tolerate the rambling on MSNBC in the background and give some attention to my projects. Lately most of those projects have been for your private practice, which has grown so fast it's almost scary, or our place in St. Thomas, whose post-hurricane renovation has been anticipated for so long it's actually endured another hurricane. When I think about things like "private practice" and "condo in the Caribbean," I also think "Who the fuck are we? How is this our life?"

We've had a lot of fun this year. You bought another old boat, Cynara, and we did that thing where we hemorrhage money on restoring broke down boats with gorgeous potential only to sell them as soon as they're restored. We varnished and sewed and plumbed and painted and electriced for the whole year. At one point I was elbows deep in mystery shit doing a power squat to get a holding tank bladder out of a tiny hole, and when I finally stood up with everything in my arms, I caught a glimpse of you... beaming with pride. I'll never understand why you are most impressed with me when I am doing gross, unattractive things related to brute strength, but since that's sort of my baseline, I am grateful for it.

Our third child, Cynara.

Yes, you belong there. It looks amazing on you. I wish I didn't puke.

We did a lot of work this year. But man, we also did a lot of pretiring. We spent my birthday in Fiji, where we begrudged being at a 5-star resort where everyone was so friendly we actually started playing "Dodge the Bulas" because we are so spoiled and awful. I'm still sorry I made you take that drive to find a waterfall that almost killed us, and thank you so much for reassuring me that I would make it to 42 during those four hours of terror. A couple weeks ago we spent a perfect weekend in the woods, taking short hikes among the smell of pine needles, skipping rocks on the lake, soaking in the hot tub, and binging that show about Gianni Versace's murder. Hands down, though, my favorite moments of this year with you were "chairs" and that drive across the Denali Highway.

The worst moment was when I came home from my trip to Europe and your welcome involved such kind remarks as "You were gone too long," and "I did just fine without you." I ended up in the bathroom crying to myself and you got so pissed off you threatened to leave. No, you did not do just fine without me. You turned into a troll. Luckily, my abandonment issues are so deep-seated that even that your shapeshifting into a monster doesn't send me packing.

I get why you hate when I leave now. It's not that you miss me as much as that it's bad for you. When I'm around, those damaging thoughts that creep into your brain and swirl around until they become false realities are subdued somehow. They are softened. They are muted. You are better. And I think you know it. I also know it's not your fault, it's just the intensity of your mind, and to your credit, you recognize you need a buffer on some level.

I am happy to be your buffer. In fact, I enjoy it. You are hilarious, especially when your disdain starts to boil, and your pleb-hating brings your humor to new levels. Remember that afternoon I made you go get frozen yogurt in your pajamas and we sat in the parking lot eating our yogurt watching people coming in and out of Target and talking so much shit about them? I laughed til I cried. I think that was the best date I've ever been on in my entire life. And our recent impromptu dinner at C&O Trattoria, where we drank house chianti and blew our server away with our ability to vacuum up food in seconds? "Next!" I could do nothingness with uncoordinated moments like these with you every single day and never get bored.

I like that you get up in the morning and look at financial graphs, even if it triggers unsubstantiated worries about us being poor. We were living paycheck to paycheck just a couple years ago and now there's a private practice AND a condo in the Caribbean that we're connected to. I like that you nearly get into a rage when I steal your flip flops to walk outside to do my chicken duties. What a fun little button to accidentally push, just annoying enough and innocuous enough to drive you in to madness. I like that you creepily stand over me when I sleep too late in the morning and interrupt my dreams of you on Ketamine trying to kiss men while I turn in my neighbors for trying to human traffic my co-worker. I like that when I try to take a picture with you, you pose like this.

I like you. I like us. I like this thing between us. Even if it means accepting that you like lady drinks.

Thank you for being willing to watch Dexter with me every night for months. Thank you for your "on demand" farts and making it to "fartsgiving" this year. Thank you for keeping all your secret life things, all those sneaky relationships and money manipulations that I just know you're doing, a secret, so I can live in oblivion in this beautiful facade of our life. Thank you for saying thank you more in the last month than in the past 13 years. Thank you for getting all tangled up in this marriage mess with me and making being tied down a good time. I am so lucky.