A wedding in 36 hours

I was married young. I am thirty years old and just celebrated my tenth wedding anniversary. Really, really young. Sometimes I tell Jared that it is sheer luck that despite our age and the general dumbness that accompanies that part of one’s life, we married the right person. Lucky, lucky, that’s what I say.

Because of this, I strictly forbade any of my sisters to even think about getting married before the age of twenty five. They all signed the contract in blood and thanked me for hard earned wisdom. Or they walked out of the room before I finished my thought. One of those ways, for sure.

So when my little sister called me Wednesday of last week and told me she was going to get married on Friday, I couldn’t argue. She is past the 25 mark. They really love each other. We all love her Ryan. He really loves her son. We all love his family. Really, there was far too much love going on to be anything but happy. Her original plan was the classic courthouse move, but as evidenced by this blog, our family likes a party. So we planned a wedding in 36 hours.

It was beautiful. A family effort. We cleaned multiple stores out of candles, and filled the place with pumpkins and leaves. My sister got to catering, my sister in law got to flower arranging, and my brother got to anything and everything that was asked of him. The music was provided by my grandma, who played the piano like an angel. One of my sister’s best friends happens to be an official officiate. My cousin had his camera in his car, so poof, photographer. Her mother in law has a salon so the wedding party prepped there. My mom made the wedding cake and Christi and Thomas brought everyone’s favorite salad. Everything just worked.

I don’t have many pictures, not even one of the groom, because I was too busy enjoying the wedding and trying to help everyone make sure that our candle wonderland didn’t turn into a raging house fire with the assistance of five crazy boys under the age of five.

She was beautiful. There were tears during their sweet, impromptu vows. So perfect. Happy marriage little sis! I hope you enjoy many holidays, weekdays and even sick but not very sick days. I hope that when you wake up, even on those crummy days, you look at each other and realize you have someone on your side, always.

When you've been married ten years

You can set up a tripod in your hotel room and take a couple of goopy photos. And you don't even have to talk about how dumb that is. You know.

You can yell across the house if you're out of toilet paper and the person can open the door and hand it to you. None of that squeeze it through a tiny crack in the door crap. That's for sissies. And people with class.

You know each other's annoying habits. Like never rinsing the pancake batter out of the bowl before putting it in the sink. Or putting empty containers back in the fridge.

You've seen your spouse at their worst. Like that time you taught them to drive a stick shift and you learned there really is no limitation on the number of times you can use the f word in a thirty minute period. And the time they got so mad that someone cut them off and almost caused a giant accident, that they followed that person for a quarter mile laying on the horn. Until the horn broke. And your spouse ran into a curb. Yup, cause that was the mature thing to do.

You've seen them at their best. Like the time they hung a sign the size of a billboard in your front yard professing their love, just to cheer you up. Or the time they crossed a bridge with you in the middle of a storm, in just their socks, so you wouldn't be alone.

Sometimes, when you've been married ten years, you get the chance to see each other become parents. You get to see your best friend become even more beautiful, right before your eyes, as they cradle your brand new baby.

When you've been married ten years, it's totally acceptable to steal from each other. Sweats, croutons off their salad,their last piece of gum, all the hot water, the covers. When you've been married ten years, you can do that. You'll still get annoyed when it's done to you.

When you've been married ten years, you are on the same wavelength. Like you both randomly decide to google the same person you haven't seen in five years. Same wavelength.

When you've been married ten years, you've had to hug it out. A lot. A lot.

I mean, a freaking lot.

When you've been married ten years, you realize you've been pretty lucky so far.

Happy belated anniversary to my Lesco.

It's that day!

Today is for lovin.

I have shifted between loving and hating this day my whole life. How silly. Just another day to hang thematic balloons and eat candy. Why the hate unless you have some sort of sugar intolerance or suffer from globophobia. If that’s the case, my condolences.

So I’ve embraced it.

Balloons? Check. In fact, check times 35 or so. Check, check, check.

Sugar? I’m prepared to go into a mild form of diabetic shock.

Hearts on our clothes? Not quite. I consider finding matching socks, regardless of the holiday depicted, a giant success in the wee hours of the morning.

We do have a yummy dinner planned. We’re not too fancy around these parts. Just a little Ella playing while we assemble a lasagna with our hands and then take it apart again at the table. If you think that was me trying to say eat in clever way, you’re wrong. I’m pretty sure Phin will dissect every layer and possibly request all intimate objects within throwing distance examine a piece. We’re working on it.  

But I love my people. I’m so lucky to wake up next to the person I click so well with. To feel adored. To know that despite the fact that we argue, we always want to make up and make out. Whoot. And my little wild thing? The destroyer of our house but owner of our hearts? So in love. This post is goopy for sure. A little too sweet when life is hard and people are facing hard things. Let the goop in my friends, even if for just a few minutes.  

Christmas, Christmas

It was so much everything and that's the way I like it.

Cousins were there

Stockings were hung.

Parents were still in love.

Carols were sung.

Candles were lit.

Presents were opened.

Chocolate was inhaled.

Babies were held.

About that day I just knew.

Today I’m extra in love with my husband.

I saw something today that reminded me of him and then I remembered, “Hey wait, I really won the husband lotto.” We have a love story. I won’t share all of it. I like to think someday we will tell it to our kids who will tell it to theirs and it will spread. I imagine the only way someone would know the really good parts is if they heard it from somebody who heard it from somebody all leading back to us. The old fashioned way. Of course there are the really, really good parts that won’t be told. Ever.

I will share that Jared says he knew I was the one the moment he heard my name. He said he instantly felt relief when a friend suggested we meet. He described it as, “Ahh, finally! Finally.”

We met while he was visiting friends. He went home and quit his job the first day back. He told his employer he was moving because he found the girl he was going to marry. I didn’t know any of this. I didn’t even know if I would ever see him again. We hadn't even exchanged telephone numbers. Still, I told my parents the same. We were driving up to the lake the following week, just the three of us on the way to a family dinner, and I said quite casually that I thought I had just met the person I was going to marry. I remember them saying something along the lines of “Oh. Huh.” My mom says she knew right then. She also insists she prayed him into existence. This was before any long conversations or even one date. 

I moved into a new place with friends just after that. I plugged my brand new phone into my brand new home and it started ringing. My roommate and I were shocked anyone had our number. I answered prepared to talk to a telemarketer but it was Jared. Of course.

And then we fell in love.

He just keeps doing things to keep it that way. Things like making Phin’s Halloween costume because suddenly that felt like the hardest thing on the planet to me but I just couldn’t bring myself to buy one.  Or letting me change what side of the bed I want, whenever. Or even doing the dishes almost all of the time. He would change every dirty diaper if he thought it would make me happy. He would read a hundred books with Phin if he thought I needed some Mel time. He has.

So all I can think about this morning is how much I really love my guy. And how I have no freaken idea what to get him for Christmas. 

You should do this too.

Yesterday I felt like crying more than I felt like doing other things. It started out crummy, got worse and ended with me eating pie for dinner. Praying for some really good news today for one of the very few humans I can't possibly be expected to ever exist without.

However. 

There was one stupid good moment yesterday that made my husband so happy it was catchy. You should know we have been sleeping in the valley of suck every night. Twice we have been lucky enough to be given mattresses from my grandparents that they had in guest rooms. Sadly, both of these very quickly grew out of their mattress duties and decided to take on role as marriage counselor. The dumb things decided Jared and I didn't spend enough time together. Really, really together. So out of the kindness of their springs, I'm sure, they provided a sinkhole in the middle that chucked us into the center each night. Those mattresses should have stuck to their day (night?) job. It just made us throw curses of revenge at each other every time a arm whacked a face or a leg crossed the line. We tried everything to avoid it. We would start out the night as far from each other as physically possible with out falling off, clinging to the top on the hill. It became necessary to throw an arm and leg off the side for leverage. This caused horrible anxiety as those limbs were just waiting to chopped off by the ax murderers waiting under the bed.

The pain is over my friends. Just a mere eight point two five years for us to come to our senses. Our brand new amazon bargain of a mattress arrived yesterday. Suddenly all the Christmas music I've been playing seemed very appropriate. We bought a twelve inch memory foam blah blah blah. We went to bed at nine. I feel like we have a new roommate, one I should be jealous of. Jared's been giving the thing dreamy eyes since he saw the box. Creepy, but nice. Very, very nice.

where I found it that pic.

Nothing makes me happier.

Nothing. Feeling awfully grateful today. You?

Eight years ago

Eight years ago, we made out in front of a bunch of people. Under a tree.

Here's the tree.

Here's the making out.

Here we are feeling all smug about it.

And we'd do it again. But probably with a better photographer.

An extraordinary life

Do you have a favorite place you've ever lived? I do. I instantly become nostalgic every time I think about it. It was the very first place Jared and I lived after we were married.

Leading up to the wedding we became increasingly frantic about finding the perfect home to rent. We are total house whores and had spent many evenings driving around our favorite neighborhoods, day dreaming about raising a family in a giant old house with fireplaces and mature trees. And secret passages to spy on people. Duh.

We toured some real winners. There was the shack next to a frat house. The place with a washer in the front yard. My personal favorite was walking into the bathroom of an apartment we were both totally feeling and finding a guy sitting on the toilet. Pooping. It was awkward and pretty much ruined it for us.

The apartment I was currently living in was out due to the naked guy beneath me who thought getting drunk and yelling at me up the vent was the best way to pass time on a week night. Who am I kidding, dude loved it on the weekends too.

I couldn't move in with Jared. Sharing a bathroom with six dudes and the soap scum they so meticulously cultivated over the last year kind of made me throw up. It still does. We lucked out though.

We almost didn't see the for rent sign. It was half stuck in a bush. We weren't even sure it was supposed to be there, but it was love at first sight. I can't even say that about when I met Jared. First sight of Jared I thought, “Hmm, red hair.” First sight of house I thought, “I could have babies there!”

It was the perfect. A little white brick house with a red shingle roof. It had corner windows. It looked old! The street was tree lined. This was back before either of us had cell phones so we rushed back to my apartment to call the number on the sign. We left a message and we waited, tortured by the thought of someone else living in our house. I think we drove by it ten times before we heard from anyone.

Then Art called with a tiny, crackly voice. We didn't know it at the time, but he was just out of the hospital. Jared spoke to him.

“Are you married? I don't rent to couples that aren't married.”
“We're actually getting married next month. We're looking for our first place.”
“Well I can't rent it to you if you aren't married.”
“But we're getting married...in a month.”
“Sorry, if you're not married, I don't want to rent it to you.”
“We're not even planning on moving in until after the wedding.”
“But you're not married?”
“No, not until next month.”
“I'm sorry, I don't rent it to non married couples. They aren't stable.”
“But we're getting...We are married! We just got married.”
“You are married?”
“Yeah, we are. Married.”
“Great, do you want to see the place?”
“We'll take it! Yes we do, but we'll take it!”

Swear. That's exactly how it happened and the first time we met out future landlord, Art.

We were cautious at first. He told us there would be no lease, just month to month. That way if he found out we were crazy bikers he could kick us out. He was joking, kind of.

Art lived in the house next door with his little wife Ola. It took us about ten seconds to fall in love. Art and Ola met while working at the high class joint The Riverside after World War II when Reno was still a kickin town.

He told us about her hair salon where she styled the likes of everyone from Eleanor Roosevelt to Marilyn Monroe. He told us about how Cary Grant would ride his Cadillac up and down the street annoying the hell out of Renoites. Apparently people couldn't stand him. I knew it.

He shared stories about flying over The Hump during World War II. About the narcotics that were given to them after the war. About the rehab he and all his fellow vets had to go to. About how horrible it was and how nobody wanted to talk about it.

He told us about growing up back east and running through a shoe factory. We heard about sneaking on the train to Boston where prostitutes would yell prices out of open windows on the street. We heard about when he lost his mother.

These stories, his life, were impressive enough, but it was the way he treated us that made us fall for Art. I tell Jared all the time that I love Art. I can't help myself.

He never minded when our rent was a few days late. When we left the water in the front yard on all night long, he paid for it and just asked that we didn't do it again. Every month we found thirty dollars in the mailbox with the receipt for our rent. At first he told us it was for mowing the lawn. Then winter came and the money didn't stop. It never stopped. Sometimes it was a little more and sometimes a little less. We told him it wasn't necessary. We loved doing yard work and he already charged rent far below the city average. The little bit helped so much the years we were both working part time and I was still in school.

He wasn't just kind to us. He would hire people down on their luck to do little chores. He let a man sleep in his detached garage for a whole winter. We discovered that one in the middle of the night. Jared stepped on the poor guy. He loved his daughter, Marie, and in return she loved him.

Our dining rooms each had giant corner windows that faced each other. It was comforting on the many nights Jared was out of town to sit down at my table and wave at Art over the little ivy covered fence. How a man in his nineties who could barley walk could make me feel safe defies logic. It did though.

I knew it would happen. He's been in and out of hospitals and rehab facilities since we met eight years ago. Art passed away. It's a different kind of mourning when the person who leaves has lived such a full life. He was nearly a hundred. Ola has been gone for many years now. He has been a prisoner of his failing body for so long. Still, I'm heartbroken for Marie. I'm mad at myself for not visiting more when the house we purchased exactly four years after we moved in was just down the street. I will miss him but I know I'll see him again someday. In the mean time, I'll try to channel a little Art. Be kind to strangers. Give more than you take. And don't rent to crazy bikers.

Art feasting at one of the early Pie Day's.