Newlyweds: News to Me

We Know You Don't Know...And It's Okay

2011-05-11T13:26:00.003-07:00

Not everyone can have the memory of an elephant. In the world of science, they get designated as the animal with the longest memories. In the human world, we shouldn't even try to compete. Why then, is it so important to us that we remember so many dates that correlate to the events of our lives?

Perhaps because every historical moment you've ever had to learn about or memorize, had a date, month and year attached to it. Or perhaps it's not just history, it's the date and time stamp on a life; a mark you were here.

I talked to a man today who knew it was his anniversary, but didn't know how many years it had been. He thought it was three, until a co-worker reminded him it had to be four. Then no one was really sure. There were no beads of sweat, but it was clear this man felt like he needed to know that answer before he got home.

When I was a child my mom always chided my dad for remembering our birthdays, but not remembering the year we were born.

When I got married on the fourth of July, people jokingly told my husband he got off easy with the date!

I'm not sure where the pressure's coming from for us to remember so many details. For me, whether it's 1, 12, or 20 years, it's the wedding day, the marriage, you want to remember, not how many years it's been.

If you ask me, every man should get a pass; because let's face it ladies, we know they don't know and that should be okay, unless of course you're married to a pachyderm.

Something to Talk about? More Like Nothing to Talk About!

2011-02-12T18:07:00.001-08:00

You'd think we had 3 kids, crazy jobs, a house to run and 20 years of marriage behind us, but no, we're just 18 months in to the marriage, 7 years into the relationship, the same 'ol jobs and no kids to speak of.

Yet, when we sit down to a dinner and date night, after 5 minutes of "how was your week", "fine and yours", we're out of things to discuss. How can that be?

I'd like to think it's because I'm utterly exhausted. I couldn't talk to the queen of talk if she came by; I'm concentrating more on how soon I can hit the sack after I get some food.

For CK, I think it's just so unusual to have someone to converse with. For his part, he spends 5 nights a week alone, enjoying a hot meal I prepared hours before he came home, and watching t.v. with only the dog to talk to.

But alas, it's somewhat disheartening when you're sitting across the table from someone to break bread, and there is literall nothing to discuss. When we first met it seemed like CK and I could talk to for hours, and I'm sure we haven't covered everything, but here we are, at some point in our lives where 15 minutes just about covers it.

So, sitting at Olive Garden, sipping sangria and enjoying salad and breadsticks, the conversation is over long before the ravioli arrives.

They say when you're in a relationship it's in the silence that you can really tell if it's the real deal. If you can sit and say nothing, and feel comfortable, that's supposed to be a good thing.

But there's part of me that can't help but wonder, if there's this much silence so early on, how quiet will it be 20 years from now?

I'd love to say I'd like to spend the time debating the politics of the world and talking about the latest greatest songs and movies catching our attention, but at the end of the day, I'm still too tired to discuss it.

So I suppose silence for now is golden, and comfortable, and okay; and someday there probably will be something to talk about, and dinner will be anything but quiet.

A First to Remember

2011-01-02T13:45:00.001-08:00

There's nothing quite like a first: the first day of the year, a baby's first words, the first day of school, the winter's first snow, your first kiss. They all happen just once. A moment you cannot get back, cannot relive. But those "firsts" in life leave such a lasting impression, we often find ourselves looking for the feeling of that specific moment over and over again.

If there's a moment I'd like to repeat every day of my life, it's my first date with CK. January 3, 2004: a perfect group date, boating in the Gulf. The company was perfect, the weather was perfect, the whole day was perfect. The only uncomfortable moment was actually getting dressed for the outing - do you wear a one piece (too conservative?), a two-piece (too revealing?) or the tankini (safe choice). After much trepidation, the red, Ralph Lauren tankini it was.

We went boating for hours; playing frisbee and collecting sand dollars along the way, then enjoying lunch on the beach before we slowly inched back to the marina. When we docked hours later, neither CK or I wanted it to end.

When he walked me back to my car CK asked if I'd like to have dinner later that evening. (Yes, I know, you're thinking he walked me to my car? Duh! You always take your own car on a first date in case you need a quick getaway! I learned that lesson after a 2nd date "gone wrong" with the perfectly nice "pool guy" who was more impressed with himself, his boat and his Porsche, than anything else in life. I graciously thanked him for dinner, then declined the ride home but had nothing but my own two feet as transportation. Second lesson from pool guy: do not be stuck out in the Gulf on a boat with just one person. Perhaps that story can be shared another time!)

Quite frankly, I couldn't get home fast enough. For one, I only had about an hour before CK would be back! But even more so, my heart was aflutter. I could not wait to see him again, and have the pure enjoyment of his company.

I remember everything about that night. The black dress I wore. The Victoria's Secret perfume that CK noticed right away, and the wonderful conversation that carried on for hours. We ate at a restaurant on the key; an old Florida house converted to a two story restaurant, famous for it's dessert bar. We had a quiet corner table in the loft, and shared a simple dinner of duck pizza and caesar salad with too many glasses of red wine to count. For me, it just all clicked. Everything matched; what we wanted, who we were, how we saw the future.

I think we closed down the place. But the date continued. We found a chair on the beach, and hung out for hours under the night sky, chatting away as waves softly rolled in from the Gulf of Mexico. It absolutely could not have been more perfect. And it was effortless.

Here we are seven years later, married, and able to remember that night as vividly as if it were yesterday, (yep, I asked CK, he remembers). But somehow, as time passes, those feelings fade... or maybe they don't. Maybe they're there, but we put them away. Do we not have time for them? Do we not want to live in the past? Are there just so many memories as time passes, that the memory of that "first" has to keep its place tucked away in a small corner in order to make room for the others?

I don' know where it goes, but I feel liked we need to hold on to that first. To not only remember it, but to relive it, and feel it day after day. I am closer to CK when I bring back those feelings. I am even more in love with him when they're on my mind and in my heart.

And so in the beginning of this new year, I do not plan to live in the past, but I certainly plan to relish in the "firsts" and feel them every day as if they are new again.

The Grinch and Girl Who Loves Christmas

2010-12-23T14:42:00.000-08:00

It might as well be Whoville at our house when December rolls around. I'm the "Who" who finds the joy in the season, cranks up the holiday music in the background and settles in for all the Christmas movies I can find. CK on the other hand, is like the Grinch who looks down on Whoville frowning at the Who's.

He does not feel the joy of Christmas, his mood does not get lighter or brighter. Come to think of it, he doesn't feel the joy of any holiday; New Year's, Easter, Fourth of July, they're all just regular days to him. He usually forgets there *is* a holiday and calls me when the UPS guy doesn't show up wondering if I know why : )

I poke, I prod, I force CK to get the tree, listen to a tune here or there, and help hang the decorations but it doesn't seem to help him get into the spirit.

Unlike the Grinch, CK doesn't steal my enthusiasm, my gifts or my cheer; he just doesn't share in it. Bah-humbug!

So I continue to be the Who in our Whoville household, singingly merrily along (annoyingly as possible for CK) to see if I too can change a heart for the holiday.

In case you forgot, here's the story:

The Grinch hated Christmas! The whole Christmas season!Now, please don't ask why. No one quite knows the reason.It could be that his head wasn't screwed on quite right.It could be, perhaps, that his shoes were too tight.But I think that the most likely reason of allMay have been that his heart was two sizes too small.But,Whatever the reason,His heart or his shoes,He stood there on Christmas Eve, hating the Whos,Staring down from his cave with a sour, Grinchy frownAt the warm lighted windows below in their town.For he knew every Who down in Who-ville beneathWas busy now, hanging a mistleoe wreath."And they're hanging their stockings!" he snarled with a sneer."Tomorrow is Christmas! It's practically here!"Then he growled, with his grinch fingers nervously drumming,"I MUST find a way to keep Christmas from coming!"For, tomorrow, he knew......All the Who girls and boysWould wake up bright and early. They'd rush for their toys!And then! Oh, the noise! Oh, the noise! Noise! Noise! Noise!That's one thing he hated! The NOISE! NOISE! NOISE! NOISE!Then the Whos, young and old, would sit down to a feast.And they'd feast! And they'd feast!And they'd FEAST! FEAST! FEAST! FEAST!They would start on Who-pudding, and rare Who-roast-beastWhich was something the Grinch couldn't stand in the least!And THENThey'd do something he liked least of all!Every Who down in Who-ville, the tall and the small,Would stand close together, with Christmas bells ringing.They'd stand hand-in-hand. And the Whos would start singing!They'd sing! And they'd sing!AND they'd SING! SING! SING! SING!And the more the Grinch thought of the Who-Christmas-SingThe more the Grinch thought, "I must stop this whole thing!"Why for fifty-three years I've put up with it now!I MUST stop Christmas from coming!...But HOW?"Then he got an idea!An awful idea!THE GRINCHGOT A WONDERFUL, AWFUL IDEA!"I know just what to do!" The Grinch Laughed in his throat.And he made a quick Santy Claus hat and a coat.And he chuckled, and clucked, "What a great Grinchy trick!"With this coat and this hat, I'll look just like Saint Nick!""All I need is a reindeer..."The Grinch looked around.But since reindeer are scarce, there was none to be found.Did that stop the old Grinch...?No! The Grinch simply said,"If I can't find a reindeer, I'll make one instead!"So he called his dog Max. Then he took some red threadAnd he tied a big horn on top of his head.THENHe loaded some bagsAnd some old empty sacksOn a ramshakle sleighAnd he hitched up old Max.Then the Grinch said, "Giddyap!"And the sleigh started downToward the homes where the WhosLay a-snooze in their town.All their windows were dark. Quiet snow filled the air.All the Whos were all dreaming sweet dreams without careWhen he came to the first house in the square."This is stop number one," The old Grinchy Claus hissedAnd he climbed to the roof, empty bags in his fist.Then he slid down the chimney. A rather tight pinch.But if Santa could do it, then so could the Grinch.He got stuck only once, for a moment or two.Then he stuck his head out of the fireplace flueWhere the little Who stockings all hung in a row."These stockings," he grinned, "are the first things to go!"Then he slithered and slunk, with a smile most unpleasant,Around the whole room, and he took every present!Pop guns! And bicycles! Roller skates! Drums!Checkerboards! Tricycles! Popcorn! And plums!And he stuffed them in bags. Then the Grinch, very nimbly,Stuffed all the bags, one by one, up the chimney!Then he slunk to the icebox. He took the Whos' feast!He took the Who-pudding! He took the roast beast!He cleaned out that icebox as quick as a flash.Why, that Grinch even took their last can of Who-hash!Then he stuffed all the food up the chimney with glee."And NOW!" grinned the Grinch, "I will stuff up the tree!"And the Grinch grabbed the tree, and he started to shoveWhen he heard a small sound like the coo of a dove.He turned around fast, and he saw a small Who!Little Cindy-Lou Who, who was not more than two.The Grinch had been caught by this little Who daughterWho'd got out of bed for a cup of cold water.She stared at the Grinch and said, "Santy Claus, why,"Why are you taking our Christmas tree? WHY?"But, you know, that old Grinch was so smart and so slickHe thought up a lie, and he thought it up quick!"Why, my sweet little tot," the fake Santy Claus lied,"There's a light on this tree that won't light on one side."So I'm taking it home to my workshop, my dear."I'll fix it up there. Then I'll bring it back here."And his fib fooled the child. Then he patted her headAnd he got her a drink and he sent he to bed.And when Cindy-Lou Who went to bed with her cup,HE went to the chimney and stuffed the tree up!Then the last thing he tookWas the log for their fire.Then he went up the chimney himself, the old liar.On their walls he left nothing but hooks, and some wire.And the one speck of foodThe he left in the houseWas a crumb that was even too small for a mouse.ThenHe did the same thingTo the other Whos' housesLeaving crumbsMuch too smallFor the other Whos' mouses!It was quarter past dawn...All the Whos, still a-bedAll the Whos, still a-snoozeWhen he packed up his sled,Packed it up with their presents! The ribbons! The wrappings!The tags! And the tinsel! The trimmings! The trappings!Three thousand feet up! Up the side of Mount Crumpit,He rode to the tiptop to dump it!"Pooh-pooh to the Whos!" he was grinch-ish-ly humming."They're finding out now that no Christmas is coming!"They're just waking up! I know just what they'll do!"Their mouths will hang open a minute or two"The all the Whos down in Who-ville will all cry BOO-HOO!""That's a noise," grinned the Grinch,"That I simply must hear!"So he paused. And the Grinch put a hand to his ear.And he did hear a sound rising over the snow.It started in low. Then it started to grow...But the sound wasn't sad!Why, this sound sounded merry!It couldn't be so!But it WAS merry! VERY!He stared down at Who-ville!The Grinch popped his eyes!Then he shook!What he saw was a shocking surprise!Every Who down in Who-ville, the tall and the small,Was singing! Without any presents at all!He HADN'T stopped Christmas from coming!IT CAME!Somehow or other, it came just the same!And the Grinch, with his grinch-feet ice-cold in the snow,Stood puzzling and puzzling: "How could it be so?It came without ribbons! It came without tags!"It came without packages, boxes or bags!"And he puzzled three hours, `till his puzzler was sore.Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn't before!"Maybe Christmas," he thought, "doesn't come from a store."Maybe Christmas...perhaps...means a little bit more!"And what happened then...?Well...in Who-ville they sayThat the Grinch's small heartGrew three sizes that day!And the minute his heart didn't feel quite so tight,He whizzed with his load through the bright morning lightAnd he brought back the toys! And the food for the feast!And he......HE HIMSELF...!The Grinch carved the roast beast!~Dr Seuss

Enjoy the View

2010-10-09T07:01:00.001-07:00

You hear it your whole life, "Stop and smell the roses," or "take a little time to enjoy the view," but more often than not we rush through without taking any of that advice. There's usually some kind of crisis or stressful event that makes us really stop and be in the moment, promising ourselves to never take take for granted again the little thing we call "life."

The same could be said for a marriage, from time to time you should also stop and enjoy its view. CK and I recently learned it's not just appreciating the person in it with you, but the marriage itself; the noun that it is, (though I'd almost argue marriage is really a verb since CK and I are learning it's something you "do" every day not just something that defines the relationship you're in). And it didn't take a crisis, but a simple little weekend getaway to remind us how important it is.

We've had our share of getaways and vacations this year: Missouri, Washington, West Palm Beach, but it's the most recent trip to the destination closest to us that has transformed our outlook, attitude and love of life and each other. We drove down to our old "stopping grounds" on Longboat Key just a short 50 minutes from us. Truthfully that probably took some of the stress off since the travel was short and the time in the car with CK behind the wheel was also limited!

Our days were filled with nothing but laid back mornings, a good book, a few hours on the beach, lounging at the pool, lunches by the water, and dinner and cocktails as the sun set, enjoying time with good friends. We didn't check the clock, (it didn't matter what time it was we didn't have a single obligation to anyone, even ourselves), we didn't check our phones except to connect with friends we were meeting up with, we barely got in the car to drive anywhere, and if wouldn't have been for the Ryder Cup, we wouldn't have turned on the t.v. at all.

It was reminiscent of the time we spent on our honeymoon. Just the two of us to entertain each other, the two of us to fill the hours and minutes of the day, the two of us to share a drink or dinner. CK and I don't get a lot of the "two of us." Our work schedules keep us busy and limits the time we can spend together. Date night doesn't compare to 4 days of just the two of us. And I think these two independent people learned that there's nothing more important than that solitude day in and day out from time to time, not only for the sake of "us" but also for the time it allows to simply "enjoy the view" of what is The Marriage of Kevin and Richelle.

Home Alone

2010-08-20T05:09:00.001-07:00

Every girl needs a girls' weekend. There is just no doubt that a little female bonding is good for the soul. Yep, we generally groan and complain about the men in our lives (let's be honest that's what they do on golf outings and poker night, right?), but we also get to have all the girl talk our husbands seldom enjoy having with us; you know, a little Hollywood gossip, a few makeup tips, our latest diet, our last doctor's visit. Sometimes girl time is really "me" time; a lone event with no "girls" around.

So tomorrow, when CK slips off to Fantasy Football fun 133 miles away, I plan on having some girl time with me and me alone. There's somehow a feeling of freedom that has overcome me. I am a loner and often find myself needing and wanting my alone time. CK on the couch, even quiet, still isn't alone. CK gone for a few hours is a good break. CK gone for an entire day and night, is full fledged freedom. Not from him, not from the chores, not even freedom to be a "bad girl," just free. Free to watch what I want, eat what I want, drink what I want, sleep when I want (with no t.v. noise or door opening/closing), and do what I want (shopping, farmer's market). It's the freedom to live as I please, without having to take into consideration anyone else.

We all need our own space, even married folks need some time for themselves. And while I'm catching up on the chick flicks and enjoying my meals made up of nothing but appetizers, CK will be getting his own taste of freedom. After all, even though I don't really know what goes on with the boys, I doubt it includes Lifetime t.v. and a romantic dinner with candlelight : ) I envision something more like cigar smoke wafting in the air (clouding it actually), beer cans tossed everywhere (dozens of cans at that) and old pizza sitting on every space available (lid flipped wide open of course).

Seems like a weekend of freedom is really about getting back to who you are - when it's just you. And a taste of that is all I need to get back to being who I really am every other day of married life.

Like Only a Dog Can

2010-07-25T12:12:00.000-07:00

There's something to be said for meeting your man at the door with a cocktail and a kiss, wearing your slinkiest, sexiest dress, hair all done up, makeup just the way he likes it. But let's face it, those moments are not "daily occurrences; they're few and far between. CK enjoyed it for a brief, fleeting point of our life. Now, he says the dog is more excited to see him than I am.

I have to say, work gets in the way and we haven't done a very good job of getting it out of our way.

When I could, I spent my days devoted to running the house, getting plenty of "me" time and making everything just the way CK wants it. My 9-5 was taking care of our happy little home and my happy little husband. I was happy, he was happy, the dog was happy.

Then, I went back to a full time, high stress, deadline oriented, no room for error job. We hit reality like a brick wall; work-life balance seemed beyond our reach and for the last 21 months we've struggled to find a rhythm to it that works.

It's just as hard for him as it is for me. In January we agreed there was no other way to make it happen than to carve out a scheduled time to see each other. We set Wednesday as date night; the deal was I'd nap, he'd come home early. I can count on one hand how much that's happened in the last 7 months. Either CK has to wait for FedEx, CK can't get home 'til 7 (it's 2 a.m. on my body clock so what's the point!), or I couldn't get a nap in and simply won't amount to much company.

Recently it's gotten better. We've had three date nights, three weeks in a row. But it's taken this long for us to make that happen. It's far from perfect, but it's all we've got.

CK often says, "If you'd just greet me the way Luke does." Luke, our Yorkie poo, runs, jumps, wags his tail and pounces as soon as you head up the sidewalk. It's not just the end of the day you get the over hyper greeting from man's best friend; Luke greets you like that if you've been gone a month, a day or just a few minutes to get the mail.

Needless to say, if I could spend my days lounging, get petted on a regular basis, eat treats for no reason, and have someone serve me drinks and dinner, I think I could come up with an overzealous, "couldn't wait to see you" way to greet my hubby at the end of the day ( or at least the days I see him!). Until then, we'll have to settle for the imperfect date night, an unbalanced work-life reality, and the occasional cocktail and a kiss at the door; knowing when it is delivered, it's done so with perfect, undeniable, tail wagging enthusiasm.

You Have to Admit: Sometimes I'm Right

2010-06-15T05:13:00.000-07:00

I am a huge believer in women being able to do anything they want and not being defined by gender rules. I'd be letting down everyone in the feminist movement if I thought otherwise. But everybody has that "something" they're good at, and ladies, unless you've latched on to one of the rare ones out there, I'd say when it comes to the home we're better at some of the 1950's Leave it to Beaver basics like cooking, cleaning, and doing laundry.

I don't think it really has anything to do with the fact we're female and they're male. It's based more on the fact we just somehow ended up with the experience in those departments.

But CK doesn't like to take advice, whether I'm the expert on the subject or not, he thinks it's telling him what to do. I'm just thinking a person who hasn't cleaned a bathroom in six years, would want the person who used to be employed as a housekeeper and regularly cleans the home, to offer some suggestion on how you can get soap mildew off the glass shower door.

Farbeit from me to help you not only complete the task, but survive it. So when CK was wielding the Tilex for what was probably the first time in his life, I took my Prince Charming up on his offer to help with housework, and sent him off to the bathroom. 1200 square feet away on the other side of the condo a heavy cloud of fumes started to waft in, and as I stepped out to head over to the master bath and CK, he came out choking. Considering the arsenal of chemicals he had in tow, (Tilex, Clorox, Comet and Lysol) I was surprised he was still breathing at all.

Even at that, the man who nearly killed us both because he didn't want to take any advice, had plenty to offer when I started the self cleaning oven; not because he knows how the feature works, or even that it exists, but because I couldn't possibly be right and his two cents would most certainly get the job done better.

That's really the battle, isn't it? He says I always have to be right, I say he always has to be right. And it boils right down to the very things we really know nothing about.

CK says, "How are you marinating the pork?" I say, "Dijon, rosemary, apple juice, vinegar." He says, "I don't know if rosemary really goes with pork." I say, "Really? What'd you marinate the pork in the last time you made it? Oh, wait, you haven't made pork in 6 years, and when you made it that time you just put in the oven with salt and pepper."

I think we'll let the person who made pork last week, last month and is the daily chef at least six nights a week decide on the pork marinade.

What CK can rule the roost on, is the BBQ. Oh, sure, I can do it. I can fix the leaky toilet, too, and hang a heavy piece of artwork. But he's better at it. He's done it more. It's in his domain. Not because he's a man and that's a man's job, but because he's flipped more than one house, renovated more than one kitchen, and actually been paid to do such handyman chores.

I certainly wouldn't want to split the duties in such a caveman'esque way of man versus woman. And I certainly don't want to discourage either of us from crossing that line and venturing into a realm where we're not the expert. But I do believe, you have to admit, sometimes I know what I'm talking about, and I'm just right. Period.

Driving Miss Daisy

2010-05-09T05:10:00.001-07:00

I have been my own chaeuffer for 16+ years. I've gotten myself from point A to point B quite nicely. I've gone from Missouri to Virginia, from Missouri to Georgia, from Missouri to Wisconsin and back more times than I can count, and from Wisconsin to Florida. Most of those trips were made alone, some with friends, some with family, but generally my hands were on the wheel, no one else's. Now, I find myself in the passenger's seat more often than not; both literally, and metaphorically.

And as much as I'd like Carpenter Kevin to take the wheel, overall I do not enjoy his driving skills. He's a very aggressive, defensive driver while I'm more of a let's hang back and enjoy the ride (who cares if we're going 40 mph in a 65?) kinda gal. (Okay, well that's not entirely true: on the interstate I'd prefer to be going 65 mph but if there's a traffic backup and everyone's going 40 I just stay in the lane and wait it out; CK weaves in and out trying to move up by playing Nascar).

Six years we've played this little game of CK driving and me believing I'm going to die. By the way, you should know, my biggest fear in life is dying in a car accident. CK also has that working against him every time I buckle up in the passenger seat.

In the beginning of our relationship I used to gasp, or give a holler, "whoa!" "watch out!," but CK thought for sure that would only end in a nice little accident. So now I grab the door handle or throw my hand up and press against the roof of the car. To CK's point, I'm not sure that's going to save me, but at least it's not yelling!

He still hates it. He hates that I have any reaction at all to my near death experiences. Of course, in his eyes, we're perfectly safe.

Don't get me wrong, I like the idea of someone taking the wheel and getting me where I need to go. It's nice to be able to sit back and enjoy the ride (if I could enjoy it) and not have to be the one in charge. I spend my days being in charge at work and sometimes I just don't want to be in charge at home; whether it's driving the car, deciding where or what to eat for dinner, planning our retirement or putting together our next vacation. Sometimes I'd like someone else to navigate those things.

But not only have I been the one getting me from point A to point B on the highway, I've also been the only one steering my path in life. And though I like the idea of someone doing it for me for just a little while, or at least being an equal partner in it, it is hard to sit in the back seat and let someone else be "Driving Miss Daisy."

Needless to say, CK and I have a long way to go before we find the perfect way to enjoy the ride together.

Can't Live With 'Em

2010-04-05T13:11:00.000-07:00

I don't know who came up with, "Men: Can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em," but I sincerely doubt the person ever had a man. And now that I write this down, I've come to realize a man probably said it! It was probably part of a master plan to make sure they had their laundry done, a hot meal on the table, some regular hanky panky, a "mini me" to carry on their gene pool, and a maid for life.

The part about "can't live with 'em" may very well be true. However, I firmly believe the second half is false. Fact is, I think you CAN live without 'em; and not just some mediocre life, but a fantastic, fulfilling life. And I make sure to remind my husband on a regular basis.

While some men get the milk for free without buying the cow, mine did invest in the whole enchilada. And let me tell you, he was much more attentive, loving, chivalrous and kind while he was just skimmin' off the top of the milk bucket! What the heck happened? Marriage, that's what.

Ring on the finger, "I do's" over, and he's got the cow; now he could care less about the milk. Before marriage the milk apparently left him wanting more. Now, the cow is really not all that interestin'.

And I find myself asking him a lot, "how exactly does this marriage benefit me?" What did I get? No one opens my door. No one carries in the groceries. No one picks me up on the side of the road when the car breaks down. No, CK tells me to call the roadside service I pay for instead! No one makes me dinner, or sets up a date. No one tells me I look nice or smell nice. No one offers to scrub the toilet.

I did get him to change a light bulb. It's only gonna take one man to do that job, but it is taking over a week. I did get him to wash my car once or twice. He walks the dog. He does the dishes, but apparently has to do too many and needs my help. I guess that means since there are two toilets in the house he gets one now?

Turns out living with a man only means more work for the woman. Maybe what we really need is to charge for the milk and never expect them to buy, or even make the offer to buy, the entire cow.

One True Love? I Don't Think So!

2010-03-30T11:12:00.000-07:00

Some of you will see this as very depressing, lonely and sad. Others will find it perplexing, complicated and confusing. And there will be a group, I truly believe, who totally get where I'm at with this. But let me just say it, and CK is aware, I do not, I repeat, I do not believe there is just one person in the world for you. I do believe in soul mates; people who your heart reaches without anyone saying a word; people you are so connected to you just feel it immediately; people who just completely get you no explanation needed. But I do not believe there is just one.

While some are sad for me and think I'm missing out on some higher level of loving, I say, I'm sad for them because if war, disease, natural disaster or freak accident takes that loved one from them, where are they then? I'll tell you where they are: a dark hole, without their one true love. Who could live that way?

I cannot imagine believing that if CK were gone today, at the young age of 34, I would have no one else come into my life who would love me as much, believe in me as much, support me as much, or want to share as much with me. That, to me, would be depressing.

In fact, I'd venture to say I've already had two great loves. One is my husband, the other is now a part of my past; a chapter that closed, but a great love nonetheless. Someone who shaped who I am today, who lifted me up at that time of my life and who loved me completely.

And I consider myself lucky that those two great loves have been so different. That means two fulfilling experiences, separate but equal; individuals with their own personalities to bring to the table, their own "way" of loving; but equal in the fact they've given me such great joy in my life.

I wouldn't trade those loves for the world. And I wouldn't trade in CK for another model, past or present. I also wouldn't wish him gone. And I'm hoping we have a long life together. But if today I had to start over in my life, albeit my choice, his choice or God's, I absolutely cannot believe that losing CK would mean missing out on this great feeling of partnership and love for the rest of my life.

I guess in the end, I love the one I'm with; and the one I'm with loves me. And that's just enough, for now, forever, and for the in between.

Oh, and when it comes to eternity, yes I believe we'll be together for all eternity. But let's be clear: I plan to go into eternity single - and I'm going to stay that way, with all those great loves waiting for me .

The "Man Cave"

2010-03-24T04:11:00.000-07:00

Someday we will have a "man cave;" a room dedicated only to CK, filled with only man things, whatever those may be. Carpenter Kevin and I have already discussed this. It is on our "wish" list for the future; early retirement, second home, lots of travel, bigger house, backyard, man cave.

I'm learning that CK may be luckier than he thought having me on board with the man cave, and to even allow his man things to exist. Just the other day a co-worker was telling his sad, sad story about all the Dallas Cowboys gear he owns but no one sees. Why? His wife makes him keep it all tucked away. It doesn't get to hang anywhere; not even what I consider to be the true man cave, the bathroom. Nope, his stuff is actually packed up and put away. Why have it then, I wonder? The answer to that is apparently a "guy" thing. They are attached to their stuff. It somehow defines them, their individuality, their bachelorhood, their ability to remain a "man."

When CK and I merged our goods, he accused me of throwing all of his stuff away and only keeping my stuff. Um, yeah, can' t deny that. But let's see here: First off, he didn't own that much. What he did own was 10 years old, and that was the "good" stuff! Secondly, I had just purchased new furniture to go along with my new home ownership status, and since most everything had been stolen in my treacherous move to Florida 7 1/2 years ago, anything I did own was just a few years old. It seemed logical, and I'm all about logical, especially when it helps argue my point : ) But getting CK to let go of that old stuff was like getting a baby to let go of his blanket.

We've come a long ways since then, we look ahead now and pick out our stuff together, so the problem seems to be alleviated. Please note: there are a few pieces of artwork I have put on the top shelf of the closet and left for CK to decorate his future man cave with.

But rest assured there will be one, for his pleasure and mine. Our man cave will hopefully be detached from the house, or at least in the garage or over it. My theory is, if there's going to be a place for his things, there will also be a place for him ; )

He Likes It! Mikey Likes It!

2010-03-20T18:31:00.000-07:00

If you've been reading this blog, then you know I enjoy cooking, trying new recipes and making a full home cooked, delicious meal for my husband just about every day of the week. There are some things I love that CK does not. It's another one of those joyous sacrifics you sign up for with marriage; there are meals you will never, or at most very rarely, ever eat again.

Tuna noodle casserole, meatloaf and mac 'n' cheese are some of my favorite foods that I now only indulge in when CK is not here, is not eating for some reason, or is forced to eat when we go back home to see my family. My Grandma knows my all time favorite meal of hers is meatloaf, creamed peas and mashed potatoes with meatloaf gravy. So when I'm at her house, that's what gets served, despite CK's dislike for all of those menu items; the meatloaf gets made, and CK has no choice but to eat it, and like it!

My list of foods I'd rather not consume is much shorter than my husband's. I don't know how it was in his house, but in my mine, a meal was made and put on the table, and you ate it. My sister hated lima beans but she'd have to sit there until she ate them; and there was no reheating allowed. Yuck. Cold lima beans. The only thing I absolutely would not touch as a kid was liver. I still don't like liver.

CK is quite the picky eater. His list of foods he doesn't care to eat is quite long. As you know, Hamburger Helper is up there at the top, but there's also a "do not serve sign" posted for mac n' cheese, anything with the word "casserole" in it and anything that is a "stew" or has multiple ingredients mixed together (chicken pot pie, beef stew, you get the idea).

I've learned to compensate for some of that; I like to think of it as compromise without telling him he's compromising. He reads this, so I can't give away all my secrets, but generally the bottom line is, if I like it and I think CK will like it, I just fudge the name a bit to get him to eat it. So, one of his favorite recipes I made once was a chicken and spinach casserole; I just called it chicken with spinach baked in the oven and walah, he loved it! See how that works, find a way to name it something other than "casserole."

Tonight I made an oh, so decadent mac 'n' cheese that CK actually liked. First I avoided saying those three words and said we were having a pasta with lots of fancy cheeses, bacon and caramelized onion. Then, once he got into the kitchen and started "helping," let's use that term loosely, I finally just told the boy it was a very fancy mac 'n' cheese.

It was luxurious. Lots of cream, lots of cheese, and the bacon just put it over the top.

CK thoroughly enjoyed every bite of this dish. For me, it was only equivalent to the lobster mac 'n' cheese I made one evening; that too won over CK. Of course, these upscale mac 'n' cheese recipes take a hit out of the 'ol pocketbook; we're not talkin' $1.19 Kraft, these are more like $35-$50 dishes when you're done. But hey, they're worth it; I get my fix and CK enjoys dinner.

I just had to share this latest mac 'n' cheese recipe. It's actually from another blog I follow, thepioneerwoman.com. She hit this spot on.

So here it is, in case you'd like to try it. I figure if CK can enjoy it, so can you!

Ingredients:
4 c. macaroni

8T salted butter

2 medium onions, sliced thin

10 slices bacon, save 1T bacon grease

1/4 c. flour

2 c. milk

1/2 c. half&half

2 eggs

salt&pepper

1/2 c. gruyere

1/2 c. parmesan

1/2 c. fontina

4 oz. goat cheese

Directions: preheat oven to 350. cook macaroni for half of the time in the instructions. drain and set aside. fry bacon and set aside. melt 4 T butter in skillet and add onions. cook 10-12 min. or until golden brown. in a pot melt 4T butter and the bacon grease, add flour, whisk and cook 1 min. pour in milk and half/half. cook 3-5 min until thick. reduce heat. add s&p. in separate bowl whisk eggs. add 1/4 c of milk sauce into eggs stirring constantly. add eggs to sauce mixture on stove. cook another min. add cheese 'til melted. add onions, bacon and macaroni. bake 15-20 min or until golden brown & bubbly on top.

His, Mine and Ours

2010-03-18T04:38:00.000-07:00

There's nothing like a little tax paperwork to make you realize that things really are broken up into the categories of "his," "mine", and "ours." Married filing jointly is a misnomer. You're really married filing jointly, but listing it all separately! So if a newlywed is supposed buy into this whole "two people have become one" thing, the government's gonna have to try and help a sister out here.

The tax man didn't even ask who I wanted to list as the "taxpayer" and who I wanted to list as the "spouse." He just automatically put CK in as the guy doing the taxes for this household and I got the backup slot. Bah-humbug. Let's be clear on who really gathered all this intel and who really was taking the time to do the filing! And why aren't 'we' the taxpayers? I do believe the spouse is paying her share of the taxes here.

Any of you who've gone through this married filing jointly tax paperwork, already know that you basically fill out separate information for the two of you. "And what's Kevin's address," the tax man says. I deliver the info. Then when CK's is entered and it's my (the spouse) turn, he says, "And your address (pause) is the same?" Uh, yes, married filing jointly remember? Let me get this straight, you assume CK is the taxpayer and head of household, but you don't assume we live in the same house?

Then we proceed to go through every item and every item is either the taxpayer or the spouse, but it's never the two of you. Whether it's who owns the home, who has the Schedule E, who has the 1099, you can't choose "T" and "S," it's one or the other baby.

And at the end of it all, the tax man says, here's what the "taxpayer's" results are, here's what the "spouse's" results are, and "jointly" here's what it comes down to.

So now i just have a clearer picture of what I already knew, exactly what is "his," exactly what is mine, and exactly what is ours.

Thank you, IRS, for proving my point, that two people really are just two people.

Sweat Equity

2010-03-16T02:39:00.001-07:00

Everybody says a marriage takes work, but nobody said you had to start working on it right away. So I wasn't really prepared for all the sweat equity CK and I have had to put in over the last several months.

As I've mentioned before, we may be newlyweds, but our relationship certainly isn't "new." The "I do's" didn't come for more than five years and we'd already made a dozen important decisions during that time; difficult ones that weren't so difficult for us to make.

When I met CK he said he was attracted to my drive and ambition. I've found a lot of men say that, but very few really mean it. CK, though, held true. When I had the opportunity for a big promotion nearly four hours away, he was nothing but supportive, encouraging me to go, knowing he would stay behind and I would make the move. CK was understanding about the sacrifice we were making. Easy. That's just how it was.

Then we got married. It's amazing what that tiny band on a finger can do. Somehow things just changed; probably more in CK's mind than in mine. He always did preface things with the words, "when we get married," but I always figured we were already doing it that way and I honestly didn't think anything would be different. Why did it need to be? We shared finances, life decisions, house chores; we respected the two people in the relationship were really one, and didn't act as individuals.

Ironically, we seem more like individuals now. Is it because CK had expectations I'm not aware of? Is it just really what happens when you're married? This must be the "work" everyone talked about, but I'm starting to wonder if we just create it for ourselves.

Before marriage we put each other first, made time to spend with the other person, weren't hurt by the plans we made that didn't include each other. Now we take for granted the other one's required to be there legally, rarely plan any couple time, and get completely offended when one makes plans without including the other. Ah, the expectation of marraige.

So, the work has begun. Time to put in that sweat equity; and my family can tell you, I don't really like to sweat. The minute I start to glisten, I figure that's enough. This workout is going to take a little more I think. When my gym instructor said, "you'll get out of this workout what you put into it," he might as well have been making a correlation between his toning class and a marriage. That cliche, or advice, whatever you want to call, certainly isn't something I haven't heard. It's just something I suppose now I'll have to put into practice. Good thing CK and I have already proven we're willing to do a little work, and make a little sacrifice.

A Gallon is Okay

2010-03-11T04:16:00.001-08:00

I don't know about you and yours, but my husband isn't the grocery shopper in the family. And when CK does venture into the aisles I think he probably feels like he needs a Xanax, or two, to help with the anxiety!

Each weekend I make a list and do the shopping all in one day. Occasionally I'll have a forgotten item here or there, or sometime during the week we'll decide we're hungry for something that I don't have the ingredients to make. Cue up CK. That's when he gets enlisted to "run" to the store.

The conversation usually goes something like this, "Can you pick up some butter, 2% milk and a can of cream of mushrom soup?" CK responds, "Sure." Before he leaves the house he asks me at least two more times what he's getting. We finally decide he should write it down.

With paper in hand off he goes. Did I mention I also generally give him a "map" of the store and lay out exactly where to find the item? "Aisle 3, middle of the row, top shelf by the olives," I say. And even then, the phone usually rings just moments after his arrival. "What am I getting?," is the question. We both burst out laughing because we both know it's been said several times and it's on paper! Sufficed it to say, CK does not take good notes : )

My dad just told me a story about a trip he made to the grocery store for his mom when he was a kid. Grandma asked him to go get a can of pork 'n' beans for dinner and told dad to get the "big one." So when dad got to the store he got the big one alright, he picked up the largest one on the shelf, which turned out to be a gallon of pork 'n' beans! Grandma was shocked, to stay the least, about all the beans she would be baking!

While my father told that story I thought about just how much I could relate, and how even my grandmother, 50 years before me, had experienced the hilarious efforts of a man attempting to grocery shop.

I should've asked my dad if he was nervous about his future grocery store adventures because CK always seem to take it so seriously. He says he just wants to be sure he gets exactly what I need. I always get what I need, or at least what I can work with. And I always get a little extra because Carpenter Kevin always has a few "add ons" he's put on the list.

But really, in the end, I can work with a 28 oz can of soup instead of 14 ounces, or green olives instead of black, or whole milk instead of reduced fat.; and I hope someday I can get CK to realize a gallon of beans is okay.

Have It Your Way

2010-03-09T06:33:00.000-08:00

My husband and I didn't take traditional wedding vows. We did not utter the words love, honor, and cherish, and we definitely did not say "obey." No way could I ever make that one stick. I am way too much of an independent, Type A, gotta be in control kinda gal for that. We promised respect and loyalty and agreed our marriage needs to be built on a strong foundation.

But I completely missed an opportunity in those vows. If we ever have another wedding, I'm going to write to Burger King and ask them if I can use their marketing slogan, "Have It Your Way." If I could get CK to utter those four words more often, I'd have it made! Wouldn't we all?

The first year of marriage is what I'm going to refer to as "the rebuilding year." Just like a sports team, CK and I are sorta trying out for positions, seeing who gets to keep having it their way, and who gets to be the lucky one to compromise. I am not good at compromise. I'm pretty sure an elementary teacher put on my report card, "does not work well with others." And it was for good reason. I like to have it my way, plain and simple.

Figuring out the small stuff was easy. I have better health insurance, my car insurance turned out to be cheaper, I already kept track of the bills, and my bank account was already designated the primary account. Clearly, I was having it my way, flame broiled to perfection.

I haven't been so lucky in other areas. For example, our taxes. My way: Get the W-2, do the taxes immediately and have the refund in the bank in February. His way: Procrastinate on getting the tax forms, file as close to April 15th as possible, owe money to the government. I'm doing my best to keep things moving along and not owe the IRS! But as I sit here today, there are no tax forms. And while I prod CK to make a call and get them in the mail, he's happy to sit and wait for them to arrive. Grrrrrrrrr.

My other favorite: the dog. My way: take him out on a schedule so he can do all his business at once and I don't have to keep getting up and down. His way: take him out but only go as far as you want, prompting several trips. CK would rather get in bed at 10 and get back up at midnight to let the dog out, instead of taking him out for one last trip at 10 and not getting up again 'til morning! If it weren't for the barking interrupting my sleep I really wouldn't care. But "his" way is getting in the way of my shut eye!

Another one: vacation. My way: Make a plan in advance so you can get the best deal. His way: Decide at the last minute so it costs you as much as possible. Grrrrrrrr.

Don't get me wrong, there are times I'm feeling generous. Just the other weekend, we rearranged two days worth of plans out of town, so CK could get his way. And I let him do the dishes and take out the trash however he likes : )

So maybe there is hope for this independent gal. And some day, I suppose, there will be no his an dhers, we'll just learn to have it "our" way.

A Good Reminder

2010-03-04T07:37:00.000-08:00

Sometimes it's just quiet. CK's happy, I'm happy. There's no "beef" with each other about anything, nobody went to bed irritated, there are no hefty decisions to be made. Those days really do outweigh the ones when there is tension or conflict, but it seems like the latter is what you remember.

Yesterday was one of those quiet days. Everybody had a good day. CK enjoyed manicotti and garlic bread for dinner, with three layer brownies for dessert, and I fell off to dreamland early.

I guess that's why it's always nice to have a good reminder of the peace and happiness that really does exist. I've never thought about why I have the pictures on my desk that I do. But seeing them now, I'm really looking at good reminders of quiet days.

I have a picture of us at a birthday dinner from years ago; then I have a wedding pic and a lovely close up of the "cutie patootie Carpenter Kevin." Two years ago I didn't have a picture of CK at all! I worked at my job for over a year before anyone met the elusive Carpenter Kevin. My co-workers were starting to think he was make believe. They even stalked him one night when he came to pick me up, so they could get a look!

There are still only a few who've seen CK, but the pictures prove his existence, and they prove as reminders to me of those "quiet" times in our relationship, when everything's sailing along.

My favorite "feel good" reminder of the moment is this picture.

Ah, the memory of that day. CK wielding the new vacuum. In six years I had never seen him with one so this day was as momentous as a child going to their first day of school. I had to snap a pic to keep that memory with me.

CK was a good sport and played along with a devilish grin and we both got a chuckle out of it; truth is, CK loved that Hoover so much he spent two hours piecing it together and sucking dirt out of the carpet.

I look at it now, and remember the laughter, the fun and the friendship that he and I really do share. And the reason I married him in the first place; so I could spend 40 years (that's all I really think I can handle) with the person I tolerate best ; )

Here's to the quiet days, and the things that remind us of them.

Appreciation for the Unexpected

2010-03-03T05:53:00.001-08:00

So the one night I'm *not* expecting my husband to come home early, he puts the key in the lock and turns the handle right before 5 p.m.! I was so caught off guard, and halfway alarmed that someone was trying to come in my house, that when it was CK who stepped in the door relief set in. Then, part of me felt like, 'hey you're interrupting my schedule. This is my alone time right before bed." And the other part thought, "wow, it's so great to see my husband in the middle of the week!"

It took a while to wrap my brain around the unexpected change in my nightly routine. But then I treasured those few moments we had before I laid my head down on the pillow. CK even endured the end of the Lifetime Movie I was watching. That's a very big deal since Lifetime T.V. is considered "propaganda" in our house. CK would like to ban me from watching it altogether, but as I've told you, those love stories don't sway me one bit!

CK's early arrival home wasn't the only unexpected change. I never got the "what's for dinner?" question I've come to expect every day. Even still, I had a crockpot of meat, baked potatoes and steamed zucchini and onions. That's the kind of hot meal CK gets every day. Well, it's hot once he reheats it. I cook dinner each day when I get home then refrigerate it so CK has a nice dinner to come home to. And for all my expectations, that meal is what he has come to expect every day.

It was my own doing. A couple years ago I lost my job and spent six weeks not working. During that time I ramped up my interest in cooking. Not just good 'ol meat and taters. I delved right into gourmet meals. When CK came home, I had an evening cocktail waiting for him, an appetizer, soup, salad, entree and sides, and of course desserts, which eventually lined our countertop as if it were a bakery.

I had never hated cooking, but was never that interested in it. But in those six weeks, I became fascinated. I tried new techniques, new gadgets, new recipes. The best one, a bolognese sauce that took two hours or more to make. CK came home and declared it tasted like Hamburger Helper. He hates Hamburger Helper and has asked that I never make it in our lifetime. I made that bolognese sauce again, just to see if he'd change his mind, but he didn't.

I was not deterred. I expanded my cookbook library with hardbound, paperback, and online recipes. We tried so many new ingredients we'd never had before and it our dinners literally became an experience. We gained at least 15 pounds a piece in those six weeks. True story: it was right around Christmas and when I went home that year my dad came up to me, patted my stomach and said, "Richelle, I don't know if I've ever seen you with that." He was talking about my "gut." Apparently, my cooking is not that bad : )

The joy of not working soon came to an end; something CK was thankful for considering I was racking up an 80 dollar a day grocery bill! Although I was back at work, cooking had become a release, a way to relax, so I kept it up every day. The seven course meals went by the wayside, but we still had a wonderful dinner to enjoy each night. And just to make it even more "Leave It to Beaver'esque," I posted a menu each week, clip art and all. There it was on the refrigerator for Kevin to see exactly what we'd be having each night.

I still post the menu. I still find enjoyment in cooking. I still make a nightly meal. I still love trying new recipes. I just wish it wasn't expected. That way it would be as enjoyed and appreciated as the "unexpected" time I spent with my husband last night.

The Start of Expectations.....

2010-03-02T07:10:00.001-08:00

I’m not just a married woman, I’m a married news woman. It's important to add "news" to that label because it’s a big part of what has shaped expectations in CK and I's life. Expect me to work long hours. Expect me to get called in on moment's notice, or asked to stay late. Expect me to work holidays. Expect me to work on my days off.

Of course, there are benefits CK can expect, too. He's always in the know, for starters. And he doesn't have to spend a minute reading the paper or watching Katie Couric. Two daily questions permeate our lives, "what's for dinner?" and "did anything happen in the world today?" I mean, why go in search of the answer when you're married to someone who just spent 10 hours doing the legwork for you? I think we learn that shortcut to information as kids. When I was a teenager I’d ask my mom, “have you seen my pom pon outfit?,” even before I checked the obvious locations. Why walk around and search when she was the “all knowing” of where everything was?

I don’t know if my mother really minded, though she did occasionally mutter something along the lines of looking first, but the answer seeking question never bothers me. It’s generally the starting point of conversation between CK and me and it reminds me of the long conversations we had on our first date. We talked about our drive to succeed, our political views, our families, religion, kids, morals and values. We shared opinions and conversation on topics most reserve for a time much later in the relationship, when things are more serious. But we've always been so comfortable with each other those touchy topics were never off limits. They were the source of great conversation.

From the first day I talked to CK it seemed we were the same person, moving in the same direction. For all intensive purposes he was me in a man’s body.

I love when people ask, "how'd you meet?" I say, "We stained a bed together." Makes you smile, I think. The long, less interesting story is that I was doing a series for the local t.v. station called "Fix My Space." It was kinda like "Trading Spaces," but local. Carpenter Kevin had been lured by an interior designer on the series to be the “Ty Pennington” of the series.

On the second day of the shoot we literally stained a bed together. We talked the entire time about where we grew up, our college days, our careers, how he ended up back on the beach as a cabana boy, and the invention he was working on in the meantime.

Yep, all that was in Day One. A week or so later he called and we had a date for January 3, 2004. It started at 10 that morning and never ended. Really, it never ended. Sometime in the wee hours of the next morning CK went home. But he called later that day, and the next day, and the next, and the next. I gave up sleep to stay up talking to CK. Our conversations were endless.

Those seem so far away now. Not because we don’t have anything in common. Not because we don’t want to talk. Simply because this news woman has a hectic, wacky life. My alarm sounds at 1:15 every morning, and I’m at work ‘til 11. I call CK at the start of his day, just as I’m at the tail end of mine. I kiss him goodnight on Sunday and see him again on Friday. During the in between, I may feel him crawl into bed, or hear him rustle the dishes, but we don’t lay eyes on each other for nearly 5 days. It just doesn’t leave a lot of time for newlyweds to linger over dinner, over candlelight, over each other, or over conversation. I've come to expect, "What's for dinner," and "anything happen in the world today?"

But I miss that lingering conversation. I expected it to continue. There it is, expectation. I expected our conversation to continue despite our schedules. Strike that. I expected that conversation would continue just like the way it had, despite our schedules. That’s what The Cosby Show and the wise women in my life never let on, … if you’re going to set expectations you have to be willing to change them. You set them for the present, then learn to let go of the way it was, so you can cherish the way it is.

So, maybe our expectations started long before our wedding.... I can think of at least one that did.

To be continued.....

Oh, Where to Begin

2010-03-01T05:49:00.000-08:00

If anyone's counting, and I think I have been, Carpenter Kevin and I are just days away from the 8 month mark of our marriage. Mind you, we were five years getting there, so there's not a lot about us that's been a surprise; not as individuals, or even as a couple. But as newlyweds, as 'ol maried folk, let me tell you, that ain't the same story.

I grew up hearing women joke about men, what they did and more importantly did not do.
I went into my relationship not expecting romance forever, not expecting CK to help out around the house, or get up with a crying baby (when and if there is one). I expect CK will not go grocery shopping, won't take care of Christmas gifts for family and will probably forget holidays, my birthday and our anniversary at some point in our lifetime.

What I did not expect were the expectations; the ones he would have of me and the ones I would have of him.

In all those conversations as a young girl, why didn't I listen more closely? Or ask more questions? I feel like my mother, grandmothers and aunts were giving me a message, I just didn't really get it. And if they were toning it down for my young ears, why on earth when I announced my engagement, much to the surprise of those who thought I'd be a single career girl forever, did they not pull me aside and say, "listen, honey, in all seriousness that's all true but here it is in the grown up version."

I knew better than to dream of the Cinderella fairytale, the soap opera story line or the Norah Roberts romance. That was fiction. I'll teach my daughter the same thing. But I at least thought The Cosby Show was real. Growing up that's how my house seemed to me. And it's how I thought CK and I would be; fun, loving, laughing, equals, partners on every level in this journey of marriage.

But when the ring went on the finger, expectations changed; what he expected from me and in all fairness probably what I expected from him. It's automatic. It's innate. And it happened the day after my wedding.

To be continued.....