I had this post all composed yesterday, but then a bunch of stuff happened, and I ended up having to shut down my computer without saving it. I'm kind of bummed, because that post was better than this one, or at least more sappy. It wasn't done, though, and there is no fast way to write a post about seven years of marriage.
Yesterday was my anniversary. Today is my parent's anniversary. Happy anniversary, Ma and Pa!
Seven years ago, my husband and I stood on a white sand beach in St. Pete Beach, Florida, and exchanged vows. We were 27. At the time, that seemed old to be getting married. (I live in the Midwest, remember.) Now, I can't believe anyone let me DRIVE at age 27, let alone get married. My generation gets married older, has babies older. My parents got married when they were near the same age, but for their generation, they were OLD. Funny how times change. Maybe by the time the little angel grows up, kids'll be getting married right out of high school again - why not, when you can download your college degree onto your iPod?
I remember when we first got married, after a weekend spent driving to Iowa and back (there were many more of them then than there are now), we'd have to each go our separate ways for a few hours on Sunday night. Too much togetherness. We got on each other's nerves. That doesn't really happen as often now, and I think it's because we've had to learn not to annoy each other, because with the little angel around, we have to be together more often. There is no more running off to the gym or sinking into an entire afternoon of napping and sports on TV when we're feeling pissy. There is no more avoidance. We've learned to make adjustments so coexisting is easier. We've learned to step out of the way in the bathroom proactively instead of bumping into each other and swearing.
There have definitely been some hard times, recent hard times, but the hard times overcome make the relationship sweeter. I knew when I married my husband that he was funny and smart and strong and kind, but I didn't realize he would be so resilient, so handy, and so comforting.
Yesterday I had a bad day. There was a bad conversation, followed by a big dose of stress and a bunch of things left unaccomplished. I started leaking tears on the way out of work. S. and The Editor Across the Aisle sent me home instead of to a birthday happy hour that I wasn't supposed to attend anyway, because I was supposed to go home for my anniversary dinner, but I was feeling guilty about missing the birthday and feeling guilty about the bad conversation and not getting my beloved a fabulous anniversary gift even though we said we weren't going to and did I mention I'm always a little upset about things during the ides of the month?
So I drove home. Made a few calls. Cut off my beloved to take a call from my best friend, who I know is better at listening to me vent than Beloved is (he is great, but he IS a man). By the time I got home, I thought he'd be pissed, because instead of being in a great and loving mood on our anniversary, I was strung out and stressed. I pulled in to see him and the little angel getting out of the car, carrying roses.
Seven years ago, he would've been pissed. Yesterday, he recognized that I was just having a bad day and in need of a little pick-me-up. Of course, I melted, and felt bad that I hadn't gotten him anything.
"Ha ha," he said. "I won." And he walked outside to light the grill.
Seven years. Some itchy, some not. Getting better all the time.
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