On Marriage

Dear Story,

When I was a teenager listening to Crowded House on my walkman, I would close my eyes and create a music video of my wedding day. There was a white dress and gorgeous bridesmaids and a four tiered cake. There was a church overflowing with people, big hair, my father beaming with pride and lots of speeches about me. Of course, nowhere in my hazy teenage fantasy was a husband. My dream of marriage was all about the wedding. How foolish of me to not dream of the best part.

Just a few months ago, your father, his friend Mike, and your Uncle Georg moved our entire home into the back of a Penske truck. In 97 degree heat. With no AC. And it took 10 hours. While the boys ran up and down the stairs with loads of our life in their arms, I lay down next to you on the floor of our tiny bathroom and soothed your nervous cries.

"It's going to be all right," I told you.

Daddy worked hard, sweating until salt stained his shirt, occasionally knocking on the door to check on us and ask how I would like something packed.

“Hey honey, we taking that green vase?”

“Hell yes we are taking that green vase. I moved it down her from New York. It’s the only vase we have that can hold sunflowers.”

“We have about twenty-six vases already packed, but whatever.”

“Double wrap it in newspaper and then bubble wrap it and put it in one of those long boxes. Seal it on top with the clear tape. You listening to me, it has to be the clear tape. Then I want you to label it with one of the labels I printed last night that says glass, fragile. Make sure the label is on the top of the box, that’s very important. And be careful, it’s glass. Mark it glass, okay?”

I'm a bit of a micro manager. Okay, I'm a complete freak if things aren't done exactly the way I think that they should be done. Somehow your Daddy still loves me despite this. In fact, despite the many arguments about how many pieces of newspaper are adequate to properly pack a coffee cup, despite my tendency to start every other sentence with “can I make a suggestion?”, despite my exhaustive reminders that we only use the bubble wrap on colored glass items, your Daddy listened and didn't throw up his hand and walk out on us.

I know he listened, because somewhere around hour five of moving day, I heard a glass break and found my husband standing over the remains of one of my candle hurricanes.

I expected an eye roll and a "Great, one less thing to pack”. But instead, I got “Baby, I'm so sorry. Seriously. So sorry honey.”

He looked up at me, eyes tired from no sleep and a late night packing, legs dripping sweat because I sold the AC unit one day too early. My heart swelled with love. Oh sweet man, how could I be mad at you for anything right now. You are packing and moving my things.

And that is when it hit me. I've moved ten times in the last ten years, and always it was my responsibility to get it all done. These were my things and my sleepless nights. But these aren't my things anymore. And I never have to move alone again. I am no longer alone.

Don’t get me wrong sweet Story, your mother is no stranger to loneliness. I was pleasantly alone for 36 years of my life and happy for most. Both your father and I still love a languid lonely afternoon. But being with your Daddy has made me feel full in a way that I never imagined. I love knowing I am always part of a team, even when I’m by myself at the coffee shop or driving you to swim lessons or sitting in a meeting. I love the sweet comfort of mutual respect. I love the way your Daddy brings his creative touch to even the smallest of gestures. He takes such care with his quirky fun greeting cards. I love having someone to hold the camera while I pose for a photo to commemorate one of our wild adventures. I love that someone else has the same memories that I do. I love having a reason to make fancy dinners, and that he always does the dishes. I love Daddy’s bursts of energy that end with us in a car, on a road, to somewhere exciting, with not a care in the world. I love that your Daddy understands me. When I ask him to buy Crest sensitive toothpaste and they don’t have it in stock, he doesn’t just buy the regular stuff. I love that even when I am bitter or jealous or lazy and controlling, he doesn’t walk away. Your daddy is a man of great character, unwavering in his honesty, unafraid to grow from seeing his bad parts, unabashed in his love for his family. Marrying your Daddy made me feel like I won the lottery.

A year ago today, I was married in the Rose Garden behind Independence Hall, under the shade of a spruce tree. My husband wore a navy blue suit, accented with an orange dahlia in his lapel. I wore a strapless beige gown I got for half price at Neiman Marcus Last Call. The dress wasn’t white, we had cupcakes instead of a cake, and we opted for a park instead of a church. I was five months pregnant with you and it rained most the night. My bridesmaids were beautiful, so many special friends and family members blessed us with their presence, my sisters danced with my brothers, my mother and father both made sweet speeches, and there were lots of special details. My husband held me in his arms as we danced to our song, gently touching my elbows while he whispered the words in my ear. It was perfectly ‘us’. But my favorite part of the wedding was the man at the end of the aisle and the marriage born in that moment.

Love, Mama

Happy Birthday Husband!

Dear Husband:

I know you didn't want me to do anything for your birthday. You said, "No parties and don't spend any money." But how could I let your birthday pass without showing you how much I love you. Without reminding you that you are special. Without doing my best to make you feel appreciated.

So I bought a few special things I knew you wanted.

I invited over two of your most favorite people.

We ordered Five Guys.

I baked a cake.

You opened your first gift from your baby girl.

I think you had a nice birthday. Even though you didn't want anything special.

Baby, you should know by now, I don't let holidays of any kind pass without a fuss. And you are too remarkable not to spoil. Even though we don't have much - we have each other. And this is what families are all about.

Happy 34th Birthday husband. Hope your "do over" was even better than the first.

Me

The Great Condiment Challenge

In exactly 35 days my family is leaving Philadelphia. Life has been so hectic, I have barely had time to think about the significance of this move. There was the baby’s three month birthday, Mother’s Day, Elizabeth’s bridal shower and my husband’s birthday. And now that I have time to breathe, it hits me. Philadelphia will no longer be our home in exactly 35 days.

I moved here reluctantly. My firm wanted me to work with a Philadelphia based client so I dragged my overnight bag down on the Amtrak. Well now it’s been four years. And in those four years, I’ve grown up so much.

In the last four years I took the time to really get to know some good people, I fell in love, matured professionally, made more money than I ever thought possible, got fired, lost my first mature relationship, started my own company, survived on less money than I ever thought possible, fell back in love, got pregnant, got engaged, had a wedding, found out my husband got into Anderson’s MBA program, nurtured my women friendships, and had a baby. That’s a lot of shit in four years.

At moments, it seems more than I can process. These are the times when I focus my energy on the logistics of the move. Instead of thinking about the women that held my hand on my wedding day and my baby after she was born, I’ve taped off the living room to present the measurements of the Penske rental truck. Instead of walking down all the alleyways filled with memories of stolen kisses and clacking high heels, I’ve ordered padded boxes for my mirrors. Instead of being present in all the AA meetings that got me though the highs and lows over the past four years, I’ve made 'to do' lists. It just seems easier to linger on the things I can control.

It seems like every time I move, I painfully shed a little more weight from my past. I trim down my furniture, I clean out my files, I send bags of clothes and memories to the Goodwill. But after ten moves in the past ten years, I’ve whittled down my belongings to the essential and the 'too meaningful with which to part'. How much more weight from my past am I ready to shed? And where do I even begin?

My husband looked around the house and said, “Let’s just throw it all away and start fresh.”

I held back tears and reminded him, “These are MY things. I know they don’t mean much to you, but I’ve been collecting them for years and they are special to ME. I’ve already thrown away so much of it since we met.” He sighed and rolled his eyes.

"You can start with the fridge!" He said.

I opened the fridge and stared at all the condiments we had collected. My husband leaned in closely, “I’m not moving anything that requires refrigeration.”

He stepped out of the kitchen and I remained behind to stare at the jelly's that my husband and I bought at a farm while visiting my Aunt and Uncle in the Berks, fish Sauce for that time we tried to replicate the soup from David Mae Law Wah’s, six kinds of dipping sauce that we bought for the nuggets we served at my husbands 32nd birthday party.

“Use it or lose it,” he called from the bedroom.

I hate to waste things. So the condiment challenge begins. My family is leaving Philadelphia in exactly 35 days. How many bottles can I empty before we depart? And does anyone have any recipes for horseradish jelly?

Date Night (8 Days Left)

Tonight’s post will be short and sweet because my evening has been hijacked by my loving husband who decided to whisk me away for a surprise date night.

“I’ll pick you up at 3:30,” he said.

“You know we live in the same house, right?”

“Just be ready,” he told me. And at 3:30, he knocked on the door.

We walked to the center of our beautiful city, and stood staring up at City Hall. In June, Gabe and I made a list of all the things we wanted to do in Philadelphia before we moved and at the top of that list was to see the city from the City Hall Tower. Trouble is, you have to get an appointment well in advance. And well, we don’t really do advance. So all we have ever been able to do is stare up at the tower and wonder about its magnificent views. But not today. My sweet husband had arranged for us to take the very last tiny little elevator up to the tower and have the entire observation deck to ourselves to watch the sunset.

It was gorgeous, the sunlight glistening off the buildings and casting the rooftops in a golden glow. We marveled at the city stretched beneath us. The security guard that took us up in the elevator insisted that if I went into labor tonight we had to name our little girl Penny after William Penn. Thankfully, I haven’t gone into labor just yet.

We left the tower and wandered over to the Comcast center where we explored the new food court. We ate hoagies and French Fries. I told Gabe that ever since I had seen the Cosby show I had wanted to get a real Philly Hoagie and he said, “That was filmed in Philly?”

At one point, he leaned over the table and spoke in a hushed voice, “God, I have the most beautiful wife.”

I blushed.

We left the gourmet food court and stopped off at the Sony store to play the new Wild Things video game on Sony PlayStation. We walked home, only stopping along the way at Di Bruno Brothers to pick up cheese for a massive cheese platter we assembled when we got home. We took our time in the store, tasting every cheese sample and reading the labels on all the various fig jam spreads. He has a thing for fig jam.

While we were walking through the park, he took my gloved hand and kissed it gently as if I were something delicate and precious. As if I weren't so ginormous that I couldn't zip my winter coat.

When we got home, we ran a hot bath. We lit candles like couples do in the movies and took a long soak. It was an effort just lowering the extra 20 pounds of my achey 39 week pregnant body into the water and not displacing half the tub onto the bathroom floor. He sang along with songs on the XM radio, told me stories and gave me all the best details from his daily blog reads.

Afterwards, Gabe lit a fire in the living room, I assembled the grand cheese platter, and we sat in front of the fire playing Gin Rummy. I won six hands to his four and scored three times as many points. Yet he still loves me enough to be arranging some surprise for me in the bedroom before we go to bed.

I don’t know how many date nights we have in store for us in the upcoming months, so I’m really glad we got this last one in before the baby’s arrival. And I couldn’t be more grateful for a man who knows exactly what makes me happy. Sometimes, I can't believe that someone so giving, so creative, so humble and so handsome, loves me.

I got lucky when I found him.

Sometimes I forget how really great I’ve got it.