Rightness in the Mundane

I don't know if he always did it, but for as long as I can remember, my dad wore the same "uniform" to work almost every day. Jeans and a button-up shirt with a white t-shirt underneath. This meant that my mom seemed to be folding white undershirts every single time she did laundry. I can clearly remember helping her fold while we sat on the floor of the family room watching something like The Cosby Show or Family Ties. She never complained that my dad wasn't there folding his own t-shirts, she just took care of what needed to get done and then moved on to the next thing.

I thought of my mom this past week when I found myself creating a stack of Mr. W's undershirts. It was the middle of the day; he was at work; I could hear Barefoot Contessa making something for Jeffrey in the other room. I felt like a strangely merry housewife.

I didn't feel resentful that I was helping with his laundry—something that's become a pretty regular task since he's been working such long hours. I felt almost appreciative. Don't barf, I know it sounds strange and a bit like something a Stepford Wife would say. 

But in that moment, I recognized what might be a similarity between our relationship and my parents': a mutual desire to take care of each other and help the other one out, without expectation. That's how it worked in my house growing up. I don't ever remember my mom nagging my dad to do things or getting mad when she had to do things for him. And the same went for him. They had established a beautifully choreographed dance where they gave and received in unspoken harmony, paying back and paying forward year after year after year. They celebrated their 48th wedding anniversary in February, by the way.

The gratitude I felt while folding that stack of Hanes came from knowing Mr. W and I might hit a marker like that one day if we keep up the dance like my parents have done. And it came just from knowing that if those were my shirts in the dryer, he'd fold them for me, too. He's done it many times.

He wrapped his movie last Thursday, so (for awhile at least) he'll be home with me during the day now. I will still fold his shirts if he needs me to. And although I've given him a few honey-do's to tackle during his hiatus, I know he'd probably take care of stuff all on his own.

We might learn some new give-and-take dance steps being here together every single day. Hopefully we'll both be able to continue finding gratefulness as we go about our little lives.

Because NOT Doing Sparks More Regret Than Doing

A couple months ago, I had my nieces over for a slumber party and shopping trip to The Grove. As we walked toward the entrance of Abercrombie & Fitch, not only was I hit in the face by a wave of store cologne (seriously, when did retailers decide to start assaulting your nasal cavities like that?) I was also blinded by the fleshy six-pack of a young Abercrombie model standing near the doorway.

The nieces became squirrelly immediately.

There was a photographer standing next to the model and when she asked us if we wanted our picture taken with him, I knew the answer. I could have easily said "no thanks" and proceeded on with the girls in tow—they were pretty embarrassed and wanted to just continue shopping. But I knew the feeling of regret that would come with NOT taking advantage of an opportunity like that.

So we posed and smiled; the girls giggling nervously. The poor nineteen-year-old hunk shuddered when I put my arm around him and my frigid elderly hand made contact with his warm, muscular back.

I have the picture on my desk and it makes me laugh every time I see it.

When I was in high school, my aunt took my cousins and me to see a stage production of Grease. I can't even remember where we went or how old I actually was, but I do remember that when given the chance to go up and dance to 50s music on stage, I was to shy and embarrassed to go. And it bugs me to this day.

I hate having regrets.

It is this kind of life experience and emotional wisdom that propelled me into sewing caveman costumes for Mr. W's and my anniversary trip last weekend. I knew if I didn't do it, I would regret it for all eternity.

Aside from the uncomfortable mattress and overly stuffed pillows, the Caveman Room did not disappoint. With rock walls, floor and ceiling, and a leopard-skin bedspread, it definitely had a Flintstonian feel.

Behind the TV, we even had a lovely in-room waterfall. It would have come in handy the evening before (we were staying in a different room that night) when the couple two doors down from us screamed at each other and slammed their door a dozen times around midnight. We could have used the running water to drown out the sound. Or perhaps try to drown them.

I was most impressed by the two wood-carved clubs that rested in iron holsters on either side of the bed. When we first checked into the room, I went to the bathroom and when I came out, Mr. W was lying on the bed with a club slung over his shoulder.

The Caveman Room's greatest amenity, however, may be its motion-sensor waterfall urinal. The Madonna Inn is actually famous for its waterfall urinal in the main lobby. But lucky us, we had our very own.

In spite of his feelings of mortification and possibly sheer terror, Mr. W humored my craziness and agreed to wear his outfit (after a whole day of wine tasting). I think deep down, he knew if he didn't, he would regret it forever.

Although we took several pictures together, wielding our wooden clubs, here is the only photographic evidence I have been authorized to share:

  

As my mother would say, "TMI." Happy Friday! Don't not-do anything you'd regret this weekend!

Ooga Booga and Other Caveman Anniversary Sentiments

I am pre-writing and scheduling this so that it posts while Mr. W and I are on the road. See, I don't want him to know about the sneaky (and likely to be terrifying) surprise I have for our one-year wedding anniversary trip to San Luis Obispo this weekend.

Right around the time of our ceremony last year, Mr. W informed me that he had booked The Caveman Room at the Madonna Inn (where we got engaged) for our first anniversary. I cannot believe it's already time for the trip. The last 365 days have absolutely flown by. 

I made a joke back then about how The Caveman Room (yes, I believe it warrants initial caps) would not be complete without costumery. So I got to work figuring out how I could possibly construct a loincloth for my poor, darling, shy husband.

A couple weeks ago, I remembered that I had more than one article of leopard-print clothing in my Halloween bin in the garage. So I rifled through it one day, found a dress and a skirt (both velvet, tres chic) and cut and sewed them into proper caveman and woman attire.

Mr. W is probably going to have a stroke when I whip these out of my suitcase.

Even if I can get him drunk enough to put on the homemade Tarzan Banana Hammock, (again, initial caps totally necessary there) I will not be posting pictures. You all can just use your imagination.

Have a great weekend!

 

Taking Inventory

When I worked at the coffeehouse in college, one of my oh-so-important managerial duties was to handle the weekly inventory of pastries, coffee, to-go supplies and retail goods. My parents had purchased their very first PC at home, so I laid out spreadsheets on the computer and took them into work to make my task more official and efficient.

Sure, there were days when we would find ourselves devoid of blueberry bagels, or running to the store for more dijon mustard, but for the most part, me and my sheets kept everything well stocked and running smoothly.

Last weekend, I found myself thinking of those old days as I pored over our pantry contents and wrote up my grocery list. Again, I am the taker of inventory. With Mr. W working such crazy hours, it is my sole responsibility to make sure our kitchen runs smoothly.

But how about our marriage? Should we have an inventory checklist there as well?

I think the answer is Yes.

Next Monday is our one-year anniversary. I can't believe how quickly the year has passed, yet when I think back to that special day, it feels like an eternity ago. And when I open our relationship cupboards and start tallying up the contents, I'm happy to say we seem to be balancing supply and demand quite well.

If I take a step back and look at an even wider perspective of my life, I can see that I'm also amply stocked when it comes to family, friends, free time, creative projects, house projects, and new dining experiences. The travel column could probably use a couple more tic marks in it. And although exercise is happening regularly, I could certainly do more—particularly because my circle of activity every day exists within the space between our driveway and backyard. Money could use a little restocking, as well, but right now I'm willing to trade smaller checks for bigger chunks of downtime.

Just as the coffeehouse depended on me to keep it filled and functioning, I think I have a personal responsibility to keep my life full and humming with the things that make me happy. I'm the only one who can see when supplies are running low, and I'll only notice if I regularly complete my inventory sheets. Thankfully, I've learned how to keep track of them in my head instead of having to deal with those pesky Excel documents.

In the Depths

Wonderful on the surface

is a perfect

place to start.

Pushing

the boundaries

of kindness

to find

just how much

you can impart.

You learn how deep

love runs, though,

when grief

comes through

your door.

You trace its chains

to an immobile

anchor that's

cleaved itself into

your core.

And suddenly

your arms

long for the strength

to squeeze

away his pain.

You hold him tighter—

a futile attempt—

to silence

hurt's refrain.

Unsure if the tears

that dampen your cheek

came from his

tired eyes

or your own,

you realize that

this parallel ache

is something stronger

than you've

ever known.

And there in the dark,

in humbled awe,

you welcome

the caregiving chore.

You surrender

to the burn of certainty

you’ve never felt

love so boundless

before.

A Post for Yiayia

Seven years ago this spring, I was helping decorate for a surprise party for my sister-in-law when I got the call that my beloved Grandma Hetherington had passed away. Although she had been in the hospital with a pulmonary embolism, she was recuperating in a nursing home and expected to make a full recovery. It came as a shock to the whole family when she threw another clot and didn't make it.

Grandma H. was always a kick in the pants, so it seemed like the right thing to carry on with the party that night and be together as a family, not just celebrating the birthday of my sister-in-law, but also the life of a quick-witted lady we all adored.

I remember, after the initial wave of sadness washed over, feeling immense gratitude that night. I wonder now if it was just some sort of coping mechanism kicking into gear. But I felt overwhelmed and eternally grateful for having had time with her (I was in between jobs then) before she was gone. I was so lucky to take in those last stories and cheeky puns.

When my dear Grandma P. died two years later, there was a slow decline leading up to it, so my thankfulness felt more spread out over a number of months. I hung on to every conversation in the nursing home. Even if they were disjointed, they were gems. I wore her jewelry more often. I made sure my schedule had me stopping by to see her a couple times a week. By the time she stopped being able to talk to all of us, I was ready for her suffering to end and I had prepared to let her go.

It was hard to lose these women who had helped raise me and had been my single gal pals at so many holidays after my grandfathers passed away.

But then in late 2008, I met a new grandma. Mr. Wonderful's sweet, Greek Yiayia.

We visited her on our first trip to St. Louis together and I was in love immediately. She hugged me and kissed me a million times, telling me how happy she was that I was dating her grandson. In what I assume is traditional Greek grandma fashion, she asked us at least a dozen times if we were hungry, each time rattling off a different snack she had to offer. She took us into her bedroom and yanked open drawers, revealing stacks of hand-crocheted doilies and other knit items. She insisted that I take with me an apron she had sewn, and sent Mr. W with a bedspread-sized handmade afghan. Being in her presence filled a little space inside me that had been empty for a year and a half.

On a subsequent visit, I got to try a lemon-orzo soup she makes that is now one of my favorites. Actually, a lot of her cooking skills were passed straight to Mr. W, so there are probably a lot of favorites I have that can be attributed back to her.

In September of 2010, Mr. W and I visited St. Louis again and Yiayia taught him how to make baklava so that we could hand it out as the favors at our wedding. Yia wasn't feeling well enough to travel for the ceremony, so it meant a lot to at least have her recipe there with us.

That's our wedding venue above, and if you look on the napkins you can see all the packages of baklava Mr. W made, thanks to the tutelage of his grandma.
 

Because she couldn't make the trip out, we had Mr. W's dad Skype the ceremony to her and other St. Louis relatives over his iPhone. We hoped it was almost like being there.

When we visited Yiayia again this past October, she was tired but so glad to see us and look through the book of wedding pictures we had for her. She was full of hugs and kisses, as usual, and I think she referred to Mr. W by her favorite pet name, "my best boy."

Last weekend we got word that Yiayia had taken a turn for the worst, and we found out this morning that she passed away.

My heart is broken for Mr. W and the entire family. They have lost an irreplaceable matriarch. But on the edge of that sadness is the same feeling of gratitude I had when my grandmas passed. I am so lucky to have met such a precious soul. I will be forever grateful for the chance to know Yiayia.

Spreading the Love

It may have been the residual effects of reading about Janice's Nurture Project back in November, or possibly the adorableness of this pillow on Etsy:

But I got it in my head that this year I was going to make some homemade Valentines and send them out to a handful of single-ish girlfriends. So last Friday morning I busted out my wicked craft skills and got to work making these:

I know how much I enjoy receiving cards and letters in the mail, and I just wanted to give that feeling to a few others.

Sadly, my Valentine-making skills were put to use again later in the weekend when I chose to participate in an "I Care" initiative that my hometown put together. On Friday afternoon, a 15-year-old boy took his own life on the campus of my niece's high school. The same school where my siblings and I went. The same school my mom graduated from in its very first senior class. My heart broke for the boy, his family, my niece, my school and my beloved town.

In an effort to do something to try to ease the pain, a card-making program was born. The cards will be delivered to the high school's students and alumni today.

I made a dozen.

Assembling both sets of cards got me thinking about how important it is to let people know you're thinking about them all year long. As commercialized as Hallmark is, I appreciate how they've encouraged us all to regularly remind one another that we care.

I hope the people who open my cards know I do.

Happy Valentine's Day, blog readers.

The Best Marriage Advice I Ever (Indirectly) Got

 

 The coastline near Carmel, CA 12/28/11

It must have been six, maybe seven years ago that I heard it. I believe I was at a friend's wedding shower when either the mothers of the bride and groom—or perhaps all of us—were asked to offer up our marital advice. The bride's mom told her that she and her husband should make it a point to take vacations alone together, especially after they had children. Whether it was once a month, once a quarter or once a year, she promised it would help the couple stay close.

Although it seemed like a somewhat obvious practice to employ, this idea stuck with me. And now that I'm nine months into matrimonial bliss, I can see why it's so necessary.

 Pacific Grove, CA 12/29/11

 

Even when you don't have children, even when you don't have a job, it's easy to get disconnected from your partner. You begin to take him for granted, and amidst kisses, you find yourself mentally adding an item to your grocery list. As you sit side-by-side on the couch, you discover that you're both so engrossed in your laptops, you forget the other person is there. Clutter fills your head day and night, and although you have plenty of moments where you recognize and appreciate the person you married, you find yourself continually bombarded by thoughts, people and activities that distract you from him. 

 A river off Highway 1 near Big Sur, CA 12/30/11

One of the things I love most about travel, in general, is how it forces you to be in the moment. You're usually in somewhat unfamiliar surroundings, so you have to be more alert; pay more attention to sights, sounds and smells. You're taking everything in, all of the time.

 Big Sur, CA 12/30/11

Travel with the object of your affection causes this alertness to spill over into your interaction with him (or her). You catch yourself smiling at him when he's not looking. You talk about the nuances of your wine and the flavor of your meal and your shared plans for the future, without the relentless mental tug of the dishes in the kitchen sink or the birthday card you need to send.

Getting away together forces you to be in the moment together.

Elephant seals near San Simeon, CA 12/30/11

I know I'm still a novice when it comes to this whole marriage thing, but the woman who I heard dole out the vacation advice has been married for at least three and a half decades. I think she knows her stuff. And I think I'm learning already how right she was with her recommendation.

The key to experienceing the wonderful side of wedlock may just be locked up in a hotel room somewhere along the Central Coast of California.

  

The sunset over Santa Rita Valley, CA 12/30/11

This post is dedicated to a friend who is celebrating something very special this weekend. I hope she reads this and knows who she is.

It's a Body Image Bonanza Over Here, Ya'll

After reading my last post, Geekhiker sent me an email with the following response:

"You totally mis-quoted me in your post. My point was not that it was "easy" for you. My point was that you can't dismiss those qualities as having been to your advantage. Would Mr. W have fallen for you, or gone out with you, if you looked like a 300 lb Hunchback of Notre Dame? Would you have fallen for him if that's what he looked like, and he melted in a gasping, sweaty puddle 100 feet into a hike?"

[He also went on to say that obviously other factors play a role (intelligence, education, etc.) and that the idea of manifestation may be only one small component. But I'm not tackling that part of the conversation right now...] 

In yesterday's post, I wasn't meaning to say that physical appearance had NO bearing whatsoever on one's dating life. The human race likes eye candy; most of our Presidents have been tall; studies show that attractive people fare better in interviews; etc. I know how things work in our society. BUT I still believe that if you accept your perceived shortcomings and learn to love yourself, you will discover there's someone out there who finds you just as lovable.

It's not about striving to nab a Ryan Gosling look-alike, it's about finding someone whose whole package fits with your whole package. (Yes, there are a dozen dirty jokes in that last sentence...)

So if Mr. W or I had been 300-pound hunchbacks, we may not have attracted each other, but if we were happy, confident hunchbacks, I believe 100% that we could have each attracted other mates who fit well with us. If we had moped around lamenting the fact that we were overweight and had bad scoliosis, I doubt anyone would have wanted to spend time with us. But I think a smile, eye contact and a good attitude go a long, long way.

The bottom line is, most of us are not hunchbacks. Most of us aren't growing our twin out of our face or have black, hairy moles covering 7/10 of our chins. Most of us have small hangups—some of which only we will ever notice. Most of us (as Mr. W mentioned in his comment on my last post) need to lighten up and have fun. And if we spent more time focusing on our cute dimples instead of our muffintops, we would probably feel more deserving of finding our matches and put out the kind of irresistible energy that attracts people to us.

Steve Buscemi, Paul Giamatti and Hillary Clinton are all married. None of them fit the stereotypical confines of what society thinks is attractive, but they all found love at some point in their lives. Could it be that they focused more on their talent, their smarts, their charisma?

I'm not saying you have to embrace every little thing about yourself and call it a miracle from heaven. It's ok to use Crest White Strips and wrinkle cream. It's okay to go to the gym to try to trim your thighs. But if you let all that stuff hold you back from how you think of yourself, ya might have some problems finding someone who wholly embraces you.

Geekhiker is completely right about one thing: If Mr. W had "melted in a gasping, sweaty puddle 100 feet into a hike," I probably would not have been attracted to him. But that's because hiking is a huge part of my life. In order to fully enjoy a relationship, I need someone who can share that with me. That's the kind of stuff that is more important to me than looks. 

Looks will fade over time. Hiking skills can last forever. Even when you're a hunchback.

Getting What You Believe You Deserve

When I was in D.C. last month and met up with my friend Geekhiker, a couple beers in the hotel bar led us into a rather intense conversation about dating and relationships. I, of course, started in on my beliefs that individuals create their love lives based on the kind of thoughts and energy they project into the world. What you put out comes back to you. Like attracts like. Focusing on what you DON'T want will likely draw that right to you. Yadda, yadda go read "The Secret" and "The Power of Intention."

After I reminded GH that I am convinced this mode of thinking is what brought Mr. Wonderful and I together, he came back at me with something to the effect of, "it was easy for you because you're thin and blonde."

This has been eating at me ever since.

First of all, weight and hair color do not automatically make you some sort of siren with the menfolks. There are a multitude of other necessary components, many of which I did not have figured out for a long time. Also, for the record, my teeth are off-center, I have freakishly long toes, my voice could belong to a muppet and, as we all know, sometimes my tongue smells. But all that aside, my biggest issue when dating was that I lacked confidence.

I was so concerned with all the flaws in the list above and so worried that I wasn't worldly enough or smart enough or just ENOUGH that I put out a vibe that screamed "I'm afraid I'll never find a man to love me!" And guess what: for a long time, I had a hell of a time finding a man who loved me!

It wasn't until I accepted who I was, got really comfortable with what I had to offer and what I was looking for in a partner, and started believing I WOULD find him that I actually had luck—and ultimately met the man of my dreams.

When I was single, a friend's father once told me, "You get what you believe you deserve," and now I see how dead on he was.

Believe in your heart of hearts that you deserve everything you desire, and you'll figure out a way to get it—whether you believe in manifesting or not. But if, on some level, you don't think you're worthy; if you question whether you're deserving of true happiness, I don't know that you will ever find it.

Remember what our moms all used to tell us: you can't love someone else until you learn to love yourself. And part of that loving is knowing the happiness you want  will come to you. Even if your tongue stinks and you have monkey feet.

11.11.11

What a neat date it is on the calendar, right?

Today is actually more than just a cool day for me. It's Mr. Wonderful's and my 4th anniversary of our very first date. Sadly, Mr. W has to celebrate all alone this year because I'm on vacation with my family. Although he might have mentioned something about this anniversary not counting anymore anyway because now we have a wedding anniversary to observe instead.

But it's been 4 years! FOUR YEARS.

That's crazy long. I always think about how high school is four years. And college (for most people...I was on the 5-year plan). At the time, that felt like an eternity. But now, years just fly by. I wonder if my parents who have been married for almost 48 years feel like it has flown by.

In our 1461 days together (there's a leap year in there, right?) we have done more than I've ever done with any other person I've ever known in my life. We've traveled to 10 countries, we've run a half marathon and completed a Muddy Buddy race, we've tried making cheese, we're in the process of trying to make wine, we've flown - just the two of us - in a teeny tiny plane, we've ridden on a motorcycle together, we've rowed around a pond in a rowboat, we've rollerbladed at the beach, we've both gone topless in a foreign country, and we've laughed almost every day we've been in each other's company. Not bad for two goofy control freaks.

Mr. W, I'm very sorry that I'm not with you to celebrate this now non-anniversary.

Thanks for helping me make that list up there nice and long. I look forward to assembling another one four years from now.

Happy 11.11.11!
XO

Where Would I Be Without Yahoo!?

Tomorrow is my last day at work, which means I've been spending lots of time reflecting on the past 6 1/2 years. When I came on as a freelance copywriter at Yahoo! in April 2004, my intention was to stay through my 3-month contract and then bounce on to something else. But 3 months turned into 6 and then 7 and when my boss offered me a full-time position, I couldn't resist. I had drunk the purple Kool-Aid and wanted to be a part of one of the Web's most beloved teams of underdogs.

Flash forward to the beginning of this year when my department got ravaged again by another layoff, and I was beginning to feel like it might be time for me to move on and drink Kool-Aid elsewhere. Changes and uncertainty and decisions I didn't always agree with had colored my opinion. But it wasn't lost on me that without this job, I would not be where I am in my life right now.

You see, working here enabled me to pay for trips to 10 European countries, it allowed me to realize my long-held dream of living abroad for a bit, it taught me more than I ever wanted to know about search engine marketing, it helped me buy a house last year, it connected me with dozens of really cool people, and most importantly, it's the reason I met Mr. Wonderful.

Yup, Yahoo! gets credit for my marriage.

It was the fall of 2007 and I'd been out to dinner with a friend and had a smidge too much wine. When I came home, I wandered onto Yahoo! Personals...just to see what the inventory was looking like. I had no intention of signing up. In fact, I'd sworn off online dating after my previous relationship. But when I saw a hot coworker on there, I decided to create an account and send him a message. (Remember, I was in a wine haze. I'm fully aware of the don't sh*t where you eat rule). I innocently asked him if he worked in the Yahoo! Burbank building and didn't say much beyond that, because I didn't want him to think I was a stalker.

He never wrote back.

And yes, it was embarrassing to wonder if he recognized me when I saw him in the hall now and then.

But the next day, I got a message from another hot little number from Hollywood. And now, 4 years later, we're happily locked in wed.

I got choked up this morning when I was driving to the office. As much as I'm ready for the change, it's sad to say goodbye.

So one last thank you to Yahoo! for helping make my life what it is. Dear company, you will be missed.

In Distance and in Closeness, for Richer and for Poorer

I was planning to write a post about some dismal thoughts I had a couple weeks ago. The distance between Hollywood (where I am) and London (where Mr. W is) was beginning to weigh heavily on me, and I caught myself thinking, This isn't marriage.

Marriage is about two people being together. Not apart.

Then I thought about military wives. And how I have nothing to whine about. Military wives actively participate in marriages where togetherness is impossible for long durations of time. Military wives have to worry that their husbands may never come home to them. Military wives are rockstars.

I then realized that surviving distance is exactly what marriage is about. It should be one of the worst-case scenarios covered in the vows. In sickness and in health, in close proximity and in differing time zones. Commitment is commitment even when external factors complicate it.

I thought I had a clearer perspective on marriage.

And then today I found out that my entire team at work is being laid off.

And that really gave me perspective on marriage.

Of course, Mr. W was the first person I contacted after I found out the news. After asking me if I was okay, he made a joke about us moving to Tuscany. Then he assured me that I didn't need to worry. He would be there for me. My soft place to land.

When I was laid off from my advertising job in 2003, my family and friends were really wonderful and forthcoming with their support. I knew I could turn to them. But there's something really incredible about having a husband to turn to this time. A partner I know I can count on. I really do love this whole marriage thing...

Great Expectations (That Mr. W Will Be Home Sooner Than Later)

I'm starting to worry more and more that I'm on the verge of descending into a Miss Havisham fit, wriggling into my wedding dress and not taking it off until Mr. Wonderful comes home from London. I'll waltz around our house with a glass of warm chardonnay in my hand and mascara streaks down my cheeks, lamenting my lost love.

When he first found out he had to go back, I thought it would be less than 7 weeks; that he'd return by Labor Day. But now it may be closer to 8 1/2. And when you're on the brink of Havishaming, every day counts.

I find myself trying to quantify the time in smaller increments. It's only 4-5 more trash days. 3 or 4 Sunday dinners. 2 paychecks.

But oh how the days drag on...

It's not that I'm not keeping busy. I've jam-packed my social calendar. I have chores and hobbies up the wazoo. But no matter how many hours I spend with Etsy creations, blogging, running, girls' nights or family meetups, the clock still seems to be moving at a snail's pace.

And as my friend GeekHiker recently pointed out, sometimes you end up feeling MORE lonely when you're around other people. A night of solitude in front of the TV feels like a choice. It's easier to rationalize. But when you're alone and other people are around, you miss YOUR people. It's like the difference between them and your person is amplified and makes you feel the absence ten times more intensely.

I guess like training for a race, I just have to keep running through the pain. Just keep on going and try not to count the miles or minutes.

In the meantime, I'm going to go slip into my wedding gown and smear my lipstick a little. Just to see if insanity feels better than the missing.

Varying Philosophies on Phalange Mingling

That's us holding hands while we're getting married.
See, hand-holding is serious business.

The first time I can remember holding a boy's hand was at the Homecoming dance my junior year of high school. Sure, I'd kissed boys before him. But I don't recall ever holding another's hand until that night. His fingers felt strange laced between mine. And I was certain that things between us were really going somewhere because we had taken that step together.

Flash forward almost 20 years, and I'm married to a pair of hands now. A pair that disagrees with me on what it means to interlock fingers.

Mr. Wonderful and I got into a spirited debate recently about the significance of holding hands. To him, it's just a regular old gesture you make when you're dating—like opening a girl's car door.

To me, it's much more.

I even wrote a post around the subject after the first time Mr. W held my hand in 2007.

I always felt like hand-holding was a declaration. Much like I tried to hold in the words I love you so I wasn't the first to say them, I also held back on hand-grabbing until my Mr. made the move first. It felt coupley and I didn't want to be the first to proclaim boyfriend-girlfriend-hood by doing it.

I think it's possible to kiss someone you're dating—or even sleep with them—and not have it mean as much as when you publicly hold their hand.

Mr. W thinks I'm crazy. Just as I harassed him for running his hands all over town like ten-fingered hussies, he had a cow (hello '80s throwback) when I said I might sleep with someone before ever holding their hand.

Where do you guys stand on this topic? Which one of the Wonderfuls is the crazy person? I'll be keeping a tally of your responses...

The Science of Certainty

If I'm going to start a blog about my relationship with Mr. Wonderful, I really should start at the beginning. Which goes back before I even met him.

See, I don't think it was just luck or fate or coincidence that we found each other.

I believe it was science.

Oprah likes to talk about the third law of physics to explain it. According to Wikipedia, this law states that "The mutual forces of action and reaction between two bodies are equal, opposite and collinear." Every action has an opposite and equal reaction. Or, what you put out will come back at you as an equal force and an equal energy—positive or negative.

Before I met Mr. Wonderful back in the fall of 2007, I made a conscious decision to put certain things out into the Universe. I believed that what I put out would not only shape WHAT but WHO came back to me. So I did a lot of thinking about who exactly it was that I wanted heading my direction. I made lists. I made a collage. If you've ever read The Secret, you know this drill.

But more importantly, I focused on who I was. I worked on being my best, most authentic self. During the 3 years leading up to Mr. W's arrival in my life, I took some big risks (quitting my job and ultimately landing in a much better one), I tested my physical limits (beginning to run and doing a 17-mile hike to climb Half Dome in Yosemite) and I dug deep into the cracks in my psyche and self esteem (hello, Therapy, I heart you).

I wanted to make sure the Me I projected was a Me I was proud of. By the time Mr. W and I met, I was in a great place. I was ready for him. I knew who he would be and I trusted myself enough to identify him. This was something I didn't have in the past. That ability to discern.

The reason I feel the need to talk about this is that I believe other people can do the same thing I did and end up with just as much happiness. I think anyone can concoct the right recipe for this kind of wonderful.

I also think that Mr. W and I can project goodness out into the world to create the life we want moving forward. And maybe this new blog will help document some of that.