It's now forty minutes into our anniversary and because I've been drinking with one of our closest friends, I'm feeling sentimental. Because she and I have been talking about weddings, anniversaries, babies, and marriage, I'm feeling like the luckiest woman ever. And because it's only been one glass of wine, I'm feeling just fine and can still spell. But because I'm a lightweight, one glass is enough for me to share how I feel about you with anyone on the internet who might read it (yeah, hey Leslie, Sara and Kimi. And maybe my sister. I guess that covers everybody).
Happy Anniversary. Six years of marriage have taught me at least this one thing. Marriage is a helluva lot more fun than anyone ever said it would be. Why was it that everyone kept telling us how hard it would be? I didn't get it then and I don't get it now. Every single day--even the days I bitch a lot--I am so damn happy I'm married to you. In a world that gives more grief than praise, I am thankful to be with someone I trust and love. Someone who sits back and lets me grow on my own and come up with my own ideas and plans. And someone who never laughs a bit when my new plan changes every day..."Hey today I'll write a book. Today I'll be Pagan. Today I'll be a Baptist. Today I'll be a vegetarian. Today I'll learn to cook-especially meat. Today I'll be Dr. Ruth. Today I'll...rest."
I never thought I'd marry, really. In fact, when you first asked me out, I'd (conveniently) sworn off men. But you swept me off my feet with this line, "You're the only girl I can stand to be around, so will you go with me to this damn thing?" I said yes and I even learned to dance (ok, while standing on your toes). That night you coerced a gullible friend to chauffeur us around town and you took me to the nicest restaurant I'd ever been to with a boy. I even got wine and didn't get carded. I enjoyed the evil looks your ex gave me as we danced around the room (as far as you could get...with me on your toes...). I met your chauvinist, conservative friends, but had fun anyway.
And when you didn't kiss me goodnight...well, that's where you had me. Never mind the whole bottle of sherry the next time.
The yellow roses, the trip to GA, the present wrapping (who knew you'd do that forever for me??), finally the kiss. Remember that talk show guy whose name was G-Spot or G-Man or something? I think that show only lasted that one day.
Jump to Sept. 24, 1996, and yes of course. I'll marry you--did I say it out loud? Did you just know by the way I laughed and cried...and spent the whole night on the phone telling everyone I knew?
Jump to Sept. 27, 1997 and I do. I will. Til death do us part and ever after (thanks to a lenient minister). I didn't say hello to more than a handful of people at the reception, but that was the most fun I've ever had at a party. All those people I didn't say hello to...we also never said thank you for their presents. Hm.
Jump to July 13, 2001 and the old soul in a young body joined our family. I had no idea how much one little person could change our lives. Harder...mmm, I'd just say different. Different, with less sleep. I always knew we made beautiful music together (as long as we don't sing), who knew we'd make such a beautiful little boy??
Yellow roses, sherry drunkeness, retail hours, sweat, messy puppies, wine-stained sheets, lots of UNO and Skip-Bo, dancing on your feet, dancing in the living room, Friday night naps, 4 a.m. labor, strip poker, best buddy, Charleston, late night conversations, incredible birthdays, Halloween movie marathons, Milwaukee, 5-hour lunches in Chicago, Corbin Kentucky, Jimmy Chuck, New Year's Eve drama, I grow up like Daddy...
these foolish things. remind me of you.
I love you.
Ike and I have found the perfect house. It's in the perfect neighborhood. With the perfect backyard. A perfect basketball goal. A perfect kitchen. It's even already painted perfectly. And a perfect distance from two of our best friends (only two or three houses away).
The problem is, the homeowner expects too much money for it. She's asking for much more than a house of its size in this neighborhood should cost. She's not budging on the price because she's backwards in the house herself.
We keep telling ourselves not to be suckers. Surely there are other perfect houses...except there aren't. We've looked. And there's nothing. I'm dreaming about this house, I've decorated Jake's room there, I'm already having breakfast on the back deck while Jake plays, and I know exactly where the Christmas tree will go. This is the house. Anything else will be second-best.
So I'm writing this entry in the hopes that my pure unadulterated house dream will bring the interest rates crashing even lower. Please oh please let us buy this house. These are my reasons for it.
1. I'll be a better mother. I'm so damn unhappy in this town. I know, I know, bloom where you're planted and all that bullshit. BUT when a flower has no roots, it's very hard to bloom. Forget the garden symbolism--I can't keep flowers alive anyway. The point is, I don't "bloom" here. I bitch here. I have no place to take Jake to broaden his horizons. How many times, when he's asked me, "Mommy, what's that?" have I had to respond, "That's a redneck with too much bass in his car..."?? I know there are rednecks everywhere. But I think we live with a significant number of them here. I'll be a more intellectually challenged mother, therefore a more intellectually stimulating mother if we move.
2. I'll be a better wife. Well, no, I'm a great wife anyway. Moving on...
3. Less teenage redneck assholes knocking on my door in the middle of the afternoon. No, this isn't an everyday occurence here. Just today actually, but it was bad timing. This asshole kid, followed by his asshole friends (including his pitiful teenage girlfriend pushing her baby in a stroller), going door-to-door trying to peddle cheesecakes. Yelling the whole time to his girlfriend that she should "fucking fucking this" and "fucking fucking that." And THEN he comes to MY door. With his nasty mangy dog right beside him. I answer the door (wishing I'd actually made those Church of Satan tracts I keep wanting to hand out around here) with my eat-shit-and-die look and he says, "Y'all wanna buy some desserts or something?" Wow, what a salesman. I close the door on him while thinking evil thoughts (did I mention I'd be nicer if we moved??) and he cusses at me all the way back to the sidewalk. Ah, if only I had the car today...one less redneck.
4. Less domestic violence in broad daylight across the street. Hey, I know it happens across socio-economic lines. But let me tell you: it happens more in the apartment parking lot that our front porch faces than anywhere else. I can think of three times in the past couple of months that Ike has yelled across the street or that I've called the cops. Once Ike saw a man beating his wife in front of their son. Another time I saw a woman trying to drive away while her man was running on the street alongside the car, trying to pull her through the window with her hair. This is not where I want Jake to grow up.
5. Did I mention I know where the Christmas tree will go? I'm mentally living in this house already. Now we just have to buy it...