Why We Work

For Valentine’s Day, Bonnie wrote a post  about why she and her husband work (for a link-up I missed. sad face.). I’ve been thinking about it since I read her post, and the idea of writing the same regarding my relationship has been brewing in my mind.

Last night I had a wonderful evening with my fiancee full of a great dinner, pre-marital counseling, and ugly-laughing at hilarious Youtube videos. Driving home, I felt especially grateful for my relationship and decided to finally write this post when I got home.

Why we work
We work because we’re individuals. We have out own friends, jobs, schedules, and tastes. We each have our own worlds, and we like it that way.
We work because our relationship is “should-free.” We know each other’s insecurities, strengths, weaknesses, an bad habits – and we love each other all the more for them. I don’t have to make dinner every single night, and he doesn’t mind getting Chinese takeout.
We work because we know it’s not always fun to be in a relationship, and we don’t take that personally. Sometimes one of us is having a really crummy day and in a funk and there’s just nothing the other can do to make it immediately better. And that’s okay.
We work because we don’t take other things personally. We don’t text each other compulsively all day everyday – and we know that’s not reflective of the quality of our relationship. I don’t think I’ve ever been in his Facebook profile picture (or that he’s ever had his relationship status on his profile) and that doesn’t mean anything’s wrong. Sometimes one of us just doesn’t feel like cuddling. And we know that’s not the end of our relationship.
We work because we ugly laugh. The kind of laughing where your mouth is just totally, unflatteringly wide open, your head is thrown back, you’re kinda crying, and you can’t even speak. This happens at least once on the daily. We thrive off of being goofy together, and that does miracles for our relationship.
We work because he’s bad at reading minds, and I’m bad at being subtle. Seriously, I just say whatever I need, want, or think. Which many people think is a fault (and it can be), but it’s a godsend for our relationship because what Luke really needs is for me to be upfront and never try that “hint-dropping” thing and hope he reads my mind. That system doesn’t work for either of us. He doesn’t end up getting it, and I’m too impatient to try and wait for him to.
We work because we’re not trying to impress each other.  It can be one of those days where I haven’t showered, am not wearing makeup, and am wearing sweats and he adores me and makes me feel just as special as any other day. I can make an accidentally crappy dinner and it’s no big deal.
We work because we both know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that we’re on each other’s team, unconditionally. “You and me against the world.”
And, most importantly, we work because we both agree that if one of our children ever weirdly ends up with some kind of super power we would come alongside them and help them learn about and control it instead of hiding them away (see: obligatory pop culture reference to Frozen).
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“Yearbook” is one word, right?

You know what’s always weird about school this time of year?       Signing yearbooks.

There’s several types of yearbook signers:

  • Those who take up a whole page with giant, bubbly handwriting. These people probably don’t really care what they’re writing to you; they just want to make themselves feel important.
  • Those who take up a whole page with an actual, heart-felt letter.  These people are probably some of your best friends. The letter is either sentimental and will make you cry and sad to graduate or it’s hilarious and will make you laugh until you cry and possibly pee your pants.
  • Then there’s the complete opposite: The people who write “HAGS” and their name, if not their initials. Or they only sign their name/initials. (Warning: if I sign your yearbook like this, I probably sort of hate you.)
  • There are those people who have one signature message that they write in everyone’s yearboook. This message probably goes something like this: “Hey! This year was so much fun with you! I hope you have an awesome Summer! We should totally hang out! Stay cool!”  Blah blah blah.
  • Those people who, similarly, write the same thing in everyone’s yearbook but it’s only an uncomfortable little rhyme that they think is clever.  Example: “Some sign in front, some sign in back, but look at me, I signed your crack!”  (…..Yeah.  I’ve had that one before…..)
  • There are those who write something just to write something. “Hey. Hi, hello, howdy, hola….  H is a fun letter.” (This is an actual entry in my own yearbook.)
  • Those who read all the other entries in some one’s yearbook and secretly try to top them all with the ultimate yearbook message.
  • And then there are those acquaintences who mention only a couple inside jokes: “Remember when you hit your head on a broom stick and got that bruise on your head for Homecoming? Sooo funny! See you next year!”  (Also an actual entry in my yearbook.) (I never did that.)

I’m pretty sure I’ve experienced all the above sorts of yearbook signers by now.  But, you know what?  I have one more year left and I hope that next year I’ll be able to read some messages in the back of my book and not think “I wonder if they actually meant it.”

There’s also a couple different MOs when it comes to people letting you sign their yearbook:

  • Those who reserve three pages – each page for a different “bestie” to take up the entire space of.
  • Those who won’t let anyone at all sign it until their BEST FRIEND signs it first.
  • Those who secretly compete with everyone else to get the most signatures in their yearbook, regardless of whether they are actually friends or not and secretly check out everyone else’s yearbooks.
  • Those people who are too cool for you to sign their yearbooks and lend it out to their exclusive groupies and whenever you ask if you could sign their yearbook always say that one of their cronies has it.
  • Those people who tell you that they didn’t get one because they don’t want you to want to sign it.
  • Those who really don’t take it that seriously but might appreciate the nostalgia and lets anyone who really wants to sign their yearbook. I am this person.

Breaking News: Doing it is entertaining.

I was eating out with my parents and my sister.  I kept making them all laugh and my mother said “Where else can you find entertainment like this?”

Okay, so right here, my train of thought went to okay, you could get it the same place I came from, but I don’t wanna say womb because that would be gross and we’re eating and it’d be weird and I hate that word anyway.

So I went to an event a little earlier in that process.  

I replied with, “Sex!”

 

 

…That’s not exactly how I meant it.   Thankfully, my mother didn’t hear me clearly and if she had, I probably would have gotten in some trouble…

Then He Loves You.

(Repost: from Brandy)

If he always gives you the last bite of his sandwich or the first lick of his ice cream cone, then he loves you.

If he’s seen your high school yearbook photo and says he still loves you, then he loves you.

If he’s counted all your freckles,- even the ones behind your knees, then he loves you.

If, right before sleep, he leans in, buries his nose in your hair and inhales, and when you ask what he’s doing, he smiles a smile that reminds you of a secret and says ‘nothing’, then he loves you.

If he tells you that you make chickenpox sexy, then he loves you. He’s lying, but he loves you.

If he’s laid beside you in a too small bed, in a too dark room and listened as you told him all the ways you feel like you are failing, then he loves you.

If he remembers the name of your arch enemy from the sixth grade and hates her because he knows all about how she started the rumor that you only used boys deodorant, when you didn’t– then he loves you. And he hates her. But he loves you.

If he’s ever attempted to wash your hair because you said that scene in “Out of Africa” really gets you, then he loves you.

If he makes sure that you never have to sit beside his friend Dominic, the one who never washes his hair and smells like the bottom of a dumpster, then he loves you.

If you are Salma Hayek, then he loves you.

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