Posts Tagged: Marriage


1
Aug 11

14 years ago

14 years ago, I couldn’t sleep, like I can’t sleep tonight. 14 years ago, I was hours away from slipping into a frothy white dress and walking down an aisle on my father’s arm and signing papers and swearing in front of a church full of people that I did, I would, yes, forever until death do us part.

We are so changed from those people we were 14 years ago. We are so different. We are more wrinkled and grey-haired (yes, even Adam, it’s in his beard and don’t let him try and tell you otherwise) and battle-hardened. We have fought battles we didn’t even expect we would have to fight. We have done so many things together, so many amazing, wonderful, hard things. We have laughed and we have cried and we have always, always been there for each other.

I can’t think of a single decision in my life, not ever, that has been as good as the decision I made to tie my life to this one person, this tall, blue-eyed man who knows how to fix stuff and how to talk and how to listen and how to make me feel like the most beautiful, most funny, most important person that he has ever met.

My lover, my husband, my best friend.

I would do it all over again in a heartbeat. Even for those times–especially those early years–when we argued and we made threats to leave and we doubted ourselves, over and over again. I would do it all over again to have what I have now, which is this: a beautiful marriage of 14 years.

Happy Anniversary, Adam. I love you.


16
Dec 10

Always by my side

In the ER Tuesday night

Emergency room, waiting room, Chemo Infusion room, Radiology (well, right outside the door when they’re doing the scans as they won’t let him inside the room itself), doctor’s offices of all sorts. He’s just simply there, right by my side. It doesn’t look like he’s doing much besides reading emails on his iPhone or playing games on his iPad but he’s doing so much more than that. He’s making me laugh, he’s telling me stories, he’s making friends with the doctors and nurses, he’s fielding phone calls, he’s holding my hand, he’s listening to me, he’s letting me cry, he’s nodding his head in agreement, he’s talking me down from a ledge, he’s acknowledging that he gets scared too, he’s holding me close to his heart.

How did I get so lucky?


14
Aug 10

28 Hours

In the grand scheme of things, 28 hours is not that much time…..but this week, it was enough time to get us back in the groove of things….enough time to celebrate 13 years of marriage…enough time to sit in/by the pool and talk, to walk around Santa Monica and laugh at the sights, to drink wine and eat dim sum and sushi and Pho. Enough time to be us–Adam and Jen– and not “Anna’s Parents.” Come to think of it, 28 hours is an eternity. 28 hours is brilliant.

Dim Sum, Chinatown. Hot tea for two. Stuffed ourselves silly for $25.


Mmmm. Pork Buns.



Wine, cheese, and crackers? Yes please.


On our way to Most Delicious Sushi Restaurant Ever


Leaf chopstick rest. So elegant.


Mmmm. Sweet shrimp head, about to be dropped into the deep fryer.


Anna and the newest addition to the household, Toodle the Poodle (Anna named it)


Still…we were really, really happy to come home to Anna’s smiling face. We kind of like her. I think we’ll keep her.


2
Aug 10

Lucky #13

I am thankful for every little bit of this, all these years.


27
Jul 10

Happy 34th

This is the fifteenth (15??!!!??!?!) birthday of yours that we have celebrated together and, damn Babe!, you keep getting finer every year. Like a fine wine, you are. I love you, my younger man. Here’s to many more: many more years, many more tears, and, most definitely and beyond a doubt, many more laughs!

P.S. Nice hat.


20
May 10

The tree

Our backyard is gorgeous right now: everything green and vibrant and poking little greenery out of the dark earth and forming little green fruits that we will eventually eat–tomatoes, citrus, berries, avocados, flowers. Gorgeous.

Except for the olive tree, which tilts precariously, held up only by the huge support beam that it is tethered to. It is stunted and wilted and faded and sad. It’s just a tree….but it isn’t. The olive tree is the tree under which some of the remains of our very first baby were planted. Blood and tears. A symbol of the living in remembrance of the dead.

We keep looking at each other and shaking our heads. It really isn’t going to make it, we say. It is time to take it out, we say. We should really do that soon, we say. And we will. But I know that the undercurrent of sadness makes it harder to do so. So we wait, and we remember.


5
May 10

Yesterday, on Mission Street

As I drove Anna to school yesterday,  there was a car in front of us that only sort of pulled over to the side of the street. I slowed down, curious whether the driver was experiencing car troubles or ? and saw this scene: woman in driver’s seat, man in passenger’s seat. Both yelling, crying. Heated argument.

I flashed back to years (a decade?) ago, in a car (our blue BMW sedan). Me in the driver’s seat. Adam in the passenger’s seat. Monrovia, California. Just a couple of blocks from our house. Heated argument. It was one of those moments that, in retrospect, feels like a make-it-or-break-it moment. The moment upon which the world turns. Things were spoken: ugly, terrible, un-beautiful things that could never be taken back. Words meant to hurt, to sting, to break. Unforgivable words.

And yet…..and yet. These words were forgiven (eventually). The wrongs were made right.

There was never anything that was really and truly awful, except that, somehow, it was. So young, so innocent, so optimistic we were. And it felt, for a while, like we were drowning. That it was all too much: too much work, too little fun. Too many of those words, those raised voices and heated arguments in cars.

It got better. It got way better.

Somewhere along the way, I’ve let some things go. Learned to take it easy (a bit), forgive, try not to point fingers. Learned to try and have fun. Learned the ebb and flow of love and living together.

Undoubtedly there will be words, there will be raised voices and questions and arguments in cars (and at home and other places, too).

But.

How grateful I am to not be in that car yesterday, but, instead, to be riding high on my memories of recent times together–memories punctuated by kisses and holding hands and meaningful conversations (the deep, soul-baring kind) and a general feeling of being on the same team.

My new lease on life is also a new lease on love, it sometimes feels. Every minute a minute to be grateful for, not to be taken lightly. This here, this now–these, all of these moments, moments that I wasn’t sure I would have. Washes of panic over the future (because who knows what it holds?) drowned out by delight in the present.

Yesterday, on Mission Street, I saw my past. Here, right here and now, I see my now. And, good golly, I think I like it.


28
Apr 10

The times without

This last weekend Adam and I had the rare and unusual opportunity to have some time alone, just the two of us, for thirty straight hours. It was….awesome. It was…weird.


27
Mar 10

Rhythm

Adam and I have such different daily rhythms. I was up with the birds this morning, drinking my tea as I did a little of this (made some bread dough with my sourdough starter, took a shower, ate breakfast) and a little of that (made lists for the day, cleaned up some stuff left out from last night, and, eventually, made Anna breakfast, helped her brush her hair and teeth). Adam laid in bed, sleeping and then, eventually, he got up and took a loooooong hot shower, emerging in a fog of hot humid air.

I’ll admit it: I had my moment this morning of feeling resentful of this. Of all the little “this” and “that” things that I got done in the still, quiet morning. But here I am, mid-afternoon, resting drowsily in bed (won’t sleep but will lay down and read and knit while Anna takes her rest) while he is busy in the kitchen, preparing what will be (I am quite sure) an amazing feast for dinner, chopping herbs and garlic, browning meat, trimming vegetables.

We both get it done, just not in the same way that the other one would. It’s a beautiful thing, really, complementary, that we don’t operate in the same way. I love that we are different, that our ways of being in this world are not Xerox copies of each other. It’s one of the things that I love most about being married, the ways in which he is still mysterious to me, even after all these years.

And tonight, together, finally in perfect rhythm, we will lift our glasses of deep, red wine, and I will marvel at the ways in which our different ways have brought us to this point: bread baked in the dawn, meat braised in the late afternoon, and all these other meal components (life components, too!), not just body fuel but tradition and celebration as well, cooked by each other and for each other.


14
Feb 10

Happy Valentine’s Day

There are many who bemoan Valentine’s Day, and for good reason. Overpriced roses, crowded restaurants. A holiday invented by the greeting card industry. A special day to say “I love you”? Why not every day.

Me? I love Valentine’s Day.

It helps me to remember, to celebrate, to marvel at the love in my life. That happy couple above, 15 years later, after all the stuff we’ve done and endured. The little stuff–me learning to sleep with his snoring, him having to admire my knitting every two rows (“Isn’t this pattern just great? Isn’t it turning out nicely? Huh Huh?”). The big stuff–yearning for children that were not easily coming our way, not enough money, sharing one bathroom (ha!), Cancer. All of it. It is all a part of who we are. We share a past, memories, a language, a child, a love.

So. One special day to celebrate this? Why not? I love him the other 364 days a year, too.

Happy Valentine’s Day, my sweet, funny, amazing love. I love you. XO