I did not believe I would ever get married, and I can't say I was particularly interested in doing so. Oh every once in awhile I gave those thoughts a whirl (even got engaged at one point in the late 80's), but didn't really consider that marriage or a husband was in my wheelhouse (gee, that sounds a little dirty doesn't it?). And yet...here I am.
I met Warren at Mary and Frank's wedding. A redhead - who didn't know that I'm a sucker for a redhead? But we didn't really get to know each other until a few weeks later, when we were recruited to help our friends move into their new digs in NYC. We made each other laugh; I admired his muscles and his driving skills; he was impressed by my toughness and strength. Our first date, several weeks later, was up in the charming and historic town of Saugerties, halfway between Utica (where he lived) and Long Island (where I lived) and where my future husband recited creepy poetry to me in a local cemetery (yeah, I've got a thing for cemeteries too).
We both came with baggage as is normally the case when couples meet in their thirties. Who knew his included an emotionally stunted, alcoholic, bi-polar ex-wife with an abusive boyfriend? And mine included a recent bout (my first one) with breast cancer and single motherhood. Both of ours, of course, included young children. Nevertheless, we navigated our way through the murky waters of dating and then living together until 5 years in when Warren decided to upset the old apple cart and asked me to marry him - in quite a romantic way I might add. I unhesitatingly said yes (after our children gave the OK of course).
Our wedding was perfect. Marriage - now that's another story. Truth be told, I'm not much of a wife. I don't like to cook so I don't do it very often. I'm not good at interior design so our house has kind of a barren look. I don't garden, leaving the meager landscaping duties to my brother and sister. I kind of like to be left alone when I first get home from work, so Warren doesn't get his much-desired loving greeting when HE gets home (well, except from the dog). I'm not big on compromise (a marriage must!), I HATE saying "I'm sorry," and I use the word "fuck" a lot (and not in the way my husband might like!). I'm not a fighter, but I also don't really like to "talk stuff out," I like sports WAY more than he does (yeah...we got 'Melo!), and I am not nearly as affectionate as a good wife, nay a good person, needs to be. I don't always appreciate the extraordinary effort my husband puts into trying to provide for our family ("But where are the RESULTS??" cries the long-time manager as she wrings her hands wondering where all this tuition money is going to come from) and I forget to remember that he is scared and lonely and sad when forced to confront my health situation and to consider a life without the woman he loves (that's me - hard to believe after this little confessional, eh?).
Because despite all of my flaws (The above? That's just a start) Warren considers himself "Lucky Man." Seriously, he actually writes that on his Valentine's Day cards to me and says it often, superhero-style ("Da-da-da-da! I am Lucky Man!!"). And while I recognize that I do also have my virtues (again...too many to name), I still...am not the wife I should be. I know it - and I'm quite honestly not likely to change. I am, however, profoundly appreciative of the fact that I am loved whole-heartedly and unequivocally by the man who will be my husband until death truly do us part.
Blessings and Love to All - but mostly to Warren today.
I met Warren at Mary and Frank's wedding. A redhead - who didn't know that I'm a sucker for a redhead? But we didn't really get to know each other until a few weeks later, when we were recruited to help our friends move into their new digs in NYC. We made each other laugh; I admired his muscles and his driving skills; he was impressed by my toughness and strength. Our first date, several weeks later, was up in the charming and historic town of Saugerties, halfway between Utica (where he lived) and Long Island (where I lived) and where my future husband recited creepy poetry to me in a local cemetery (yeah, I've got a thing for cemeteries too).
We both came with baggage as is normally the case when couples meet in their thirties. Who knew his included an emotionally stunted, alcoholic, bi-polar ex-wife with an abusive boyfriend? And mine included a recent bout (my first one) with breast cancer and single motherhood. Both of ours, of course, included young children. Nevertheless, we navigated our way through the murky waters of dating and then living together until 5 years in when Warren decided to upset the old apple cart and asked me to marry him - in quite a romantic way I might add. I unhesitatingly said yes (after our children gave the OK of course).
Our wedding was perfect. Marriage - now that's another story. Truth be told, I'm not much of a wife. I don't like to cook so I don't do it very often. I'm not good at interior design so our house has kind of a barren look. I don't garden, leaving the meager landscaping duties to my brother and sister. I kind of like to be left alone when I first get home from work, so Warren doesn't get his much-desired loving greeting when HE gets home (well, except from the dog). I'm not big on compromise (a marriage must!), I HATE saying "I'm sorry," and I use the word "fuck" a lot (and not in the way my husband might like!). I'm not a fighter, but I also don't really like to "talk stuff out," I like sports WAY more than he does (yeah...we got 'Melo!), and I am not nearly as affectionate as a good wife, nay a good person, needs to be. I don't always appreciate the extraordinary effort my husband puts into trying to provide for our family ("But where are the RESULTS??" cries the long-time manager as she wrings her hands wondering where all this tuition money is going to come from) and I forget to remember that he is scared and lonely and sad when forced to confront my health situation and to consider a life without the woman he loves (that's me - hard to believe after this little confessional, eh?).
Because despite all of my flaws (The above? That's just a start) Warren considers himself "Lucky Man." Seriously, he actually writes that on his Valentine's Day cards to me and says it often, superhero-style ("Da-da-da-da! I am Lucky Man!!"). And while I recognize that I do also have my virtues (again...too many to name), I still...am not the wife I should be. I know it - and I'm quite honestly not likely to change. I am, however, profoundly appreciative of the fact that I am loved whole-heartedly and unequivocally by the man who will be my husband until death truly do us part.
Blessings and Love to All - but mostly to Warren today.
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