marriage

Marriage Does Not an Adult Make

Flash back a few days to me scrolling aimlessly through Facebook. My attention was caught by a sweepstakes to win a designer wedding gown, and not just any designer, but Monique Lhuillier, for the love of all things white and lacy. Of course I clicked the link to enter, and I realized that all I had to do was start a wedding registry with what happened to be one of my favorite home-good stores, and I was in the running for my dream gown. (Mind you, I couldn’t currently tell you the name of a specific Monique silhouette that I love, but that is beside the point. I have never won anything; this just seemed like a great way to avoid homework. There, I said it).

Seeing as Paul and I are at about the time frame when we need to start a registry, I figured, “why the hell not?”, “How hard could it be?” I thought, as I dove into casual dining collections, bakeware and cookware, cutlery, and bathroom essentials. Not going to lie… three or four pages in I started to freak out and found myself reaching repeatedly for my glass of wine. Did we really need new measuring cups? What about fine china? How many place settings? I HATE gravy! Will I ever need a gravy bowl? Where do I even start?

“Start with what you know” I found my own PR voice in my head whispering as I tapped a finger on my wine glass.

On my wine glass…

It was so simple…

I clicked on “glassware” and went straight to the wine glasses. I may not know if I need fine china, but I know for sure exactly what I DO need:

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Olivia Pope wine glasses. Wine. Solves. Everything.

Many people seem to think that getting married is some sort of gateway into adulthood. False, my friends. In fact, I feel less like an adult, because I have someone else who is technically responsible for my well being. Guess who is going to make sure I make it to the end of the day alive? My hubs. Not that I am taking this as an excuse to be reckless, but the immature side of me feels like now I have a tag team member to be twice as immature with.

Just because I am getting married does not mean that I know how many place settings I am going to need or what all those insane torture devices are in the baking section of Bed Bath and Beyond. I haven’t grown up; it just means that I have found someone who legally wants to be bound to my childlike ways.

I am hoping I don’t feel like this if we ever have a child. Like “hey, we added a third member to our idiot mob!”

In the mean time, let it be known that the first thing that I registered for were red wine glasses, a la Olivia Pope… followed by champagne flutes. Eight of each, because that just sounded good.

I can grow up next year 🙂 And I will ask Paul about the gravy boat. He likes gravy.

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It’s Beginning to Look a lot Like Christmas

It has been a snowy few weeks here in Mid-Michigan, and the temps have been sub-zero for a number of days. So imagine the joy and surprise of the people when it hit a balmy 40 degrees yesterday.

Annually, whenever the temperature dips below 50 degrees for the first time in “winter”, I sternly declare, “Michigan is too cold! I will never survive another winter!”… yet any Michigander will tell you that in the depths of winter, if the temp rises anywhere near 35 degrees or higher, you mine as well declare it a heat wave.

Enter this gentleman:

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I get it, it’s 37 degrees out and feels like spring break, but sir, this is just inappropriate.

Luckily for my Christmas loving significant other, the balmy weather did not melt all of our snow.  There was still plenty left over for us to make a snow man, an activity I have not partaken in for years!

Making a snow man is harder than it looks!  Snow is heavy, and molding a perfect or even presentable “ball” of snow is damn near impossible.  Alas, after a few failed lifts to give him a mid-section, a number of facial reconstructive surgeries to take him from looking like a bunny to the predator then ET, we finally sort of made a lawn ornament we can be proud of:

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Spartan pride and Detroit represented

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It is kind of hard to tell, but he is smiling

And the puppy helped of course:

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He’s so handsome!

Then, we retreated to our living room to sit by the Christmas tree and drink home-made Baileys, compliments of our dear friends. (We didn’t actually just sit by the tree, mind you. You just burned through our DVR then ended up watching Wheel of Fortune.  I know what you are thinking; we are one hot couple).

At this point in the story I need to tell you about what has been haunting me this Christmas.  A little, professionally wrapped box that was placed in my stocking.  Any girl will probably know what I am referring to when I say “a little box”. Oh yeah, that kind of box:

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Paul put this in my stocking about 2 weeks ago, and I am convinced it has been just to mess with my head.  He is NOT a Christmas engagement person; it is just not his style, but a girl (especially me) just has to wonder.

I have been bugging him since the first present went under our tree to start opening them.  I am a child, I just don’t wait well.  Finally, last night, whilst watching Wheel of Fortune, Paul says that I can open one gift.  I completely froze.  He had this ethereal, loving, can’t-live-without-you, could-never-love-anyone-more, how-are-you-mine? look on his face.  

Was this it? Was he thinking that it had been such a great night that it would be the perfect moment to propose? 

My heart started racing. Beads of sweat started to form on my nose. It was as if my parents had just caught me drinking and I was trying to hide the fact that I was drunk… Play it cool, just play it cool.

“Which one?” I ask… totally normal and level-toned I’m sure.

“The little one in your stocking.”

I sort of turned down the TV thinking, “I don’t want to be a brat about it, but are Pat Sajak and Vanna White going to be the witnesses to my engagement?”  Don’t get me wrong, I would say yes to him any where, but part of me just felt like the situation was off… or maybe it was just the heaviness of the situation.  I have never dealt with this kind of thing before.  Was this the moment that I was going to be telling people about for the rest of my life? The moment I would call all of my friends about and have to repeat over and over in the coming months? Was I about to throw up? Did I look at all calm and unsuspecting?

“Steph, it is not an engagement ring, this is not Paul’s style”… I kept reassuring myself as I took the 6 foot walk from the couch to my stocking where the little box was resting.

“I’m in pajamas… I really wanted to be in a cute outfit…. Christ that could not matter less” I can argue a lot in my head in 6 feet.

I finally pull it out and make my way back to the couch when Paul says, “I really wanted to get this for you last year, so I am so happy I can give it to you this year.”

Female over-analyze activated: What the f**k does that mean?… Just open the present you weirdo. But my hands are sort of trembling (sort of = a lot), and I still can’t really breath.  Would it be wrong to hit my inhaler real quick? As if that wouldn’t be a give away that I wasn’t completely emotionally collected.

Slowly tearing through the gold paper, I unveil a beautiful little white box with a very reassuring and fabulous little word embossed in the top of it: Pandora. All levels returned to normal, breathing again was possible. 

All was clear, all was safe; it was a beautiful Michigan State Pandora bead for me to put on my ever naked yet daily worn Pandora bracelet.

I couldn’t love it more.  Sorry, Pat and Vanna, you will not be witness to my engagement 🙂

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It’s so perfect!!!!! He wanted me to have extra Spartan pride before the Rose Bowl game.

 

P.S Congrats, Paul, you officially made me squirm and I know you loved it.

Is This Real Life?!

Relationships are tough, in the best way possible though. Paul and I aren’t even married yet, but I see what people are saying when they say that marriage is hard.

I am learning though that the hard part isn’t us, or making “us” work.  That is the easy part. The hard part is making sure that I am giving it my all every day, because that is what Paul does.  He is such a great example of what it means to love unconditionally, always treat me fairly, and to be consistent in his love and what he gives to the relationship.

And then there is me… the hot mess of the duo…

The great thing about a healthy, loving relationship (in my mind) is that it demands the best of you, but loves you still at your worst.  It forgives your faults, reminds you of your strengths, and kicks you in the ass when you need a push, making you grow. I can only give as much to my relationship as I am giving to myself, if that makes sense.  If I am suffering, my relationship suffers.

Paul, sometimes to my chagrin, knows what I am capable of, knows what I deserve, and is there to push me if he thinks I am accepting less or performing below my best.

I am a creative soul who happens to be a Gemini, and painfully stubborn (sorry about this, world, it is just the way my cocktail was mixed), so sometimes I need this push (as I am confident he will in the future… he can’t be perfect forever!), and a reminder that I owe it to myself to bring my A game every day.

Damn, I hate it when he is right.

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Just to prove I’m not the only child in the relationship