Why you are actually reading about my husband

I blog about a lot of things.

I blog about work. I blog about my health. I blog about current events. I blog about my relationship with God. I blog about everything.

But really, this blog is about my marriage.

Even when I don’t write about it, it all comes back to my marriage.

Why?

My relationship with my husband is the single most important relationship in my life. It influences every decision I make. When I make a decision about what career path to follow, I am thinking about my husband. When I am seeking medical treatment, I think about how my treatment will affect my husband. When I look at CNN in the morning before work, I am thinking about, that’s right, my husband.

Brian is my priority.

And I don’t anticipate this changing. Even when we have kids, my husband will continue to be my highest priority. Why? Because we can always make more kids. I cannot recreate my husband.

Brian is the family I picked. I looked at him and decided that not only did I want to be in his tribe but I wanted to make our own little tribe with him. I wanted to create a life together.

Jobs will come and go. Friends will move on. Parents will (hopefully) die before I do. Politics will change. Current events will become history. Fads will fade and pop culture will be forgotten.

Brian will be the man I grow old next to. My wrinkly old hand will someday be patting my husband’s wrinkly old butt. And that’s the way I want it.

My commitment to Brian and Brian’s commitment to me is the most influencing factor in our lives. Everything will always come back to my marriage.

Why my husband's low point is really a marriage high point

Over the weekend, I had the pleasure of seeing my husband in the bad-drunk category. It started off cute enough – he told me how beautiful and wonderful and smart and sexy I am and how much he loves me. Then he passed out. Then he woke up. Then he leaned over and puked all over me. Then he smashed his head on the wall and knocked himself out for about five minutes. Then he woke up, puked some more and sat in bed for a while.

In hindsight, I probably should have taken him right to the hospital to have his stomach pumped but I was concerned about the cost. At this point in our careers, we don’t have the income for hospital visits in non life or death situations. But in the five minutes where Brian was knocked out, I questioned whether or not I would be able to save his life if he began to choke on his own vomit. Thankfully, I never had to find out.

The point of this is not that my husband is a drunk – he’s not and when he tells me this was the first time he got sick from alcohol, I believe him. The point of this is that in marriage, you end up in a lot of places you never thought you would be.

I never thought I would spend twenty hours cleaning up vomit. But from two in the morning on Sunday until ten o’clock that night, cleaning it up was what I did. Brian probably never thought his wife would be coaching him through a shower and forcing him to drink water. But we did it. He also probably never thought that I would be waking him up at eight on a Sunday morning because I was mad at him for being drunk, but I did. Because if I had to suffer, he did too.

It is only during the unpleasant moments of marriage that we truly realize how much we love our mates and how much we actually are capable of doing. In college, I was notorious for what I called a “death fear of vomit”. I made girls in my sorority house who were sick (whether it be from booze or a stomach bug) go to the basement bathroom to throw up because the mere knowledge that vomit was happening near me was enough to push me over the edge. Yet somehow in the early hours on Sunday, I learned that I could survive. My urge to care for my husband was stronger than my own urge to throw up everywhere, although not by much (once a sympathy puker, always a sympathy puker).

Marriage is not always pleasant, although Disney would have you believe otherwise. Prince Charming does some dumb-ass things from time to time. The true test of the strength of a marriage is not whether or not the poor decisions happen but the way you cope with those decisions the next day.

Besides, it is only a matter of time until I do something dumb too.

PS - Taco Hell, I mean Bell and cheap Canadian whiskey are always a bad idea.

Why I Don’t Celebrate Valentine’s Day (here’s a hint: It involves a dead rat)

Last year, my husband experienced Valentine’s Day for the first time on this side of a relationship as he had always been single before then. He tried to warn me in the months before the holiday that he had never celebrated Valentine’s Day, he didn’t see the point of it and he did not want to celebrate. I thought I could utilize the skills I learned in premarital counseling and compromise by purchasing cards for each other instead of gifts. It seemed like such a good idea.

When Valentine’s Day arrived, we stayed in. It snowed so we played hooky from work. We made breakfast together. We lounged in bed. We had dinner together and shared a bottle of wine. Then it was time for the card exchange.

My dear sweet husband bought me a card with a dead rat on it. Nothing says romance like a rodent. And since I was drunk, I cried. I questioned whether or not we should get married. I got so worked up that Brian ruined an upcoming surprise to try to make me happier. I still cried about the dead rat.

We may have ended the evening by sleeping in separate rooms.

This year, I am not celebrating Valentine’s Day.

Let’s be honest for a moment: I know I am an individual with high expectations. I set these expectations for myself, for others and for inanimate objects. My husband does not have high expectations for anything. He goes with the flow and rolls with the punches. Valentine’s Day is not a declaration of our love but a clash of our differences.

I didn’t buy a card for Brian this year. Instead I found red boxers with white hearts and I left it at that. I know he bought something for me this year but that’s only because he made a mistake with the check book and I had to go back and fix the math.

But that’s okay. By not celebrating Valentine’s Day, I lowered my expectations and I can be happy with whatever he chooses to give to me.

After all, it is just another day and ten years from now, it won’t matter. One day is just a drop in the bucket when you have the rest of your lives together.

Why Car Shopping Changes How I Look at My Marriage

After a year of persistent nagging, Brian has finally taken my dear sweet Beast of a car to the mechanic for inspection. Yes, that's right, I've been driving a car illegaly for a year now. I know I could have easily taken the car in myself but I was trying to make a point.

Sadly, my car did not survive the inspection.

I drive, I mean, I drove a 1992 Buick Park Avenue that was luxary back in the day. I affectionately refer to my pimped out old man car as "The Beast". I thought it was clever when I was in college because then I could be "Beauty in The Beast". Haha. I loved this car though. Originally the car belonged to my grandfather until three years ago when we took his license away and he gave me the car.

The thought of getting rid of this car pains me. But the idea of spending two thousand dollars just to pass inspection pains me more. Brian, however, is rejoicing. He has long hated the Beast and I suspect he now feels liberated from seeing it parked out side of our house. I'm just sad. I had great plans to still be driving the car when I had kids.

Now I find myself car shopping with my husband which is a very interesting and surprising experience. So far, the process is really highlighting the difference between Brian and myself.

• Brian likes to go into a sales situation knowing more about the product than the sales person whereas I think that's a waste of my time. I like to go to numerous places, see what they tell me and then make a decision. I can't be an expert on everything, nor do I want to be an expert.
• Brian and I share an opinion that a car is a poor investment. Its one of the reasons why we will never own a new car. But I still find we are on opposite ends of the car buying spectrum. Brian believes in buying the cheapest car possible. I believe that's throwing more money down the drain. If I have to have a car payment, I was to invest in a vehicle that will last until my first child is in elementary school, which is about eight years from now.
• Brian is looking for a car that will get me from Point A to Point B and that he will want to drive on the weekends. I'm looking for a car that could be filled with strollers and kids in a few years from now.
• Brian wants a Mitsubishi. I don't.
• Brian is okay buying a car from a discount auto mall. I think a reputable car broker is essential to the car buying process.
• I think this is an important decision but it needs to be made quickly. Brian wants to take his time. Probably because he's busy trying to be an expert in car buying. Grrrr.

For now we are still trying to duke out what car shopping will look like for us. And the compromising is tough. I'm half tempted to get our pastor, Todd, involved and call it marital counseling because I'm not sure we have the language to effectively compromise and communicate on this.

My Not So Secret Affair with the Written Word

Brian has yet to learn that I should never be taken into an establishment that sells books so I frequently find myself in positions where I am trying to convince myself to only buy five books instead of five hundred while Brian looks confused that he can’t just walk in, buy what he needs and leave. Which is what happened Sunday afternoon as we were trying to finish up our Christmas shopping. Brian had finally thought of the perfect gift for his father’s girlfriend which helped us to finish our holiday shopping in a bookstore. As he hunted through Borders as a man on a mission, I browsed the beautiful aisles filled with books I have yet to read. Each unread book was a friend I had yet to meet.

I read the way some people eat or play video games. I live for a good book. I can ignore my husband for hours on end if the content is compelling and it is not unusual to find me hiding in a strange location with a book. I rarely bring books to my job because I don’t trust myself to not sneak off and hide in the building with my latest page turner in tow.

I purchased four books on Sunday afternoon. Brian had reached the “enough” point with my roaming and since we had taken separate cars, he moved on to the next errand. I still needed to ponder what “excessive” really meant in a bookstore. All of my purchases were impulse buys but that was to be expected. I was able to rationalize by telling myself that since the writers are all striking in Hollywood, there really isn’t anything good on TV except Law and Order: SVU reruns and I’m not sure Brian will be tolerating that for much longer.

Which brings me to my big question: if I didn’t really watch TV anymore, would my book purchases still be excessive? What if Brian and I read at night instead of tuning into a million different TV shows? Would our lives improve for the better? Or would we find that Saturday mornings were used to catch up on TV? What if Brian read instead of internet surfed?

I’m not sure if I’m quite at a point where I’m interested in unplugging my TV but I think I need to cut it back at this point. Brian and I regularly watch over 3 hours of television a day. Considering I watched less than one half hour of television a day at the time Brian and I were engaged, it raises flags about the change in my behavior. I think maybe the most I can commit to is trying to cut back to an hour of TV a day. It is, at least, a start.

The Hard Part of Marriage

The most difficult aspect of marriage is realized around the same time that you realize you want to shed some aspect of your life. You can’t. You are now unable to shed the skin you are in when it becomes itchy and uncomfortable. You can no longer escape your bad decisions when they no longer suite you. Your bad decisions now belong to someone else and in turn, their bad decisions now belong to you as well.

In my pre-marriage life, I used to take solace in the fact that I did not choose my family. The egg and sperm that I grew from did not choose each other, they just happened to both be lurking in the same uterus at the time of my conception. I did not pick my parents but they were still my family. And by not picking my family, it became so much easier to distance myself from them or discount them as people. I may be sharing genetic material with them but they chose me.

As a married woman, my family now is my husband. And I did choose him. I decided to marry Brian just as Brian decided to marry me. I decided to love him and build a life with him. I decided he would be my family. And for that reason, I am not able to discount him or distance myself from him for the simple reason that it was all my choice. I am married to both Brian and his decisions.

Sometimes this scares the crap out of me.

When we first completed our walk down the aisle, I suspected that the most difficult aspect to relate to the fact that I would be having the same sex every night with the same man for the rest of my life. And as the play-ette I was in my single days, this was a bit concerning. There would be no more bad day sex with an ex-boyfriend. No more mid-week booty calls. I would be having sex with Brian until we were either too old to have sex or until one of us died. Surprisingly though, thus far, it hasn’t been that bad. In fact, I find that I like it and the lack of a chase for sex means I have more time at night to moisturize, therefore maintaining my youthful appearance for as long as possible.

But along with the consistent sex comes the consistent marriage. When Brian does something dumb, I can’t just walk away. I can’t through the towel in because I’m pissed off that Brian didn’t get my car fixed in a timely manner. When he comes out with a statement involving a bad idea being “really great”, I will still have to deal with the aftermath of that idea in the morning. And when I do dumb things, which I do constantly, I can’t just walk away from it. Suddenly, I have discovered that I must deal with the consequences of my actions.

My life choices for the first time have truly become life choices.

Life as a single person is transitional. Your friends, your job, your hobbies – these all can be replaced and no one needs remember but yourself. After marriage, someone will remember all of these things and more. My life story has now become so entwined with Brian that now he is my life story and I am his.

It seems the binding of marriage has hit me in ways I did not know how to prepare for.

Tales from the Honeymoon: Half Moon Cay

Brian and I returned from our Honeymoon two weeks ago and it has been rather odd getting back into the swing of life. I burned our dinner on Sunday night and laundry has been a challenge. It was a much needed break for us and I’m glad we waited to go on our trip.

The cruise was amazing. We saw so much and we met lots of interesting people. The weather was beautiful and there was always something to do. We actually had to be deliberate about finding time to not do things and to just sit and be. It was great.

When we arrived at the port in Miami, I was amazed by the ship. I knew it was going to be huge but I didn't quite know what to expect. I felt so small walking onto the ship and I thought I was going to spend the entire trip lost and confused. We sailed on the Carnival Triumph which I was told wasn't even one of the biggest or newest ships in the fleet. The ship had a "World" theme to it so there were the Paris and London Dining rooms, the Rome Lounge, the Hollywood Disco, The Oxford Bar, the Venetian Room, and the Tokyo Underground amoung other places. Each of these rooms or locations were inspired by the cities they were named for, some more effectively than others. The ship also had gift shops, an art gallery, more bars than I knew what to do with, mini golf, an internet cafe, a spa, a gym, a theater, a library, and housed 1400 crew and 3000 passengers. Wow.

We visited four ports during our trip. Our first stop was Half Moon Cay in the Bahamas. Originally it was a pirate island but now it is privately owned. Only 45 acres of the 2000+ acres are developed so it looks like a rainforest magically appearing in the ocean when you approach it. The sand is so soft and the water is breath-taking clear. The downside to the island is that everything was run by Carnival so it wasn’t quite as intimate as the other islands; everything left a corporate taste in your mouth.

We went snorkeling at Half Moon Cay. I wasn’t sure if I would enjoy it as I am not a very strong swimmer but I found I was able to hold my own. In the water, there were mostly white fish with a blue-black stripe. Looking down at the water, they were easy to spot and see the outlines but from under the surface, it was difficult to see more than a dark line pass before your face. Brian discovered that the fish loved hotdogs as they all swarmed around him, fighting for a piece of the hot dog he was dropping into the ocean. I wasn’t a big fan of feeling the fish flick around my legs but it was an interesting experience to have.

I was also amazed at my ability to swim in the ocean. For a long time, I thought it was physically impossible for me to enter a body of water and manage to keep my head above the water but it wasn’t a struggle. Brian was able to explain to me how to make it easier because he could finally see what I was doing in the water to keep afloat without me thrashing around like a mad woman for air.

Another special thing from the trip was Brian with his shirt off on the beach. His skin is so fair and he burns so easily that he usually avoids spending time outside with his shirt off. But we kept him well slathered with sunscreen and he actually did better in the sun than I did. There are a few pictures of us together in our beach attire that I think I will always cherish.

By the end of the day, we were exhausted. My legs ached from walking and swimming but it felt so good. Our three o’clock nap was amazing and we had a dinner that tasted like heaven.

I’ll be posting pictures in here eventually but we still need to get them off of the camera.

What does that ring really mean?

On Monday through Friday, my husband wakes up and takes off his wedding band. It is as much apart of our routine as making dinner or visiting my grandparents. A new work day means that for the next eight to nine hours my husband takes off the visible symbol that he is mine and I am his.

For the vast majority of my husband’s time outside of the house, in a strange way, I do not exist. Women do not notice his wedding band because he does not wear it. And in an outsider’s perception, I only exist once I am mentioned.

Of course when he returns from work, his wedding band goes right back on his finger. Or at least right after he takes a shower. I do not doubt my husband’s dedication to our promise when the ring is on or off of his finger.

I find myself asking the question though – if a wedding band was not on my finger, would a stranger realize that I am married? If I did not wear my ring at work, would I feel less married? Does the ring make the marriage?

If the ring does not make the marriage, then my husband spent quite a bit of money on an engagement ring and wedding band that he did not need to.

In a strange way, a ring is almost like a human shield – the ring should be saying “your advances are not wanted”. But why do we need a little piece of metal to say that to others? Why are we not capable of saying it ourselves? Or maybe the ring is saying it to us, as in “their advances are not wanted”.

On the downside of marriage

One of the most infuriating things in the world that you discover post-marriage...

I can't just change everything to my new last name.

For example, when I started this, I opened my account under my maiden name email address. Unfortunately, I can't figure out how to transfer my user id to my new email address.

BAH HUMBUG

Anniversaries

Note: While a good part of me is desperate to give a scathing review of Britney Spears and its impact on pop culture and another part of me feels obligate to write something about September 11 and what it means to remember, I have decided that I will not be touching those topics until later in the week. There is still too much hype from Britney and it is so cliché to write about September 11th. I don’t believe that I can address those topics in a meaningful way at this time so I decline to do so until I feel ready. But trust me, I will.

On Saturday afternoon, I found myself shopping in Macy’s for dress clothes for Brian with my father which was not something I had planned to do. I had planned to go to my parents’ house, have my mother iron Brian’s new dress shirt and then head home but my mother’s quick departure to a hair appointment threw a wrench in those plans. I was grateful when my father offered to show me how to iron the dress shirt but one burnt fifty-five dollar French cuff shirt later, I was wondering if I made the correct decision.

Both fortunately and unfortunately, Macy’s was having their Labor Day One Day Sale on Saturday which meant prices were great but the lines were massive. We managed to find something similar to the burnt shirt in the very last one in Brian’s size. The line seemed to go on forever and very quickly, I found myself engaged in awkward conversation with my father.

My dad is not really a much of a talker in the best of circumstances. He’s a quiet guy, insightful. He’s the type of man that you have significant conversations with at home or in a nice restaurant on a predetermined date. He is not the type of man who wants to have a great conversation in line at a Macy’s. Whereas I’m the type of girl who does want to have those conversations.

We very quickly burned through the conversation he was willing to make. So I moved on to birthdays, anniversaries, upcoming significant family events. It just so happens that my parents’ sixteenth wedding anniversary is in two weeks so I asked my dad what he and my mom would like for a gift.

I was quickly alerted that this was an inappropriate question for me to ask. My father, apparently, believes that an anniversary is a private, intimate event between two people. An anniversary has nothing to do with anyone other than the two people who were involved.

I was shocked. And mildly insulted.

In a strange way, I realized that the words coming out of my father’s mouth went against everything I was raised to believe. And somehow, I felt like I was being left out in the cold by my family.

As a child raised with just a mother, I knew any marriage she was able to make was also a marriage with me. A potential husband for her was a potential father for me. We were a package deal and there was no way to separate us. My mother’s second husband adopted me following the wedding, making him the only father I have ever known. The marriage that took place in September of 1991 marks not only the beginning of my mother’s life with my father but the beginning of stability for me as well. Their anniversary is far more than just them.

Even more importantly, I was hurt as a Christian. A wedding between a man and a woman is not a rope with two strands but a rope with three strands representing Man, Woman and God. My father seemed to be leaving God out of his marriage. I also believe that a marriage is an event with in a community and therefore, shouldn’t the anniversary of that marriage also be an event within a community? If it does not continue to have that significance, then why do we take the time and effort to engage in premarital counseling through the Church, have the wedding ceremony take place in a Church and then invite a multitude of family and friends to the event? It seems to me that in order for a marriage to be successful, a community needs to stand behind it and in it. The support of other followers of Christ is what separates Christian marriages from our contemporary counterparts.

I’m still not sure what I want to say to my dad on the matter. I did some sleuthing and discovered where they are celebrating the day with a meal. It’s my intent to do something nice to mark the day, regardless of his desire for my involvement. Maybe its stubbornness or maybe it is a desire to be more Christ like in my actions. I have yet to determine which option it is.

How Quickly Ghosts Return

I received a phone call from an ex boyfriend last night. Not that a call from an ex boyfriend is all that unusual. I've had a lot of ex boyfriends and I am still friends with the majority of them. After all, I dated them for a reason and usually the reason I wanted to date them is reason why I want to maintain a friendship after the fact.

This ex boyfriend and I have a lot of history. I truly believed until a year ago that he and I were going to get married. Now I'm married to Brian. The ex and I have had the oddest relationship since day one. The first time I met him, I fell in love with him. I came home and told my mother that I had met the man I was going to marry. Mind you, I was 16 and he was 14. He is one of the rare people in my life that I know I will love forever regardless of the ways we have hurt each other in the past and the ways we will hurt each other in the future.

His phone call terrified me. He didn't know I was married. And there was something in his voice that scared me as that revelation I was made. I know him the same way I know Brian. Which is also very scary.

Six months ago, I thought I was never going to see him again. Now he calls and says he's been thinking about me. I almost gave up everything for him and now he's thinking of me. Great. Day late and a dollar short my friend.

My marriage is my priority. I hope he understands that nothing can change now.

Married and Money

One of the scariest aspects about starting a new life with someone is the financial intimacy that must ensue. We are raised with an idea: someday you will grow up, meet someone you love, get married and your own personal happily ever after will begin. We never raise our children with the idea that marriage is hard, that money might not be plentiful or that we might need to be completely honest.

The money portion is where most of the difficulty lies.

Once you become married, that's it. Any debt you acrue, at least in the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, belongs to both of you. Any money you make, well, that also belongs to both of you. Unfortunately, spending money is easier than making money. And any debt you had prior to the marriage belongs soley to the individual who acquired it.

At the moment, I feel like I am up to my eyeballs in debt. I have student loans, credit card payments, USAA auto insurance, cell phone, plus lord knows what else. It overwhelms me. It stresses me out. It makes me feel as if it is very difficult to be a good wife.

In my head, I have this feel of, if only I made more money. But I know that wouldn't really help. I would probably spend all of it. I would probably find new things that I "needed". Or things that I wanted Brian to have.

So I pray. I pray and I try to be more honest. The first step I think is prayer but a close second is being honest with myself. If I'm not honest with myself on this, how can I be honest with Brian? And with our marriage? I am trying to be open about this, about my struggles, and about what my marriage will look like.

May 16 aka 31 days

Last night I watched my almost husband sleep on the floor in green pasley boxers that I bought for him at Christmas as I half read Anne Lamott and I half listened to a thunderstorm roll into the Levittown skies.

I call Brian my "almost husband" because any other term available to describe his roll in my life seems horribly inaccurate. "Fiance" reminds me too much of Seinfeld and "maybe the dingo ate your baby" and I really don't want to be thinking about Julia Louis Dreyfuss when I think about my mate. The term "boyfriend" seems to downplay Brian's roll in my life as if he was a leftover relic from my college days with no actual commitment on the horizon. Which he is not. Thank you very much. I cannot yet call Brian my husband because the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania and my mother object on the grounds that our legally binding promise has yet to be signed. They apparently do not agree with my belief that engagement is just as binding as marriage.

Almost Husband it is.

Another accurate way to describe Brian is to refer to him as my better half. I do not say that to degrade or berate myself but as our premarital counselor so nicely put it, I have "tendencies" towards "agressive, dominant" behavior and intolerance, and Brian, well, he does not.

She also tried to tell us that the personality test which supplied the information was only a snapshot in time but I would be lying to myself if I did not admit that the statement is accurate on a daily basis.

Clearly, my almost husband is better than your almost husband. Mainly because he puts up with me.

Brian continues to amaze me each day. He has a wonderful ability to see through my, ahem, shit in a way that no one else can. And I have a lot of shit that needs to be seen through. I don't like to think of myself as someone who fronts, but I do know that I tend to only show one aspect of myself at a time to people in the outside world. All of it is accurate, but I'm still not showing everything. Okay, so maybe I front. My front is so good that even I forget that I'm fronting. At times, my front is like a creeping ivy that has overtaken a house and only a certain almost husband seems to be able to see through that ivy to the potential that lies beneath it.

Brian keeps me nice. I don't mean that in a way that implies that he pays for everything (although he does pay for quite a bit more than I do). Brian is my personal editor through life. He edits my post it note directions for our family with "please" and "thank you" and "have a nice day" and ":)". He stops me from leaving post it notes that say "take out the g-ddamn trash" for the wonderful family members who live with us. He let me buy a big soft comfortable mattress even though he would rather sleep on a plank. Why? Because it made me happy. He humors me. He willingly goes to my alma mater to visit my college friends even though he thinks the college I went to was weird and the people I knew were even weirder. He looks for ways to make my life better.

I tend to freak out on him because the dinner table isn't set, I have at least three more load of laundry to do, and he's been home for three hours longer than I have and all I wanted to do was paint my nails.

Thank god he lets me.

Bridal Bliss

I am a crappy bride.

And I'm not presenting that in a "I moonlight as bridezilla causing terror in the hearts of bridesmaids everywhere" sort of way.

I'm that bride that cares tremendously about the way this day looks and at the same time, I don't give a rat's ass.

I am a crappy bride.

When Brian and I first started to plan our wedding, I really tried, with all of my heart, to engage in a less is more strategy. A wedding is only one day. It does not make a marriage. A marriage will not be better or worse based on the number of guests who attend, how plentiful the flowers were, or whether or not the bridesmaids are perfectly matched. None of those things reflect a level of committment to making a marriage work. They instead reflect a committment to material things.

From the beginning, I wanted this to be simple. I did not have much of a desire for flowers. I wanted this to be a "clean line" wedding. I wanted classic and timeless and less fuss. I wanted more people and minimal fluff. I wanted great pictures of the people I love, not great pictures of flowers and reception sites.

Our wedding is going to take place in our little warehouse church called The Well. (Check out our website at www.thewellpa.com) It is fitting there. Brian and I met because of The Well. It is a place where we belong and where we are supported.

But then...

There is the nightmare that is the reception.

My mother has decided that the reception shall take place at the Middletown Country Club, where she and my father had their reception sixteen years ago. Very over the top, a lavish display of money, and nothing that resembles the clean, classic wedding that Brian and I desire.

I know I should be happy that my parents want to provide this wedding for me, but at the same time, it is not the wedding I want. It is not the wedding that Brian wants. It is the wedding that my mother wishes she had years ago. I feel so ungrateful for all of it.

And I don't want to feel that way.

I know it will be an enjoyable day for our guests. I know everyone will have a good time and I will have a good time. I know I will be amazed when I see Brian's face waiting for me. I know I'll probably cry like a baby at some point.

I'm still kinda sad that it won't be the wedding that I want.

And I worry that someday I'll plan the wedding that I dreamed of for my children instead of the wedding that they want.

I have this idea in my head that I should be happy as a bride, but instead, I feel like I just need to survive my wedding.