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”.

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.