Step Twenty-Three: Love Languages

If you haven't heard of, checked, quizzed yourself or read about the 5 Love Languages- go look!

Essentially the idea is that love is expressed in five different categories: Gift Giving, Words of Affirmation, Acts of Service, Physical Touch, and Quality Time. If you need a clarification (or to find what your strengths are) feel free to visit the website.

I'll wait.

Have your top two? Me too. I "speak" in Words of Affirmation and Physical Touch- which doesn't surprise me at all because Mr. E and I aren't generally too far from each other spatially when we're together. I'm pretty big in the "talking" category, too. I just want my relationships to know exactly what it is that makes me happy: it helps them by acknowledging what they do and ensuring they'll do it again, propagating a cycle of generosity and encouragement.

I quizzed Mr. E too, partly out of curisoity but also because if I'm "talking" to him using the wrong "language" then we aren't communicating very effectively. It wasn't much of a surprise his highest scoring language was Physical Touch, but his secondary language (Quality Time) made me think.

Sometimes we reassess our day-to-day when we make big changes- it's a little way of keeping us connected and attuned with one another. Mr. E has often requested more time together and I always assumed it was because he's a little bit stingy with gas money or his down time and he didn't want to travel anywhere. And maybe that's part of it. But once I knew that "speaks" in Quality Time, I realized that this penchant for staying at home and hanging together made a little more sense. This was a way he was telling me he loved me.

These certainly aren't hard and fast rules and there are always exceptions, but by understanding the preferences we have for expressing our feelings, it was a lot easier for Mr. E and I to communicate. And communication is a good thing...you know?

Step Twelve: To Get You've Got to Give

This is kind of a two-sided suggestion.

First of all, giving feels really good.

No, not necessarily that kind of good, guys. I'm talking the kind of good that comes from volunteering or doing something self-less because it feels good to give to others. I love making other people's day, be it a card in the mail or an extra soda from the machine at work. I'm always on the lookout for that little something extra to let people know that they are important to me. So why not use this on my husband?

Sure, I can show him a little love but what I'm really trying to do is associate myself with the act of giving so when he sees me it's a quick association with receiving something he likes. There's a lot of hardship that can go on in a relationship, but when I go out of my way to pick up a Slim Jim at the gas station or buy a movie I know he wants, I'm keeping our bond on an even keel. There's not always time for long conversations about how things are, but a pair of socks (one of his favorite gifts, I'll have you know) can have much the same meaning: I'm thinking about you even when I'm buying a work uniform.

How does this help him do what you want? I don't know about you, but there's always a little friendly competition going on in our house. We're not necessarily trying to outdo one another, but hardly a day goes by when we can't help ourselves from matching each other's gestures. For example: while he's busy doing something at home, sometimes I'll turn to him, meet his eyes and tell him just how happy I am that we got married. Snapping him out of his task and stating how much he means to me can be a pretty powerful mood changer for him. Of course, he can't let that go unmatched- and he often turns the tables on me a few hours later.

It's sort of like leading by association. Mr. E sometimes needs a little reminder that I could use a pick-me-up, but instead of pouting or whining or "I wish you would..."-ing (yeah, I just made that a verb) I encourage him in a way that's stress-free for the both of us.

Step Ten: Avoiding Comparison

I am far more guilty of this than anyone has the right to be. We are constantly surrounded with relationships of all types: media, celebrities, movies, TV, music, family, friends, friends of friends...It's easier than ever to snoop your nose into someone's "private life" through social media. The problem is you're not seeing the whole story. For all the people who are over-sharers and tell every bit to their lives, there are also those who only share the good parts. Or only share the bad. So what you end up "seeing" is a rather one-sided and heavily audience-influenced view of what's going on in that relationship.

Since every relationship is different, there is no "one way" that relationships work. Even this series may not work for everyone. You're only doing yourself a disservice to nitpick and compare how different your relationship is from someone else's. We all have different skeletons in our closet so there's no way to determine what's working or not working. For every blog you read that gushes about the sweet date nights their husband takes them on, maybe they're not disclosing the awful fights their having about money or their nightly battles about the in-laws.

I hear from my girlfriends all.the.time about comparing their situation to someone else's. Guys want to be like him and girls want to be like her and instead of being true to themselves and the things that they want they butt heads because neither is the person they wanted to be. If you're projecting onto your spouse that you wish they were different, or that you're relationship were different, then you're sending the message that your partner is inadequate. And where's the fun in that?

Comparison can quickly boil down to resentment. Which leads to hate which leads to anger which leads to suff- oh, you get the idea. Neither partner in the relationship deserves to be compared to anyone else. It's a disservice to them and a disservice to the commitment you made to each other. 

I've found that the best remedy for comparing relationships is two-fold: communicate with one another and double-date. If your needs or goals have changed (or if you suspect his have) and you find yourself idly wishing for something else- talk to your partner about it! Address the situation and explain how you feel. Don't harbor bad feelings because they can often seep out at unexpected times and create a bigger mess than you intended. 

That double-date? I wasn't kidding. Try hanging out with another couple to see how they work in person. Often times there's a lot of hidden communication and/or tension that you don't see in scripted photos or those perfect Christmas card blurbs. 

You married your significant other because they were themselves. Maybe it was because they made you laugh, or they saved you from your darkest days, or their fingers tickling baby toes makes your heart go aflutter. Whatever it is, you chose them. Specifically. Instead of all the other people in this world. Don't undermine that by comparing them to something (or someone) they aren't.

Step Nine: Leading by Example and Pulling Your Own Weight

I expect a lot from my husband- not necessarily because it's my husband or even because he's a man, but because he's my partner. I work hard and I need someone who's going to work hard beside me. The best way to encourage Mr. E is to show him what I want. 
Now, this is much different from doing the things I wished he would do and grumbling about it. I'm not talking about holding a grudge against your husband and shouldering the work yourself. I mean leading him in service by showing him how you want it done. 

I've found that a big roadblock in a couple's relationship- whether living together or apart- is communication. That's a whole other blog post, but the essentials are the same: you can't expect your significant other to inherently know what it is that you're expecting, no matter how many times you've done it in front of them or with them or to them or whichever way. If you want something done specifically, take the time to show him. 

This idea applies to a lot of relationships- as evidenced by my mother. When we were old enough to clean the bathroom on our own she didn't just hand us a sponge and tell us to go at it, no matter how many times we had peeked at her scrubbing the tub. She wiped the mirror and rinsed the sink right there along with us so we had tangible evidence of what we were doing and why. From then on we had no excuses for an inferior scrub-job since she had shown us exactly how to do it.

The same is true for your husband! Leading the charge against the ever-piling dishes, or the leaning-tower-of-laundry shows him what's important to you- that you're not just asking him to do a chore because you're angry or bitter that he's doing something else. When your husband feels like the both of you are participating in a project (whether it's cleaning house or looking at finances) he's more likely to enjoy it because no one wants to do those things alone.

Pulling your weight in all manner of things "together" encourages communication and fosters strong relationships. It's kind of a guilt trip all on its own (without the nagging) because it shows him (not tells him) your work ethic and the standards you hold yourself to. Ideally, if you're keepin' it honest, he'll know it's expected of him too.

Step Seven: Show Him Some Love

Much in the same way that I need to foster a positive environment in order to encourage my husband to do things with me, part of that environment is giving Mr. E tangible reminders. Not only is this a sweet gesture, but it lets Mr. E know that he's important to me, that he's remembered throughout my day and that he's still (always) my main man.

I know that when this is done for me it certainly boosts my ego and encourages me a little further to help out in the things he needs.

There's a lot of exepctation in our society that wives are needy and husbands need to step up their game to assauge their wives, but I think this is sort of unfair. Mr. E needs to be shown on a regular basis that I'm thinking of him- partly because that's his personality, but also because hubbies have needs too!

Buy his favorite snack at the store, just 'cuz.
Leave him a love note: on the mirror, on the TV, on the bedside table- or all three!
Give him a hand massage.
Pull out his favorite movie to watch.
Make his favorite meal.

People are more likely to listen and follow what you need when you show them that they're appreciated before you ever have need of them. Mr. E knows that I give him affection more often than just when I need something from him, so he doesn't feel cornered or distrustful when those little gestures occur. Instead we've built a system of encouragement for one another through word and deed that shows that we listen and understand each other. 

Last Day of Summer

We spent the last day of summer at the LA County Fair. Mr. E and I have gone to the fair almost religiously every year- usually San Diego County, then last year at the Orange County and then we missed BOTH and had to settle for LA. We've determined Del Mar is the best- as OC was incredibly boozy and LA was too spread out.

We sorely missed all of the crazy booths and products. Where were the SHAM-WOWS? The dog brushes and the popsicle-makers? The stained glass and the personalized bracelets? We were impressed with the hanging terrariams (below) and the iron work, but they were small potatoes compared to the fried food.

We're crazy about that fried food. We've tried something crazy every time we go to the fair- because if not then, WHEN? Bacon-wrapped pickles. And deep-fried watermelon. Amazing.

We made it a double date with one of the friends who introduced us to each other (him) and his girlfriend. The best part of the fair this year was our $5/3 cupcake frosting class! Look at these adorable farm animals we created! That's Mr. E's pig down there- despite the fact that I'M the cake decorator in the house!

Goodbye, summer. We had a hard time enjoying you, what with the move and all. But now we're firmly ensconced here in Burbank and we plan to enjoy every pumpkin-flavored confection fall has to offer. Bring on the season of cream cheese.

Movies This Week:
The Crow

The World's End




Major League

In the Words of Mr. E: For Brie

Mr. E shows his head! His agreement to post once a week didn't quite come through, but his voice is still heard. These are his words: mostly true, sometimes made-up, always awesome.

So this week I thought I’d set aside 5 minutes and write for myself for once. But I’m not sticking to the theme because I already have something I want to write about.

I tell her all the time, probably 6 or 5 times a day, but I only tell her because it’s true: My wife is awesome.

It’s always a sobering reminder when I open up her blog to catch up on her posts (at least the ones I haven’t already proof read) and I see how much she writes about me. First of all, I don’t think I’m actually as cool and talented as she thinks I am, but the way she supports me makes me want to be the man she sees me as. I’m not sure what I did to deserve such utter devotion and support from such a wonderful woman.

Umm… that was already five minutes? I still have more to say… does anyone else cheat on these things?

I guess I’ll just sum it up. What I am trying to say is that I constantly strive to love my wife the way she loves me. There’s nobody I’d rather go through this crazy life with. I want to thank her publicly for being my best friend, my lover, and the one thing I can always depend on.

Love,

Mr. E.

Present #fiveminutefriday

Write. For five minutes straight. One-word prompt, five minutes, no editing. I'm linking up over at Lisa-Jo Baker (aka The Gypsy Mama) where we read, write and encourage.

I inwardly winced when he told me how much time he had left on the countdown. Only a matter of hours to go before the deadline closed and his film school dreams would dwindle in despair, bitter and cold. I could only imagine what this would do to him.

Throwback Thursday, ya'll

We spent the last few months prepping: he was researching financial aid, I studied for finals; he ran between three schools for paperwork, I submitted 15 pages on Midwifery in the Middle Ages. So when he surprised me with a final project (due tomorrow) I wasn't sure how much energy I had left in me. We were running on low and we needed a miracle.

The prompt was vague (of course) and his idea was sweet, but when he presented the video to me all I could do was cry. This isn't that surprising since I cry with all of my emotions, but I was over- and under-whelmed all at the same time, full of love and pride for this man I would one day call my husband, but also terribly disappointed that his procrastination may have cost him the college he really wanted.

Two minutes, 19 objects to tell 19 years of his life with Elton John's "Daniel" playing softly in the background, the song he was named for.

I gave up sugar and he gave up milk in a two month fast and prayer session. I prayed more than I have ever prayed in my life, harder, stronger, more sincere to get that man into his dream college. He needed some good news after the last year and a half and our hearts were tired, but we knew that faith, love and a little bit of movie magic would see us through.

And it did.

Mr. E got in on the action too! Sort of prompt-less, but five minutes all the same!

In Between #fiveminutefriday

Write. For five minutes straight. One-word prompt, five minutes, no editing. I'm linking up over at Lisa-Jo Baker (aka The Gypsy Mama) where we read, write and encourage.

She sleeps right there, sometimes over, sometimes under, always snuggled right in between. Mr. E had a hard enough time with my flailing arms and legs in those stolen naps together, but now we're constantly poked and prodded with little puppy feet. We turn over in the morning to scold but she opens one lazy eye and her belly is uplifted just waiting for scratches. 

She'll always be our first.

In our constant state of waiting, the job search, the apartment hunting, it's the simple things that are the hardest. Remember to eat. Get up on time. Shave your legs today. There's always something that I'm missing lately because I'm not quite here nor there. I'm in a state of in between, population: me.

In the humid gloom of our add-on master bedroom I shuffle towards the bathroom, shedding sheets and clothes in my quest for the shower. If I make eye contact with her she'll prick her ears and cock her head to the side and swish her tail, eager to please. Mr. E is still a lump on a log at this point, too early for him and already late for me. This is where she thrives the best. She's snuggly and tiny and small, bits and pieces all wrapped around a tail that slowly inflates as she struggles to let out the biggest sigh of contentment.

As soon as I'm clean and human again she waits, eagerly anticipating the moment I open the second drawer from the top. It's at this point she knows- I'll reach in and she's already jumped the pillow hurdle, spinning between my feet as I hop and skip to shove my legs into pants. She'll sprint to the door and pause, waiting until I'm close enough for her to reach up and hook her tiny paws around my knee, stretching for attention. We play this game for most of the morning- I'm making cereal, checking my email, packing my briefcase and still she's stretching on her tip toes.

It isn't until the snap of the laptop that she sprints between the sliver of open door (ringing those dangling bells) and paces beside Mr. E. She's impatient, waiting for permission to jump on the bed and the moment she has it she's all waggy tails and tongue and floppy ears until...she's not. As quick as she can squeeze herself between Mr. E's backside and a pillow it's as if she wasn't awake at all. A kiss for them both and I'm out the door, only pausing long enough to make eye contact and she slowly winks her eyes closed and settles in for her second long nap. This was just the play time in between.

LOVED This Weekend

"Your eyes are like the color of the ocean," she yelled at him, weathering another breaking wave by bouncing on her toes.

He squinted and smiled, the kind that spread slow like syrup across his features. Salt was in his mohawk and in the corners of his lips. She grinned back. The constant roar of the waves did not make for whispered confessions of love. They had all the time in the world for that later.

She watched him swim and ride and tumble in the foam and cherished that moment, just as she did when he teased her for neglecting to rub aloe on her sunburn or sang Prince Charming's response to her Snow White imitation.

At the end of summer's first beach day- courtesy of growing into responsible adults- they tumbled into the car wet and weary. Windows rolled down to alleviate the heat, book in hand, she rested her free hand on his thigh the way they always did in car rides. No bucket seats, said Cake.

It was perfect, these moments they created. Getting home and letting the dog out, unpacking the sand and shore from their towels, settling back into home. On a holiday for parenthood they called fathers and avoided each others' eyes and held their breath, waiting waiting waiting. It wasn't this year and it hadn't been last, despite what they lectured and warned. But it was coming, slow and sure and inevitable and this time it was just a little bit anticipated. The tiniest of bits. The kind that scattered when you turned on the light or hid in corners at loud noises.

She watched him with wide eyes and an open heart as he made dinner, slicing and setting timers and sneaking olives. The weight of reality was setting in as calls and inquiries came over the line from friends and family; when when when. A question they couldn't answer, a feeling they couldn't point to. Soon, they murmured, soon soon soon.

Two years was easy. Five years was cake. But if everyone said it was coming then they had to batten down the hatches, didn't they? They needed to hunker down and store up love like sustenance because it was all they had to go on. If it wasn't now, was it next year? If it hadn't happened, would it at all?

She kidnapped the dog to the bedroom, sneaking pen and paper. Maybe not this year and maybe not next, but between the two of them some concessions could be made. Just this once. 

The dog shook once and tottered over wooden floors to the kitchen, all waggy tails and a lolling tongue. He couldn't resist and bent down to the note on the collar, hidden amongst the wiry hair. Happy Father's Day in scribbly writing. His throat caught and he met her eyes, a smile that spread like syrup. 

 Cornerstone Confessions

Belated? I Prefer "Continuing the Love"

There are so many things to be grateful for in my father.

He explained to me who was "good enough".

He instilled a deep abiding love of all things nerd and geek related.

He challenged me to take responsibility for myself and my actions.

And he continues to impress me with the choices he makes every day to be a better person, friend, son, father and husband.

I knew what to look for in a husband because of my dad. Thank goodness they get along.

Date Night- For Free.

Sometimes...you just need to get out of the house. You can't look at the sink one more time. You can't watch another episode of Arrested Development. Your dog is running figure-eights around the coffee table for no apparent reason. So you decide it's date night.

First stop? The dog park. There is a small enclosed space for little dogs that we take Ripley to, but we've decided she's a teensy bit racist. She doesn't play with other dogs unless they're terriers or a terrier mix. Fact. (Also, we learned that Ripley EATS PUZZLE PIECES.)

After dropping Rips back home, we cooked up a batch of crack chocolate popcorn. If you have ever been to Downtown Disney, you know why this is a necessity. That wily park and associated shops and stores pump yummy smelling aromas into the air...they make you crave candy corn balls and cinnamon buns and beignets by the dozen. We take our own candy to avoid being swindled. Most of the time it works.

Always always always our first stop is the Lego Store. Mr. E has a bit of a fascination with Legos and they've been really innovative recently- setting up stations to make your own figures, hosting vehicle-building-and-racing contests and kicking out movie-themed kits. We never fail to enter that store when it's insanely busy and the employees are always sooo nice. 

Our favorite pasttime is staking out the left most corner of the store where they display their MiniFigures- small Lego people that come sealed in a plastic bag. The only way to determine which figure you're buying (there are 15 different themed people to each series) is to use x-ray vision tactile perception. We sit and feel around the bags with our fingers, guessing at hats and hair and handheld props. Is that a wrench? Or a tomahawk? We scored a merman who sits proudly at my work desk as a reminder of my Triton spirit!

Downtown Disney isn't that large- and most of it is restaurants, which we avoid- but it's a nice stroll, especially since we've eliminated the stress of being at the park all day. We head through the Disney store for our fix of kiddie things, then wander back and people watch, hand in hand, enjoying the sights and sounds and fireworks. We usually find the time to stop by the confection shop because CARAMEL APPLES, that's why. And also, all things Monsters Inc. 

We tired the dog out, walked our little feetsies off, made friends and chowed on (free! homemade!) popcorn. Date night over and out.

Home Alone

Husband,

Ripley and I missed you today. Though I think I missed you more than she did. We laid spread-eagle on the couch hoping to entice the cool air through our curtains and into the room. No such luck, but that may have been because she and I tried to compete for Biggest and Most Content Sigh. She won.

We spent a lot of time in the kitchen, too. This is to be expected when I need to use up 25lbs of flour before we move. Still not sure if we'll have a place to put food storage, so our bulk items may have to be used up in two months time. Of course, this is my favorite kind of challenge so while I made pizza crust (you're welcome) I tried a new recipe for oatmeal bread. Six hours of rising and waiting and failing to double its size later, I've deduced I hate making bread. Hate. It. Crusts don't count.

I did all the things around the house today that we keep meaning to do but never get around to. You know, the ones that I've put on list after list in an effort to motivate myself (and you!) but it never really happens. What do they say about doing the same thing over again and expecting different results? Oh, stubborn, that's right.

When I couldn't handle Ripley's doe eyes one more minute (even after the bone she ate in 10 minutes flat) we went for a walk. You always start out, "Ripley! Do you..." and she cocks her head to the side, pupils wide, tail paused for a split second until she can't take the excitement anymore and she bounces off your shins and slides on the kitchen rug in her effort to get outside. We don't even need to finish the sentence.

Around Gilbert's house, past the house we're sure sells drugs, the newly renovated dream house I wish they didn't paint such an atrocious yellow, the sidewalk with the nocturnal cockroaches and the stoplights that are always out. It doesn't matter how fast I try to walk, her little legs are always scuttling faster, pulling me down the sidewalk, past the shops, the bars, the restaurants, the other dogs. 

I want to remember all of it before we go- before we're out of this house and this little-big town and onto becoming full-time adults, the two of us...and the dog. I want to remember doing whatever we want that makes us happy, together or apart, with or without each other. 

But just for the record, I think doing stuff with you is a million times better than doing anything without you. It's a good thing we like each other. 

Wife

Are You my Mother?

I have never known anyone as strong, dedicated, understanding, unselfish, patient, forgiving, helpful, honorable, creative, practical, charismatic and beautiful...

as my mother.

If I can be half the woman she is, I'll know I did something right. 

Mom, I chose one without us crying...or blinking. Apparently that's difficult for us.

Here #fiveminutefriday

Write. For five minutes straight. One-word prompt, five minutes, no editing. I'm linking up over at Lisa-Jo Baker (aka The Gypsy Mama) where we read, write and encourage.

"Here," he said as he held out his worn, calloused hands, indicating I should relinquish my grip on the bouquet. How does one hold these anyways? I thought, irritably. Not too close to the dress, but don't brandish it like a weapon.

I handed him my collection of green, white, and pink ribbons, odds and ends of a collection of pre-nuptial gifts, perfectly put-together by my mother. The little paper plate they were pinned to looked so small in his grasp. The way I have always felt. He towered over me when I was little, bundled me up in bear-hugs home from deployments and fierce embraces when I came to him with tear-streaked cheeks.

And now he looked at me with such questioning eyes- as if our roles had somehow reversed and he looked to me to tell him when the shots would be called. Did he feel like this when I turned to him growing up? Unsure but cocky, nervous but deliberate.

Once my shoe strap was fixed, leaning slightly against his frame, I adjusted the bouquet again. Our cue came and we glided down the grass as he mumbled in my ear how to walk in time with him. Things I should remember for tomorrow. But all I had eyes for was Mr. E. I was here and now, caught in that peculiar moment of present and future when your imagination gives color to what you're doing.

Dad hesitated at the arch, only to kiss my cheek and smile reassuringly. After all, tomorrow we'd do it all again.

Love Letter, Birthday Style

To my husband,

We planned and schemed and waited (most impatiently) for when we would be married. We spent four years apart, commuting over and over and over again, just to spend a dinner together. A movie. A car ride.

I felt beautiful in your smile, safe in your eyes and needed in your arms. I trudged through school, through part-time jobs and through fair-weather friends because I knew that you expected more from me. I had to be strong because that's how you saw me. That's what I wanted to be for you. 

It wasn't until later that I realized the changes that you wrought on my thoughts, my habits and my actions. Things I initially did to impress you became second nature. By dating you I improved myself.

Even though we knew early on what our goal was, it didn't stop us from second-guessing ourselves. We waited because that's what was right for us, but every passing month we grew a little more anxious. We didn't know until now that we were building a skill-set that would come in useful later on down the road. Communication. Patience. How to fight fairly and with respect. Compromise. 

After a year and a half of marriage, I know in my heart of hearts that we WON. We were patient. We didn't listen to the naysayers. We didn't focus on the negativity or the distance or the differences between us. Instead we learned from these things and used them to our advantage. 

I hate that you don't cook dinner more often. So I invite you to cook with me. And you do.

I wish you would go to bed with me more often. So I smother you with kisses when I leave for work in the morning. And ask you to make the bed. And you do.

It bugs me that you can't remember to move your recyclables TO the container. So I leave you sweet love letters with to-do lists and silly pictures. And you do it all without complaining.

I'm sure that I do crazy things that flip you out too (picture hanging a million times leaving crazy holes in the wall, obsessive bathroom cleaning) but at the end of the day we share a love and understanding for each other that I will be forever grateful for. 

I married you a long time ago. In a parking lot on a college campus. Each day since then has been the choice to keep going. And I've never regretted that decision.

Your wife.

Remember #fiveminutefriday

My five minutes haven't started yet! Part of this blog was a personal encouragement (nudge? shove) to write more. And while the NaBloPoMo was fun, one topic for the entire month was...difficult. Challenging. Repetitive. Sister-in-law suggested this: Five Minute Friday. One word topic, five minutes of writing, no editing (NO EDITING, Brie). We'll see how long I can keep up. "We dwarves are natural sprinters. We're wasted over long distances..."--Gimli son of Gloin

 

Remember when we came back from our honeymoon? We moved in and suddenly everyone expected us to be together. All the time. We had no qualms, this was something we had looked forward to for months--years! I loved every indulgent smile, every glance you cast my way. We were goofy on love.

Moving in together wasn't as hard as they made it out to be. We fit together. Pieces falling into place, your stuff complemented mine. We rejoiced in the things we had in common (multiple copies of the same book, the same movie, organizers and staplers and pictures). We spent the first week deep-cleaning the bachelor pad. How lucky were we to score the house we rent? Three bedrooms and a yard to boot. Baby, we'll never realize how good we had it until we move.

But we sat down and we soaked it in. We soaked it all in. I tried to be selfish and avoided really looking for a job. I just wanted to be home with you, cleaning and decorating. Two years later and I laugh at all the time I had to myself, but all I wanted to do was please you. You're still the center of my world, the rock that holds me steady, but I've learned to branch out. To do my own thing. You won't hold me accountable if the floors aren't swept. You never cared about hanging the pictures. You sheepishly admit to only making the bed because I expect it.

But we grew together here. We grew closer here. In this house, in these rooms, on this couch we find comfort in just being together. Because we don't have to be apart any more. There's no desperate time crunch. And it's glorious.

You.
And me.
Remember?

You Might Not Want to Know

NaBloPoMo Feb 2013: Love & Sex


When do you feel your sexiest?

When I'm focused on my husband.
Sunday mornings.
After a shower.
In heels.
After a work-out. And then a shower.
Whenever I listen to Doris Troy's "Just One Look"

If you'll notice, a lot of these times are self-made. As in, they don't just happen to me, I endeavor to make them happen. Because feeling sexy- feeling beautiful and confident- is important. Because when I'm happy, my man's happy.

I've never taken much stock in how sexy I look. Attractive, sure. Beautiful, yes. But sexy? Was never really the look I tried to achieve. One of the great things about Mr. E is his constant appraisal of how I look. Whether I'm knee deep ocean waves or showing him my new haircut, he always takes the time to let me know just how sexy I am. And THAT is when I feel sexiest.


This marks Day 28, people. As in done with February's NaBloPoMo. Thank goodness, because if I had to type "sex" one more time I thought my ears might fall off. It's a good thing I've never foreseen romance novel-writing in my future...

Does this mean I'll stop writing every day? No. But I certainly won't feel obligated or pressured to do so either. I want to keep you updated on what I'm doing, I want to record all of my projects at home, I want a record of the movies we watch and the things we do. I want you to know exactly how Mr. E and I are going through life one weekend at a time.

So I'll keep the weekend picture updates. Because goodness knows I take enough pictures of Ripley. But this is also the story of me. And what I do to make myself happy with my life- which in large part is keeping Mr. E happy, too. 

Sit down, stay tuned and watch out. Our life is just beginning.

[E]motion

NaBloPoMo Feb 2013: Love & Sex


Mae West described sex as "emotion in motion." Unpack this idea in a post.
Brace yourselves. It's about to get...rough? Rowdy? Randy? Romantic? 

When a man and a woman love each other....

I love my husband. I like to think we have an immensely healthy relationship. Not because we've learned to compromise. Not because we strive to put each other first. Not because we actively enjoy each other's company...But because we've learned how to communicate with one another.
"Don't underestimate the importance of BODY LANGUAGE."
acrophotography.com
I agree with Ms. West. Sex, at it's rawest form is emotion- a way of communicating feelings without words. We certainly have a lot of words to describe sex, and each of them have a different connotation, don't they? No two...sessions...are alike. They say something different, something unique each time. Having sex, making love, fooling around are all the same basic movements, the same general idea, but the emotions change. I certainly don't have the same mindset each time.

Maybe that's why sex is such a heated, polarizing topic. We're essentially speaking volumes without saying a word (or saying many of them, if that's your thing). We're emotionally bare, brutally honest and ....open in ways that many of us try to avoid. 
That's REALLY scary. 
And incredibly humbling. 
And probably something that your significant other would prefer to keep within the relationship (unless THAT'S your thing). 

Emotions are finicky creatures- they're loyal to themselves- not you- often betraying how you think you should feel. They upstage your senses, make you feel things you do not.want.to.feel. 
My drama teacher in high school once told us there's a heated debate over whether sex on-stage is acting: because the two are so all-encompassing you can't really have sex (personally emotionally open) and act (pretending to be emotionally open as someone else) at the same time. This doesn't seem to stop the internet. But then again, I think we're talking about two different kinds of acting.
It's not all rainbows and love and everything wonderful in our home. There's a lot of stress, a lot of pressure and a lot of expectation (from ourselves and others). But our communication (our relationship, our connection with each other, our marriage) has never been better. 

You know, and the sex is great too.

Sex...y?

NaBloPoMo Feb 2013: Love & Sex



Do you think you would enjoy being a "sex symbol?"
Let's get those giggles out now, people. Would I enjoy it? Sure. For those first few photoshoots until someone had the nerve to criticize me. I do NOT take criticism well. I absorb criticism like a sponge. I take the time to taste it, each excruciating bite, savoring it all until I can break it down, digest it, and let it go.
I'm not skinny enough.
I'm not big enough.
I'm not toned enough.
I don't have any place in my own idea of what "sexy" is, but that doesn't mean that I can't be sexy. And it certainly doesn't mean that I don't try. 
I think sexy is relative. Objective. Dependent. 


And let's be honest, why would I want anyone other than my husband to symbolize me. I'll take your admiration and praise from something else, thanks.