This week is my fourteenth wedding anniversary, so I’ve been reflecting on our married life and have come up with one word to describe it: comfortable. My warped humor prevents me from writing a reverent tribute to the man who has managed to put up with me for all these years. Nothing I write will be proper commendation for his sacrifice 🙂
Here’s a bit about my hubby: he is a neat-freak. His motto: “everything has a place.” I knew that about him from the beginning, so it wasn’t a total shock to see it in action when we first moved into our house. He took great care to perfectly arrange everything sitting on our countertops. After he walked away from an item, I would come behind him and move it slightly. I almost couldn’t stifle my laughter when he’d come back in the room and halt in front of a moved item, stare at it and then slide it back into place.
My behavior must sound terrible, but in my defense, my ornery streak was as obvious as his compulsive straightening. In fact, he told me early in the relationship that my smart aleck attitude was one of the things that attracted him to me in the first place. Yes, my dear husband is a sick man 😉
Having children has forced him to lighten up adapt and accept a new definition of neat:
His attire has changed, too. B.C. (Before Children) my husband dressed in twill shorts with a black dress belt and tucked-in polo shirts. I urged him to loosen up – you know, go wild and wear the shirt un-tucked once in a while. Or, throw caution to the wind and not wear a belt. It took years to get him to wear sweat shorts when we went hiking – and even then, he insisted on tucking his shirt in. It took a few more years for that to go, too. Now, his wardrobe looks like this:
My survival has depended on me evolving, also. When we were first married, the entire house would be scrubbed every week – with bleach even. (Now bleach is reserved for special occasions.) Mopping has given way to challenging the kids to get all the black spots off the tile with Clorox wipes; the kids clean their own bathroom (while I avoid looking); and vacuuming gets done when the build-up of playground sand, woodchips and animal hair make it hazardous to walk through the house.
I used to tuck my shirts in too, but two children (and no abs) later, I’ve come to the conclusion that tucked in shirts are over-rated. In fact, most of my dresses don’t get wear time for the same reason. I suspect my self-consciousness about my midsection is like my other flaws – it feels like the whole world is staring, but in reality, no one cares.
Even though I do still make myself look decent for work, the transformation that happens once I’m home is amazing (horrifying). Within ten minutes, I’ve gone from presentable to deplorable. My hair is harnessed by a claw clip and the skirt and dressy shirt are ditched for jeans and a t-shirt, or worse – pajamas. Like my husband, I have acquired quite a selection of work out-type clothing, however, mine boasts a brighter color palette.
There is so much more I could write about our relationship, but, lucky for you, this is a blog post – not a novella – so I’ll leave it at this. We may be prime candidates for TLC’s What Not To Wear, but our clothes are comfortable, allowing us room to stretch, relax and enjoy life without pretense; just like our relationship.
What one word describes your closest relationship?