Tag Archives: marriage

My love anchor

30 Aug

I woke up before anyone else in the house did on my wedding day. It was six o’clock and my nerves had driven me to the bathroom. Back in bed, I pretended to go back to sleep, but my mind kept running through the events of the day ahead of me. I wanted our kiss to be perfect.

We got married at twenty-four. Some may say that’s young, but I knew I wanted to be with him forever after we had only been dating for three months. I’ve always said I’d be ready to take the next step, build my life, when I knew we were right for each other. My anchor. He’s always been my anchor. This is what I’ve learned after fifteen years together, ten of those as husband and wife.

I didn’t know back then how many obstacles we’d be faced with in the years ahead. Neither of us saw mental illness in my future. How could anyone predict that? And even if we could, it’s not like it would have changed our minds about wanting to be together.

It’s not easy being married to me. I have tumultuous moods, get frustrated easily, am the most stubborn person I know,  and I’m sure sometimes he just wants to shush me because I’m exhausting. But he doesn’t. Because he knows that’s just who I am. And he loves me for me. I like to think I’m all the excitement he’ll ever need.

He is my support, encouraging me with his love. He is my balance, guiding me back to the middle when I sway off course. He is my steady, gently pulling me up when I fall back. I am more in love with him today than I was the day I married him.

Happy Anniversary, Honey. You’re my anchor through life’s storms. And I love being tied to you.

xoxoxoxoxo

10thAnniversary

Five Minute Friday {11}: Listen

14 Jun

When I listen to my heart, it tells me to keep being brave. To stay open and to keep giving and sharing my story, especially when I feel like giving up.

This week I’ve listened to the waves methodically sweeping in, crashing into the sand in gentle whispers while laying on the beach reading. I’ve listened to tropical birds coo and sing, their vibrant chirps awakening me from naps taken under the shade of palm trees.

But my favorite sound, by far, has been the joyful laughter of us, four friends reunited.

Our voices reminiscing over meals shared together. We listened to each other declare short term goals, we remembered all that we have experienced in our many years of friendship and marriage, and we discussed how hard it is to raise a family.

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I’m so grateful for this week.

It’s our last day here in paradise. By this evening we will have returned to the reality of normal life. And I’m quite sure that we’ve all been refreshed and energized by this vacation. I’m excited to arrive home and listen to the sounds of my family settling back into our routines, our summer together.

Time to return to living my story. One glorious day at a time.

Five Minute Friday

Five Minute Friday {10}: Fall

7 Jun

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LuxICMaldives via Compfight cc

I’ve already started packing. My suitcase sits open in the middle of our bedroom and all week I’ve been tossing things in as I get ready to finish stuffing in sundresses and books, bikinis and sandals until I’ll zip it shut tomorrow evening. I’ll be wearing the perfume of coconut-banana scented suntan lotion all week, my hair will curl in it’s natural, frizzy waves as I’ll forego blow drying for air drying.

 

We’ll worry about the kids, but know that they’ll be in heaven at home with their grandparents – all four of them taking shifts so they don’t get too exhausted by the fun of it all.

Whenever we’re able to do this – to run away from the same old day-to-day for a just-me-and-you vacation, I fall back into what life was like before kids, before marriage, before the responsibilities of work and a mortgage. I feel like we’re dating again, flirting and being silly with each other. Holding hands as we walk to breakfast or dinner. Or on the beach, lounging in our sunchairs, when I look over at you and give your hand a little squeeze while we gaze out at the ocean.


Not that I need a tropical vacation to appreciate all the wonderful things about you, honey. Time on an island with you just reminds me of our honeymoon. Only now, I no longer have those anxious butterflies in my stomach, nervousness about how our future will play out. Because time has passed – almost 10 years since that week in St. Lucia after our wedding – and we’ve fallen into each other and I’m not nervous for the future anymore.

I’m only giddy with excitement, ready to fall more in love with you in the coming years than I’ve ever been before.

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Linking up with Lisa-Jo Baker’s

Five Minute Friday

Rainy Wedding Days

20 May

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Last night, before turning out the light in the guest room of my brother’s house, I pulled a slim white album off the corner bookshelf at the foot of the bed. I knew what the album contained before opening it. Some of the photos were familiar, but I marveled at how I found there were several which I seemed to be looking at as if for the first time.

They looked so young to me. I tried to imagine the emotions they must have been feeling on that day. Fear, excitement, joy, and a little anticipation for a new sort of freedom thrown in for good measure.

My dad, he stood so straight and proud. Decked out in his dress uniform. Short military haircut, boyish grin. His eyes sparkled with an obvious happiness.

My mom, a vision in her long-sleeved, poofy-shoulder white gown. With lace detail and tulle veil. Her eyes gazing nervously into her future.

At that moment, when they became husband and wife, I wonder if they stopped to think during all the buzz and exhilaration of the day. Did their future flash before their eyes?

Did they envision two kids and the single-family house with a white picket fence? Did they ever think, in their wildest dreams, that they’d eventually have a son-in-law and daughter-in-law who so perfectly fit their own daughter and son? Or that many years down the road they’d be the proud grandparents of four beautiful grandchildren ranging in ages from eight weeks to almost 5 – two boys and two girls?

I guess our family has a thing for keeping things in balance.

If my parents felt on their wedding day anything like I felt on mine, they experienced a roller coaster of emotions, tied together with a string of nerves. I just wanted everything to be perfect and so naturally, it rained. Not just a little sprinkle. No, actually, it was quite the opposite. The sky threatened to open up from the second we woke up that Saturday. But of course, it held off until that critical moment for every bride. Just as my dad and I were getting out of the limo to enter the church filled with our friends and family, rain fell from the sky in buckets.

The rain must have brought with it the good luck that everyone says a rainy day wedding brings. It also rained on my parent’s wedding day, forty-two years ago this October. For me, married for almost 10 years, I most certainly feel extremely lucky in love.

And I have a new-found appreciation for a rainy day.

“Love comforteth like sunshine after rain.” – William Shakespeare

{It’s been raining all day today, my last day here in Florida. It was a perfect day to write, with the melody of raindrops falling fast and furious as I type out and post what I wrote this morning. Tonight it’s back home to Virginia, to my little family who I’ve missed so much these past 4 days.}

Wedded Bliss

9 Apr

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{image by Stacey Windsor Photography}

This August, my husband and I will have been married for 10 years. Ten years of wedded bliss. Well, if you consider the roller coaster ride of being married to someone who struggles with bipolar disorder to be blissful, then yeah, I guess you could call it that. For better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health.

There obviously was no way he could have known. My illness conveniently broke through the surface after we had only been married for two years and four months. It threatened to tear us apart. But, instead of letting it knock down the little life we were building together, we used it as an opportunity to grow together. Stronger. Closer. Richer.

One day at a time.

On August 30th, 2013, those days will equal ten years. Best 10 years of my life.    By far.

My friend Stacey, a very talented photographer in the DC area, asked me recently if I’d be willing to get back into my wedding gown for some pictures so she could build her portfolio. I jumped at the opportunity, especially since this year is a big anniversary for us. We had planned on shooting down by the Cherry Blossoms in downtown DC, but the Cherry Blossom 10-miler was this past Sunday, the same day we had scheduled the pictures. We would have to find an alternative spot.

Hair and Makeup ladies arrived at my house at 4:30am on the dot, and within an hour I was transformed from sleepy mom to elegant bride, complete with airbrushed skin and side-swept cascading curls. I slipped on my dress and we headed downtown to find a spot where Stacey could snap away. We ended up taking a bunch of photos on Teddy Roosevelt Island which was such a perfect consolation location. Then we headed over towards Gravelley Point Park, but ended up stopping along the GW Parkway to shoot in a daffodil field and under some weeping willows. By that point we had met up with my husband, the kids, my sister-in-law and my in-laws. It was a frigid morning, but one I will never forgot. It was an incredible feeling to be a bride again for a morning.

My husband watching, smiling at me posing for pictures, was the icing on the anniversary cake.

One word frees us of all the weight and pain of life. That word is love.

– Sophocles

The Sunday blues

8 Apr

I cannot be the only housewife who has to deal with her poor husband’s case of the Sunday blues.

All freaking day, starting promptly at 12pm every Sunday on the dot. It’s as if his body has an internal alarm clock that goes off once the afternoon hits and he realizes he has to go back to work the next day for an entire week.

Give me a break.

Around noon each Sunday he ceases all conversation with me, parks his butt on the couch with the remote in hand and begins staring blankly into the TV screen until his eyes glaze over and eventually close. Ten minutes later he can be heard snoring from the next room.

I get so frustrated with his lack of responsiveness that I usually end up yelling at him. Nagging him to do one thing or another. Like that helps. But I don’t know what else to do sometimes.

Doesn’t he want to enjoy every last drop of his weekend with his family? Why can’t he help me with their baths instead of just laying there? I’d LOVE to be lounging on the couch having a beer  while watching my favorite sporting event too, but I have two babies who are crying for my attention. So you just go ahead, whydon’tyou. 

One weekend, after another one of our routine Sunday afternoon/evening arguments, he told me that I just didn’t understand. Then he asked me if I remembered what I was like on Sundays when I was working.

I stopped to think.

I actually could barely remember the days of getting dressed up to go to an office and sit at a desk and talk to clients and be all professional, let alone how I acted on Sundays. It was as if those days were so far behind me. In reality it has only been four years.

But if I think back really hard I can remember what it was like. I used to get all tense and edgy and stressed – anxious even – when Sunday afternoons rolled around. I’d start to think about the work I left piled at on my desk when I left on Friday and would dread the buzz of the alarm clock when it startled me awake the next morning. And I would have to d-r-a-g myself out of bed each and every single Monday morning in order to make it to the office on time.

Now when I think of him sulking about having to go to work on Mondays, I get a tad bit jealous thinking about how nice it would be to have a whole entire eight hours {including commute time} to myself. I would be able to go to the bathroom by myself. I’d be able to sit and enjoy lunch over thirty minutes without having to wipe messy hands and faces, change diapers and wipe bottoms twenty minutes after eating, and bend over and sweep up crumbs off the floor. I’d be able to chat with colleagues while eating. People who were older than 3! Oh, it would be glorious.

But I wouldn’t last more than a week.

I’d miss my kids way too much.

So I’m thinking I need to learn to be more tolerant of my husband’s Sunday afternoon behavior. I have always needed to work on being compassionate to what other people are going through if it is not something familiar to me at the time. I guess the best place to start would be at home with the man I love so dearly. I am going to work on this.

But in the meantime, I’m curious. If you can relate to this post, how do you deal with your husband or partner’s Sunday blues??

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