If Anniversaries Were Nickels, We'd Have a Quarter

Today marks five years that I have been married to this guy here:

FIVE YEARS!

I can't believe it. A lot has happened in the past five years.

**We moved in with my in-laws**

**We bought a house**

**We had a baby**

**We fought**

**We made up**

**We loved**

**We yelled**

**We kissed**

**We laughed**

**And we cried**

But with everything that has happened in the past five years, one thing has always been for sure.

We have done it together.

Here's to many, many more, my love.

Ode to My Husband

My husband totally rocks.

Well, not ALL the time, of course. There are certainly those moments when I want to open a can of whoop-ass on his insensitive "I live on Mars and you are from Venus" attitude. But there are also a lot of moments that make me go "aww, I have the best hubby since Mike Brady." I guess that's what keeps me from running away and living with the circus, or at the very least, divorcing him. God designed it that way, you know. Men and women annoy each other just enough so that things aren't always beautiful and serene, but then he added a little dash of communication and understanding so that we continue to propagate the human race. He was a pretty smart omnipotent being, I must admit.

So last night was one of those nights that made me appreciate my other half. The reason for this consisted of one out-of-body experience inducing FULL BODY massage (yes bitches, I said FULL BODY--that's a lot of area) followed by sweet, sweaty pleasure that left me drooling on my pillow and not being able to feel my legs. It. Was. AWESOME. No other word for it. I know awesome is terribly overused, but this cannot be described as anything but awe inspiring in the most literal sense. But...

Yes, when we are talking about men, there is almost always a but.

The reason I got this pampering, gluttonous treatment was because he owed me. Yes ladies, you know the deal. It's our upper hand, our guarantee to at least sometimes getting what we want and being thought of first--because THEY screwed up. Or acted stupid, said something stupid or some combination of the above. In this case, my darling hubby stayed out until 4 a.m. at his buddy's house on Saturday and then because he was SO tired yesterday morning, I made him breakfast and waited on him hand and foot like the super 50's wife that I am.

HA, 50's wife my ass.

I might help him out when he is so hungover he can't see, but then--you know it, he's gonna OWE ME. So yesterday he offered me a massage. And I gladly accepted this offer. And added a few more things to sweeten the deal and ease the sting of barely sleeping Saturday night because I was so worried about him getting home safely and then waking up for an hour when he got home to sniff him for the scent of another woman and check his pockets for matchbooks with phone numbers on them. (I'm just kidding about that. Let me clear this up by assuring everyone that I trust my husband more than anyone in this world and I know he is always where he says he is. You can't have a marriage with anything but this level of trust. So for all of you that have comments on your tongue ready to give me shit for being a jealous, untrusting wife, go BITE IT.)

So to summarize, last night was awesome. My husband is awesome. And no matter what us ladies say, we always want our husbands to screw up occasionally because then we get treated like the queens that we really are. Don't deny it.

But, in all seriousness, I love my husband like fat kids love cake, and I wouldn't trade him for anything in the world. We have grown in our marriage together so that it almost feels as if part of me is him and part of him is me. When he isn't there, I feel a little empty, and breathe a sigh of relief when we are reunited. And lately, we seem to be hitting our stride. Like after seven years, the kinks and poorly performing parts of our relationship have been re-designed so that we can function at (almost) 100% every day. He gets me. He knows what to say and when to say it. And he makes me feel like the only woman on earth.

And that, my friends, is WAY better than any massage. Word.

A Tropical Storm, Lots of Mud and a Kiss...

Four years ago today, I married this guy:

This is what I looked like on that day:

We had a tropical storm that day in Massachusetts, gail force winds and torrential downpours.

My wedding reception was outdoors.

So everyone pulled together and helped clean up the mess in the backyard of my parents' house so that I could have my dream wedding. By that afternoon, as the limo was pulling up to the house to bring me to the church, the sky cleared. It was a miracle. The wedding rocked. It was, in my opinion, the best wedding ever!

So in honor of my anniversary, I am going to post the 10 things that I love about my husband. Here goes:

10. He's a sexy bitch.

9. He always says I look good, even when I KNOW I don't.

8. He loves my boobs.

7. He's an awesome dad.

6. He thinks I am funny.

5. I can be myself around him.

4. He likes to cuddle.

3. He has a big...heart.

2. He doesn't have a hairy back (yet).

1. He made my dreams come true.

So there.

Tales of a Sports Widow

My husband is watching his first football game since the Super Bowl tonight, a pre-season game between the New England Patriots (rah, rah, sis-boom-bah) and the Baltimore Ravens. I am what you would call a "sports widow," the wife of a man that loves, with a passion (no, seriously A PASSION) almost all sports. Baseball, football, basketball...thank God we don't watch golf; I would possibly have to get a lobotomy. Early on in our relationship, I realized that if I really, truly loved this man that I would have to watch my fair share of sports on television. This was a MAJOR culture shock for me. Let me just give you some background: I was the cheerleader that had NO IDEA what was going on in the game because I had never watched an entire game in my life. I was the music loving, earthy crunchy theater major that had NO clue what an RBI was, or how many points were scored by free-throws. I avoided watching sports like the plague, and I lived in blissful ignorance about who was in the playoffs , Super Bowl or World Series each year. I probably couldn't name any current players, never mind what teams they played for or their stats. Now I know ALL that stuff--and more. I took one for the team, cuddled up to my honey on the couch and watched...and watched...and watched.

In the early years, I loved how my husband went on and on about on base percentage, yards rushed and penalty shots. He would talk about sports like an old friend or lover, one he knew so well but that always continued to surprise, disappoint or fascinate him. I figured that if he loved it so much, that I could love it as well. I was partially correct. You see, I liked watching with him and interacting by asking questions and was so proud of myself for learning. I felt like a young, eager student with a crush on my teacher, always yearning to please with what I had absorbed. Before I knew it, I was actually understanding what I watching, and it was pretty entertaining. Then came Tom Brady ( do I have to say more ladies?) and the Patriots winning the Super Bowl (again and again) after years of sub-par performance--of course that was exciting. Then the RED SOX (yes, the Red Sox, with their curse of the Bambino, Bill Buckner and Grady Little's faith in Pedro Martinez) won the World Series after 86 years. Who wouldn't get excited about that? That was actually the year we got married, and I looked at it as a divine sign that we were good luck for the sporting universe and we were meant to be together.

Don't get me wrong, I was pretty excited when the Celtics won the playoffs this year, but over the past couple of years, I have begun to notice the abundance of other programs and movies on television that we could be watching instead of sports. And now that I know all the players and how each sport works, I have nothing to talk about with my husband during the games. The romance that once existed in our mutual love of sports has faded, and now I find myself sitting there wishing that we could be watching a documentary, a movie, sitcom, or even a PBS special. I think I am a "moderate" sports lover. I would like to watch one or two games a week and call it a day. For my husband, it is like another job. But then something came along that solved this problem and set the world right again:

Blogging.

Now, while my husband watches his beloved players on the field, court or diamond, I am writing, commenting, visiting other blogs, and working on my blog design. I realized that I had tried to borrow, or adopt if you will, my husband's passion. But really, I needed to find my own. We don't have to like all the same things, although it is nice to share some interests. But just because my husband wants to devote so much time watching variations of men throwing, hitting or kicking balls doesn't mean that I have to. I can choose to share in that time when I feel like it, and the rest of the time I can be pouring my heart out into my laptop. The most important thing that we will always BOTH be passionate about is our love for each other-- and that's never out of season.