Z left a picture sans comment on my FB wall. I saw the thumbnail as I sat in my car after purchasing a proper running bra this morning and was confused. A nature shot of a bird? What the fuck? I clicked on the link:
I haven’t laughed so hard in a very long time. After I put my phone away and pulled out of the parking lot I kept breaking out into giggles. It got so bad that I was crying. Definitely looked like a lunatic. A laughing crying lunatic.
My biggest fear growing up was being alone. It’s the reason I’ve been serially monogamous-high school boyfriend, college boyfriend, Z. And I held on so tight to the first two relationships that they lasted far beyond their expiration dates. That tenacity worked in my favor when it came to Z. He wanted the marriage to end about 5 years in. Because I was actually insane and it sucked for both of us and our relationship devolved into unbearable disfunction. My desire to hold on to what I knew won out over the shame of being married to someone who didn’t want to be married to me. And we found our way back to each other. Then we started doing the real work and our marriage became better than it ever was. We had to nearly lose it to figure out we wanted it.
So here we are 15 years into the relationship and 13 years into the marriage. Who knows what the future will hold? Who knows if we will make it until death does us part? I sure as hell hope we do, but there are no guarantees. Marriage is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. We could fuck it up tomorrow.
But in the meantime I’m going to enjoy the hell out of it and him. I’m going to revel in the fact that I am known, completely known by him. That he can see a picture of some bird shitting a stream of guano that looks like it has been extruded from my kid’s play doh set, surrounded by an elegantly fine spray of fecal matter, that he can see the picture and know it will fill me with joy. Well, it sort of makes my decade.
Here’s to knowing each other. Here’s to bird shit. Here’s to laughing so hard you are crying. Here’s to love.
A little #tbt action. Moving me into his apartment, June 1999. Jesus, we were babies.
Us. Now. Older, fatter, happier. You can just see the tattoo of me peeping over his undershirt. He got that on our 5th wedding anniversary. Blew my mind. He had recently told me he wanted out of the marriage and then he took my picture to a tattoo shop and asked the dude to make me into a mermaid. Seems he had a little faith in the marriage as well.
All of us. Not all of us looking at the camera, that would be too much to ask. But still.
There isn’t perfection in this family. There is frustration and anger and half the time Z and I have no idea what we are supposed to be doing. But. There is happiness. There is love. There is silliness. There is safety. And I wish all those things for all of you because they make life pretty fucking wonderful.