It was my junior year of college, I, like every other
student, couldn’t wait for the short Christmas break that marked
the end of a particularly rough semester. I had just started seeing
somebody, nothing serious at that point, but I really liked him. He
was different, and by different I mean he someone I found
interesting for a change. It was the first time I wasn’t going to
be headed home right away. Because of work I would have to stay an
extra ten days on campus before I could go see my family. I told
myself it wasn’t a big deal, that I could handle it. Who was I
kidding? I had a chapel date for the annual dismissal service,
which was good because it would keep me from throwing myself a pity
party and letting myself sulk in jealousy for all those who would
be on their way home to food with flavor and private showers. It
was a good date, we laughed at the jokes, joined in with the
timeless carols, and enjoyed each other’s company, no sulking. We
watched  Mr. Evan’s dismiss with his infamous solo. All of
the students eagerly waited for the  “Have yourself a merry
little Christmas… NOW!”  The line was sung, the chapel
emptied, and we sat enjoying the chaos. I wanted to sit there
forever. I didn’t want him to go home. It was a nine-hour drive to
Northern Michigan, and he had his car ready to go. But he didn’t.
Instead, he walked with me to the dining hall where we ate bland
food on styrofoam plates. Every morning for those ten days, he had
breakfast with me in the Square where we played endless games of
Scrabble and talked for hours. I couldn’t believe it. Every morning
there he was, sitting on the other side of an uncomfortable booth,
drinking bad coffee with watered down creamer. With me. He chose to
stay with me. He didn’t have to. We had been “dating” less than
three months. He had no obligation to stay. But, he did. Those ten
days felt like nothing. Do you know why? Because every morning I
would get dressed and walk into that little campus restaurant and
see him sitting at that booth with two coffees and a Scrabble
board. A year later, he asked me to marry him. Stephanie &
Jesse Wedding [Captured by Studio Cline] Lake Portrait 045

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Fall Fever

fall

When I was in college I hated being there, so I took to daydreaming. I guess I didn’t think of it as daydreaming, but more of a visual plan for the future, and it was among these “future plans” that I stored plenty of mental slides of what autumn would look like  as a newlywed. Of course in all things imagined instances I was dressed fabulously with one of those tasteful pattern-mixed ensembles PInterest addicts everywhere would approve. Also, my hair was that perfect length  where the ends are five fingers above the elbow ( yes, I just used “fingers” as a standard of measurement) and they’re curled into perfect spirals.  My husband always looked great too, in a blue gingham shirt with a pumpkin under his arm that we just bought from an orchard, and we would walk hand in hand to a nearby Starbucks to pick up some lattes.

Truth. It’s Autumn and my hair still sucks. Not really, I still have some of the highlights from my wedding, but it’s a few inches off from being that perfect length. I was always too lazy to curl my hair in college, marriage hasn’t changed that about me either.  Due to my new job most of my outfits have consisted of red and khaki so, while I do try to look cute for work I’m sure I’ve let the imaginary fashionista-pinners down with  my boring Target uniforms.  I dress up for church sometimes, but I do miss having friends that tell me my outfit look nice. Is that totally lame? Probably. Moving on.

But we do have pumpkins! I bought them, at Aldi’s. I was so stoked to see them there.  In fact, I was so excited to buy these pumpkins I found myself pushing two elderly women out of the way as I dove headfirst into the large cardboard stand.  I had to find good ones after all. Don’t worry about the old ladies, we became friends after I made two pumpkin dives for them as well.  They wanted cute pumpkins, and I wanted jack-o-lantern worthy ones, so after we all found what we were looking for we drove our grocery carts our separate ways. Both pumpkins are on my front steps. While they add a small amount of visual appeal to our entrance as is, we haven’t been able to carve them yet.  My husband I bought a pumpkin at an orchard while we were dating with plans to carve it. It didn’t happen. First we attempted to draw on the pumpkin with a sharpie until we discovered how horrible we both were at simple art.  Naturally, we decided that the best fate for the vegetable was to be rolled down the college bowling lanes. We had a grand old time, and I’m pretty sure I bowled a strike or two.  As much fun as it was, I do my Aldi’s pumpkins serve the purpose I bought them for. October isn’t over yet, so I still have hope.

Now lattes. I enjoyed my first pumpkin spice latte a few weeks ago, and now I’m convinced that stuff has crack in it. My mother (also a Starbucks addict) has often joked that the vanilla and cinnamon shakers provided for the customers to alter their drinks are actually laced with addictive substances to keep their customers coming back for more. I used to laugh at her. Now I don’t think she’s that far off.  Ever since that taste of heaven I’m back at the in-store Starbucks every chance I get. I’ve found myself pushing $4.01 across the counter in change with withdrawal-induced shaking hands. Why? I’ve even memorized how much it costs with the employee discount! I’ve gone without eating to indulge myself with that sweet elixir of the harvest season. I mean I’m fine now but what am I going to when winter comes? I don’t like peppermint!

All that said, even though my newlywed autumn isn’t exactly how I pictured it, I love it! I wish my husband and I had days off together more often, but it’s okay because I celebrate my October days off with some horror flicks and errands, by errands I mean mapping out my next couponing expedition.  It’s been great, being married is the best thing that’s happened to me!

Until Next Time.

Honestly Modest

On the Married Life

Forty-two days. That’s how long I’ve been a married woman. I’m a newbie to this whole spending-the-rest-of-my-life-with-someone game. One of the biggest transitions has to be the single to married transition.

They say when you get back from the honeymoon reality hits you hard. If this is true, I didn’t feel it because I had “honeymoon hangover” (not literally, calm down!) After a week of living in marital bliss and fairy tale optimism, and of course some of that still lingered as we started our life together.  I had intentions of being “super-wife”, and for the first few weeks I think I did a good job. 

Just about every morning my husband wakes up at six a.m., takes a shower, gets dressed, and heads to the kitchen. During my “super wife” stage I would head to the kitchen with him and make his lunch (turkey sandwich with Miracle Whip and lettuce on multi-grain bread), drink coffee, and watch some Fox News with him before he left for work. After that, I would groggily make my way back to the room and lie in bed with my eyes wide open (stupid coffee!) until I actually had to be awake. I kept this up for a while, and I was pretty proud of myself. Until I slowly stopped doing it as often, and as often turned into altogether. So pray for me and my lack of character.  

I love cuddling. After two years of dating/ being suffocated with supervision nothing makes me happier than to sit on our red couch with my husband.  Usually we’ll sit and watch something heartwarming and romantic like the Walking Dead; his arm will be around me, my legs will be on his lap.  Now it’s happened once or twice that he’ll stroke my leg as it’s laying on his lap and summon a Rebel Wilson impression to inform me of my prickly legs. Sigh. Gone are the days of hiding stubbly legs under tights and boots ( same goes for ugly chonies.) On the bright side, it does mean that someone appreciates my smooth legs when I go through the trouble of shaving. 

I’m a marriage rookie.  I love every minute of it.