A Walk in My Shoes

Last night I came home to two orange girls. Orange ink from a stamp pad covered their hands, feet, and faces. Handprints covered the kitchen table and chairs. Footprints danced around the kitchen floor. A sheepish looking husband was found on the couch, not moving a muscle for fear of waking a slumbering Little Fella on his chest. "Sorry," he managed apologetically. I shot him a dirty look, let out a loud sigh, and quickly busied myself in the clean-up process before the girls inflicted any more damage. "I don't know how you do it," he said.

With those words, my irritation vanished. During the hour or so I was out of the house, he got a glimpse of what my life is like on a daily basis. And now he understands.

So, dear husband, now you understand the mountain of laundry, the unmade bed, the empty refrigerator, the stack of unopened mail, messy rooms, my short fuse, uncooked dinners, why I fall asleep on the couch at 8:30, why sometimes I just need to sit next to you without saying a word and just enjoy the quiet. Thank you for taking this walk in my shoes. And thank you for understanding.

Happy Medium

Sophomore year of college was one big party. Large amounts of alcohol were consumed for any reason at all. Dining food suck? No problem, half a bottle of Mad Dog and you won't even taste it. Ex-boyfriend going to be at the same party? Poor dear, let's do some lemon drops, that'll make you forget him. Blizzard coming? Nothing else to do, better stock up on some So Co. By the end of that year it was a miracle my liver was still functioning, although I may have lost a few IQ points.

As the spring semester came to a close, it was with a bit of relief that I packed the contents of my life into my trusty 1989 Pontiac Grand Am and headed home. Home, to a blissfully sweet, boring, alcohol-free summer. The only plans I had were to work at my aunt's nursery school. Couldn't get into much trouble with a bunch of toddlers.

After a few weeks of summer break, a friend I had met earlier that year called. Lauren lived a few miles from where I grew up and was calling to see if I wanted to hang out with her and some of her friends from high school. I did and that's how I met him.

The minute I met Gonzo I knew he was going to be my future husband. I know that sounds cheesy, but we clicked immediately. He was easy to talk to and made me laugh. Suddenly, my boring summer was filled with him. Trips to the beach, baseball games, camping, spending time together with friends, just plain fun. An unexpected summer romance. My new best friend.

But alas, we were young and carefree, and while we had a blast that summer, we were unsure what the fall semester and distance would do to us. So we agreed that what we had was a happy medium. More than a summer fling, not official relationship material. School began, and we kept in touch the old-fashioned way before the advent of the internet and email. We wrote letters, sent cards, talked on the phone. We visited each other at our respective schools, saw each other over breaks. Our happy medium had indeed blossomed into a real relationship.

Fast forward 13 years. Gonzo and I have been married for 8 of those years, have 3 kids, own a house. We stood by each other through the death of grandparents, uncles, a friend, students, through the serious illness of a sibling. Friends married, divorced, had kids, moved away. Our family has grown to include 5 nieces and 2 nephews. We've laughed at the silly, endearing things our children do, and we've cried through frustrating moments and scary unknowns. We are bread and butter, milk and cookies, macaroni and cheese. A true partnership. Side by side we stand to face whatever comes our way.