Hollywood Stuff and "Us"

When the husband and I were dating, it was Hollywood stuff. He was at the Military Academy. Man in a uniform. Formal dances. White gloves. Manhattan at night. Summers were days spent on the couch watching movies, trips to Stillwater for margaritas and cheese fries. Goodbye kisses were goodbye kisses. And, each date was preceded by months of anticipation. I'm probably the only modern girl out there who has been "pinned" with an official Westpoint Army pin. (I wore it on my cardigan sweaters, and I still keep it in my jewelry box). We emailed every day. Love notes. Little nothings. Big somethings. Hollywood stuff.

Then life got kind of real. He was stationed in Oklahoma. In Lawton. I worked as a technical writer in Duncan, Oklahoma. Dates were Chick-Fil-A at the Lawton mall. And the formal dances weren't so much Manhattan skylines as goldfish-in-a-bowl centerpieces.  Not so much Hollywood.

Then we got married, and it was Princess and her Prince Charming. Fairytale stuff. I told the photographer, "No, my dress isn't big." It had about a six foot sweeping train, and a gigantic bow on the booty. I loved it. Still do. The husband wore his uniform--my request.  We honeymooned in Jamaica where we climbed waterfalls, fancied ourselves champagne connoiseurs, and rode out Hurricane Charlie without incident. My Cinderella slippers fit just right, and Prince Charming was as prince-ly as any man could be (ignoring the fact that he wore the same shorts. for six days. in a row. and they weren't clean when we left).

We arrived home to separate households. He lived in Lawton with a buddy. I lived in Edmond. We bought a red brick house in a red brick house kind of neighborhood. He went to law school, and I billed a million hours. We survived. Not Hollywood, not a fairytale, just "us."

Then we had RJ. And GiGi. Our lives became a sitcom, and every once in a while I like to pretend I'm in the audience, tune in and watch.

Most of our dealings--be they household, financial, work-related, romantic, or otherwise--take place over email now. Love notes, little nothings, and big somethings have been superseded. We named GiGi over email. We've agreed on vacation spots, cars, and our house on email. We argue over email. We apologize over email. And sometimes, it takes an email to realize the truth about marriage: it's a team effort, and sometimes, you just do what you have to do.

A few weeks ago, we were emailing during work--the only time we have to talk without RJ's interruptions or chasing GiGi down the hall.

"What do you want to do this weekend?"

"I don't know. Go to Dallas? Kansas City? Swim? Sleep?" (I'm desperate for sleep).

"Any of those sound good. We have to do something about the bedroom carpet. It smells terrible in there."

"I know, right? I think it's soured milk."

And with that, life goes on. Weekend plans forgotten. Hollywood? Not even close. Fairytale? Only if I'm Cinderella, and the shoe hasn't fit just right yet. Us? Absolutely.

Would I change it? Not for anything.

(Dear Husband, I am logging back on to email now to discuss minivans. Hugs 'n' Kisses ;-) )