Intentional Living: Part One Year End

I ended 2019 in an actual fog of gratitude and grief. The year itself hadn't been all bad, and was poised to end on a high. I was happy and content. I had survived the transition into middle school with my tween. I had just about made it through the holidays. I was ready to have that Holly Jolly Christmas I hear about on the radio. 

Two days before Christmas my beloved grandmother had a massive stroke. Catastrophic is what her doctor called it, and within hours my family and extended family was navigating a huge loss. I did my best to keep it together for my children, who honestly were more concerned with Santa finding us if we traveled on Christmas Eve. It wasn't easy and I found myself constantly repeating "grandmas dying" in my head, as if I wasn't completely drowning in that thought already. 

Those days between Christmas and New Year's, the days that most of us hibernate, were spent reflecting on my year. I spent hours on social media reading articles to jump start the year. Not because I'm of the "new year, new me" mindset, but somewhere I was hoping to find some motivation. What did I want to do with my brand new year? Who did I want to become? Everything I read didn't feel right, didn't exactly fit well. Until I stumbled upon this article about ending the year intentionally. 

It's easy to be blinded on all the folks on social media with their "New Year New Me" diets and work out regimens. The multiple posts about being your best self, building your best self, finally taking chances. I wasn't ready to "bet on me" or "do the things that scare me". I really needed to reflect and find some clarity while I was so overwhelmed with grief. It helped me examine the last year with new eyes and find some good when I was feeling so bad. 

10 Questions to end 2019 Intentionally (These questions are totally paraphrased. Please visit the article for the real deal.)

What makes this year unforgettable?

Obviously the standout was my grandmother dying at the close of 2019. Just writing it in my notebook made it so real, but also opened me up. I was able to think about other things that made the past year unforgettable. I stayed married. You can laugh all you want but every year I stay married is a victory in my book. The Husband and I have had some hard years in the last part of the decade. Closing this year and decade married was a success in my view. My girls grew and thrived. They danced more, and enjoyed themselves so much. Caitlin completed elementary school and went on to middle school. There were so many changes and then when I think about it not that many. Our trip to Disneyland was pretty amazing too, so I'll add that. 

What did I enjoy doing this year?

Going gray. Honestly letting my hair grow in it's new natural color was liberating. I've been trying to cover my gray hair consistently since I was in my 20s. I was at the point that I needed to touch up my roots every three to four weeks, I just couldn't do it anymore. I gave myself six weeks to let it grow and decide if it was the right thing for me. I spent countless hours on Instagram looking at the SilverSisters hashtag. I'll admit, it was rough at first, people asked a lot of questions, it seemed shocking for someone my age (41 by the way) to not cover their roots. Finding the right mix of shampoos and conditioners helped. After years of using boxed dyes, my hair was so damaged, it was starting to fall out. The best part of the entire thing? I wasn't hiding anymore. I was constantly preoccupied with covering my roots. Every big event, every photo taken, I worried that my roots were showing. So I gave up, and set myself free. It has been the best thing I've done for myself in years. The added perk? I get compliments on it all the time. To the point that I've been asked for my colorist's number twice!

Who/What am I grateful for?

My health. My family. My friends. I am surrounded by amazing people. I'm so grateful for them.

Biggest Win this year?

I made it. Emotionally. Financially. It seems simple, but these are two of my biggest stressors. 

What did I read/watch/listen?

Read: Daisy Jones and the Six by Taylor Jenkins Reid. Summer of '69 by Elin Hilderbrand. One Day in December by Josie Silver. All excellent. Daisy Jones is written in a way that as a writer was inspiring. Summer of '69 was such a fun read and had some historical elements that I loved. Plus I'll read whatever Elin Hilderbrand writes, so... I read one day in December last January. It was the first book I read last year. It was everything you love about Holiday Rom-Coms. If you love Nancy Myers, you will love this book. 

Watch: The Handmaids Tale, which, as always, was thought provoking, infuriating, and completely engaging at the same time. Elisabeth Moss is everything. The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel is so well written and incredibly funny that I'm convinced that Amy Sherman Palladino is too good for us. Plus the ensemble cast cannot be beat! Side note: I binged watched the West Wing last year. I think I was the last person on Earth my age who had never seen it. I'm not going to lie, I loved it with my whole heart. I cried almost every episode, and it made me yearn for 90s politics, and I never thought I'd say or type that!

Listen: Lizzo and Bille. There were no others. 

What impact did these read/watch/listen selections have on you? 

What is fantastic about reading, watching, and listening, is that they essentially doing the same thing, telling a story. The books I read last year inspired me to write, but also inspired me to really listen and engage in the stories being told. The shows I watched were not just entertaining but thought provoking. The Handmaids Tale remains the scariest thing on television! Lizzo showered me and my daughters in girl power. I am constantly surrounding myself with pop culture, because it's always an inspiration. 

What did I worry about the most? How did it turn out?

Money. I'm constantly worried about money. Which is funny because my husband's long running household chore is being in charge of the bills. Still, every swipe, every withdraw for "dance" incidentals, makes me sweat. It always turns out fine, but it will always give me anxiety.

Biggest Regret?

Before December 23rd, my answer would have been completely different. I would have said not submitting any of my writing. I would have said not writing and blogging more. But now, as I start 2020 it's not spending enough time with my grandma. I regret not calling her more. I regret never getting her life story down on paper. There are many regrets at this time.

What is the 1 thing I changed about myself?

As I said before, my hair. It changed me emotionally as well as physically. It helped me embrace aging. The old commercial about "growing old gracefully"? Well they didn't mention that you'd have to be graceful emotionally as well. That's been harder than the physical part.

What surprised me the most?

That 2019 closed A DECADE. Ten years. I didn't even realize it until all those "Last 90 days" posts on social media. So many incredible, heartbreaking, mind numbing, brave, ugly, happy, sad things happened in the last 10 years. I changed as a person multiple times. I became a mom of two in the last decade. I went back to work, quit, and then went back again. I became a blogger and a writer. I grew into motherhood. I grew into my marriage. I stumbled and got back up again. So much life was lived in what did not seem like ten years. 

If I could go back to January 1st, 2019 what would I suggest to myself?

Call Grandma Now. Write every day, even when it hurts. Exercise in any way, walking is still moving. Take more pictures, your Instagram is looking sad girl! Be easy on yourself, it has never been about perfection. LOVE, LOVE, LOVE. 

After years of neglecting this space, I'm thankful if you found your way back and had a look around. I'm hoping to visit this space more often in the coming year. 

Elevendy {4/30/16}

Today was my eleventh wedding anniversary. Elevendy if you live in my house. Elevendy is a made up word the Hubbs and I heard one time on a TV show. We thought it was funny then, and it became a unit of measurement whehen something was overwhelming or just too much to handle. How much is dance this month? Elevendy. What how long did that PTC meeting last? Elevendy.

How many years have we been married?

Elevendy.

We celebrated by one of us going to a golf tournament and the other of us going to a dance competition. The Hubbs met us at the competition later, but the true testament to how long you've been married to someone is when you both realize that it's just not in the cards to celebrate properly. Dinner plans? Out the window. For the record I ate scrambled eggs at eight thirty tonight. Him? I don't think he even ate. The kids? Huh? There was no banner or flowers or cards. There was a happy anniversary and an I love you and when are we putting these damn kids to bed.

I'm not even sad about it. You shouldn't be either.

It sounds dreadful, especially if you're not married yet and are still waiting for your Prince Charming. I hear that. I feel that. My eleventh anniversary hasn't been very romantic, it will never inspire any bodice ripping romance novels. But it should inspire you.

For my eleventh anniversary I've gotten the gift of comfort. The gift of contentment. I've received the gift of all is well in this world, and I can lay my head on my pillow knowing that there isn't a diamond big enough to trump that. When you love a person with your whole self, love them despite flaws and irritations, when you put your heart on that thin, wobbly line, and they actually love you back... That's priceless. That's romantic. That is fucking marriage.

In the past years I've seen my share of five year anniversary bands, and more recently ten year anniversary bands. I smile. I congratulate. I say all the things that need to be said. And I'll admit that i look down and realize that I don't have an anniversary band for those kinds of things. Or any jewelry for that matter. For a minute I'll be jealous. For two minutes I'll be sad. Then I'll slap myself for the things I do have.

My five year anniversary band is six this year. She is full of spunk and personality. She will bust your balls in two minutes of meeting you. She is more precious than diamonds. I spent my fifth anniversary thankful for my life after a terrible labor and delivery. When the Hubbs asked what I wanted to do to commemorate our five year I said, "Sleep". And that is exactly what I got. I was so grateful for that.

On my tenth wedding anniversary I didn't get a band, but what I did get was the satisfaction of still being married. The comfort of having a mortgage and two healthy children. On my tenth anniversary I was thankful that we did the thing in the church and stuck to our guns. That we still loved each other enough to fight like crazy well into the night about Obama or abortion or how much money I spent at Target. On my tenth anniversary I had the comfort in knowing, that still after all these years my husband still wanted to be married to me and believed that our lives would be dramatically improved if I started sleeping naked.

So here I am, on a Saturday night, nine twenty, and eleven years married. Eleven years ago the party was just getting good. People were drinking more than the bar tenders could pour. It was fantastic. Tonight, I'm typing away, a little ode to marriage and love, thinking that I really should put the kids to bed so I can actually spend time with my husband on our anniversary. How romantic it will be to lay next to him while we send each other memes on Instagram while Sports Center plays in the back ground. Which is probably my favorite date night at this point.

Marriage is the most fantastic thing I will ever do. The hardest, but also the most rewarding. Every day I look at my wedding ring and think about all those years I waited for it. Dreamed about it. Not so much the ring, but what it symbolized. It symbolized that John Crutchfield finally chose me. He finally got the good sense to love me back, no longer fighting what was already decided that terribly hot night in July 1999. My ring, this marriage, they symbolize that fight, that journey to here, where we can absolutely spend our anniversary busy as all get out.

It doesn't have to be romantic. It just has to stick. Love is funny that way.

Happy Anniversary Absolute Hubbs. It's always been you.

Still. After all this time.

Some days I'm surprised he still loves me. I'm cranky and crazy.I throw temper tantrums and rarely cook anything that passes for dinner. I spend money on books and tank tops I'll never wear. I never wear sexy underwear. But here we are. Married. Still. After all this time.

He still looks at me the same way you know. The way he looked at me all those drunken nights in college. When we were way past pleasantries. When the booze continued to flow well into the night. It surprises me that he still looks my way when I undress. My body settling now. Jiggling in places it shouldn't. My belly still soft and squishy as if I have a baby in the house. Knowing all too well that that baby is five. But still he looks and cheers, as if he's won a prize. Still After all this time.

We fight. Just as passionately as we always have. We argue about the mundane. We debate over the obvious. Sometimes we disagree for fun, for sport. But we bring something out in each other. That love. That fight. That passion. To use words. To use our brains. To talk about something other than dinner and laundry, Dora or Adventure Time. We still fight. And make up and fight again. Still. After all this time.

We've come a long way since the early years. The years of going back and forth. Testing the waters. Somehow I always knew, and he did too, we just had to work on it. And we still are working. Our hardest job, besides parenting. We work every day to make it right. Make it work. And most days it does. We find comfort in the monotony. Comfort in the chaos. Comfort in each other. Because despite what I say or do, he is still my favorite. Still. After all this time.

He still take chances on me. He support decisions that I make, even when they aren't solid. Even when they are selfish. He take chances when I come up with big ideas, that almost always putter out in due time. He does it because he believes in me, in my voice, in my experience. Even when it does't seem that way in the beginning. He will fight it and debate it and then let me do it anyway and when it goes bust, he begs me not to cry, because my tears still kill him. My tears still do him in. Still. After all this time.

Some days I'm still surprised that we are married, because it was all I wanted when I was twenty two. At twenty two I wanted to be his wife so badly. To be in love, and here we are, still in love. That overwhelming sense of contentment washing over me. That sense of accomplishment when I see our children laughing and playing. Like our first day at Disneyland when I teared up almost immediately, because there we were, living out a real life dream. Family vacations, baby's first steps, our first dance, were all simple dreams of mine as a sorority girl hopelessly in love. He thinks I've forgotten. He thinks I'm complacent, but I'm content. No matter the fight, we still wake up under the same roof. No matter the debate, we still put the kids in the bath. No matter the issue, we still find ourselves in bed, mid afternoon, on a Sunday, hiding from the kids, eating ice cream, and watching movies that use the "F" word. Because it's my favorite thing to do. Here with him, is my favorite place to be.

Still. After all this time.

Sexy Undies on Laundry Day

A few weeks ago, I wore sexy undies on laundry day. It was a rookie mistake, because after all these years I should know better. Wearing sexy undies on laundry day, solidified the fact that I would have to have sex with my husband and fold laundry on the same day. How could I let this happen?

I'm sure I'm not alone in this. I'm sure this has happened to you? Or maybe you are the kind of gal who never gave up her sexy undies when she got older or became a mom. Maybe you still enjoy the look and feel of sexy undies. Me? Not so much. Somewhere around the second trimester when I was pregnant with Caitlin, I had to put all those thongs in the back of the drawer. I didn't even want to wear pants, let alone have a piece of string going up my butt. At the time I was pretty sure that one day, I'd find them in the back of the drawer and think I'd want to wear them again. That I would one day be in a position where I would worry about panty lines and maybe even begin feeling sexy again. Then the baby came and I had to wear pads bigger than my newborn. All sense of modesty was lost. It was going to be granny-full-coverage undies from here on out. Plus, I couldn't even fit in those old thongs if I wanted to. It seemed as if they were part of some freaky doll clothes lingerie collection. Was I ever that small?

Since becoming a mom, I've taken the easy road, paved with full coverage cotton panties. They are from Victoria's Secret, but they are basically granny panties. Funny thing is that I really don't give a single fuck. The Hubbs whines about how boring they are, where is the lace, where is the satin? I'm forced to point out the neon color which is a whole hell of a lot better than basic white, but he just rolls his eyes. He gives me that look that roughly translates to, "This is my life now". I didn't mean to become a boring panty person, it just happened.

Over the years I've gotten smart. I've built a substantial stock pile of undies. Because laundry is always the last priority in this house. That's why my kid has two spirit day shirts. That's why both kids have enough clothes and undies themselves to last two weeks. Do my bath towels look old, it's because they are, and I have enough to last a lifetime as well. Because, laundry. Because for whatever reason, it just won't do itself.

It's been awhile since I've had to worry about running out of undies, but then I started working again and that has meant that laundry really hasn't been getting done. Then you factor in the fact that I only buy panties once a year, on my birthday. Usually because I get a bra coupon to use at Victoria's Secret, and since I'm there, I add on the five for whatever cotton undies. Women's lingerie is expensive, and when you go from buying the best to having to buy diapers, then pull-ups then a four pack of undies tattooed with Elsa from Frozen, your "needs" get put on the back burner. Cute undies for me hasn't been a necessity in years, but clean ones? That is mandatory.

Imagine my surprise when I found myself a few weeks ago faced with zero clean ones. I looked everywhere. I even brought out the ones that don't really fit, but I have them anyway for emergencies. Now I was way past emergency and on the cusp of wearing the sexy ones. The ones that are reserved for never. The ones that never see the light of day, because let's be honest, who has the time. And personally, I want to meet the person who invented something called a "cheekster". Because who's the lady that was all, "Fabric up my ass for eight hours? Yes, please". Does she even exist?

I spent an entire day wiggling around trying to think about anything else but the extra fabric in my undercarriage. Then it hit me, not only would I have to do laundry when I got home, but I'd also have to have sex with my husband if he had any idea that I was wearing underwear that never sees the light of day.

Oh. Shit.

Look, it's not that I don't like to have sex with my husband, I do I swear. I'm sure if he were here, he would tell you that I roll my eyes when ever he brings up the subject. I like sex. I like my husband. I like orgasms. But some days, I like sleep more. Some days all I have is enough to get the kids out of bed and to school. To get dinner ready, and to read books with the girls before bed. Some days the best I can do is putting seventeen pairs of my undies in the washing machine, then moving them to the dryer and then leaving them their until the next person does laundry. Orgasms are great. My husband is great. And if that is all that I had to do, we'd be one amazingly happy couple. But that's not the way life goes. I'm not a frigid bitch, but I had to really think about which activity I'd like to do more that day. Laundry or sex. Because I'm sorry but there was no way I was going to have sex and fold laundry. I told the husband not to make me choose, because I'm pretty sure he wasn't going to like the answer. Some days, I think I'd rather fold laundry then have to show off my sexy drawers.

Don't feel sorry for me. I didn't have to fold or have sex that day. And guess what? Everyone lived happily ever after. For the moment.

ten years

Dear Husband,

Ten years ago today I put on my white dress and veil and met you in that little church you just had to get married in. The one all our friends said would immediately go up in flames as soon as the two of us walked in. They thought they were so funny. We walked in that church. We did the thing. You made an honest woman out of me, and I? Well I finally married the guy. The one. That guy that I had been waiting for since I saw Sixteen Candles at seven years old. Don't laugh, no matter what you think these days, you have always been my first choice. You were the one I ran back to, not once, not twice, but three times. You were the one I held out for, held my breath for. I know. It doesn't seem that way now, but I really did. I really do. Still to this day I wake up in a panic after dreaming that I'm back in college and you're not returning my phone calls... Then I notice the two kids in our bed and all is right with the world again. But in case you still don't believe me, let me refresh your memory.

We met on a Friday night. It was sweltering in late July, and for so many reason I did not want to go to that party at Patty and Danielle's. But Lauren made me because she said I couldn't sit around and mope at home on a Friday night. I went, just to be supportive, and just to show I was against the entire thing as a whole, I wore hat, minimal make up, and a tank top I'd bought at a Santa Cruz thrift shop my last year of high school. I was at that party no more than twenty minutes when you walked in, fresh off your important wireless company job. I didn't know that then, I just saw you all dressed up in your mandarin collar and Clooney hair cut, and wondered, Who invited this guy? On my way out for a beer run I smiled at you and you gave no reaction at all. So I commented, "Who died?", and I think I threw you off. Upon my return from said beer run you said, "Nice hat", and I knew you were exactly the person I should be hanging out with at the party, but I stayed with my group of a good while.

What I didn't know then, but I know now, is that we were the two least likely people to fall in love. I was post break up, you were way past serious relationships. I felt like I was on a time table for love and romance, and you had no desire to reestablish the word "girlfriend" into your vernacular. No matter, there we were, acting like assholes to each other because I guess we both thought, if I can get this person to hate me, I won't have to admit that I like them. It was pretty much love at first sight.

We spent the first semester of my senior year at Fresno State ignoring the obvious. I was freshly twenty one and you taught me the importance of social drinking. You taught me how to have fun again. I loved those nights that we just sat in a bar and drank, getting to know one another, but not too much for fear we'd fall, but slowly we did fall. I let go first, then you, and we tumbled into a place so scary and uncomfortable we (actually, me) ran. I did. I ran the first time. Because I was so afraid you would say, "no", if I asked if you could love me back. My heart could not take it, so I ran.

On a side note, I still should have taken you to formal that semester. You should have said no to that other girl. Just my opinion. Also I should have gone solo, but my pride. Oh my pride just couldn't stand it.

We spent the spring semester on the edges of the obvious. We'd see each other at a party. We'd run into each other on campus. You'd call me at work, or when you knew I was in class. Leaving me voice mails. I got an email that Valentine's Day from you, just saying that we should hang out soon. There was a party soon, something so non threatening, as to ignore the fact that we missed each other so damn much. And then I gave in. That night we went out as friends, just to get some drinks. We weren't even drunk, just high on nerves and anticipation. You offered to drive me home, and I simply said I'd rather go home with you. So, we went.

We became so tangled that semester. Never coming up for air. Staying in on Saturday nights, watching movies and SNL, walking to get beer in the warm spring air. I'd tell you I had to study, and you'd tell me to do it at your place. We found that comfortable place where we didn't have to fill the spaces with words or actions. We could just be. Before we knew it, it was summer and we filled our days and nights with each other. I was happy and you were too, and for the first time it felt real. Like a real relationship. But it didn't last.

With the fall came the break up. We were just too serious. I wanted it all. I wanted the ring and the commitment. I wanted all of you and all your time. And you didn't want to feel. You just wouldn't admit how serious this was becoming. So you ran. Fast and swift. It was over before I could catch my breath.

I went through all the scenarios in my head. I looked for ways to catch your attention. I walked the routes I  knew you would walk on campus. I went to the same bars on the same nights. I actively ignored you as if you would notice. I spent the winter mourning the relationship, drowning my sorrows every night of the week, binge watching law and order before people really binge watched TV. And I waited. I waited for your call.

And you called. And I did my best to play it cool. But I wasn't, because I was back to you in less than five days. We rushed. We rushed into it. We set no boundaries. As you moved closer to graduation, and I spent my days working, as we drifted further and further apart. But every time we talked about breaking up, we just couldn't. It's not what we really wanted. And so we fought. We left each other in bars. We threw drinks at each other, and didn't call each other. And I was so mad because I thought we were done. I thought we were through. And we almost were.

We found our way back that summer. By Thanksgiving you were back, one hundred percent, as we worked though our fears and our issues. But they would crop up again. I would play the marriage card, I would in act time lines you were never going to follow. We'd spend the next few years watching everyone couple up and marry. We'd save our money and buy our first home, while you were in Alaska no less. You came home from a six week stint working in the frozen tundra to a "new" to us house with old furniture. And again, we'd still fight over boundaries and rings and why the hell weren't we getting married?

But we did. You even went the old fashioned, Alex P. Keaton route and asked my Dad if you could marry me. For some reason that is one of my favorite things about you. I never thought I'd marry a man who would ask. I never even knew I wanted to marry someone who would ask. I ruined my own proposal, I didn't want to go out of town or out to dinner for that matter. It makes sense as we are not the "big proposal" type. My proposal was perfect, I was tired and pissy, and you were fucking fed up with my ass, so you got down on one knee outside our half bath in that tiny shit hole of a house. It's so damn poetic, I can't stand it. and that is not sarcasm, that's the truth.

We married. We did the thing. A year and a half later we bought a bigger house and about nine months after that we became parents. That's when all this shit got real. I spent five years trying to convince you to love me and marry me, and that is cracker jack in comparison to what we have to live through now. This parenting shit is hard. So hard, that it makes our marriage hard. But we do hard John Crutchfield. The mess and the chaos is where we thrive. How bored we would be if we just agreed on everything. What would we do for fun if we couldn't talk shit to each other or argue over politics or religion or the Kardashians? And what the hell would we do without these kids? We would be so bored. Oh sure, we'd probably go to Cancun or Hawaii two times a year, but we'd get sick of each other and be stuck without little buffers to lighten the mood. You know I'm right.

Here's the thing. You think I'm not happy here. In this life we've made these last ten years. It's so far from the truth it makes me want to cut you. But I understand. I'm not always easy to live with. I complain. I have pity parties. Some days I don't want to be touched. I don't want you to grab my boobs while I cook dinner. I don't want to hang out in the garage with the neighbors, I just want to watch some Grey's Anatomy. I'm sorry. I'm sorry that sometimes you're not the first priority. I'm sorry that sometimes I really don't want to have sex. I'm sorry that most nights I'd rather sleep. I'm sorry that I don't fight as hard as I used to, but that's what happens when you are comfortable. You don't think you have to fight anymore. Because the comfort feels good and it feels right.

It feels like I've fought for you and this relationship for so long. Would it be crazy to say that I just want to live? I want to live this life with you and be comfortable. I want to live this life with you and be happy. I don't want to be anywhere else. I want to be right here, with you, and the kids, and I want to relax. We don't have to fight so hard anymore. I'm right here. I've been right here the entire time. I waited for you. I held my breath for you. I don't need sweeping romantic gestures, I just need you, dummy. I've always just needed you. Sure I've take you for granted. Sure I've pushed you away when I'm in a funk. And I will always take my shitty days out on you. But you knew that. None of my bitchiness is new. In fact you should find comfort in it.

It's been ten years since I walked down that aisle. I wasn't even nervous. I knew. I had know all along that this was the place I had always wanted to be. Still after ten years of marriage, by your side is where I've wanted to be all along. Even when I'm hangry, tired, and PMSing, it's always been you.

It will always be you.

Happy Anniversary, Crutch. 

Swept Away

I can't remember the last time the Hubbs swept me off my feet. This year marks ten years of marriage, and we were more or less dating the five years prior to that. So over time you forget those moments when the one you love, or hate, depending on the day, totally takes you by surprise. But this year, for whatever reason, The Hubbs pulled out all the stops on Valentine's Day.

Hotel Room Selfie

We are not big Valentine's Day people. The Hubbs thinks it's an obligation. I like the overuse of pinks and reds. We don't usually go out to dinner because of the crowds. We don't get each other over the top gifts because we have kids now, and before that, we usually didn't have the extra cash anyway. The first Valentine's Day as newly weds we stayed in and cooked dinner together. Most likely spaghetti and gluten free spaghetti for me. I don't remember the dinner, but what I do remember is that Valentine's Day finally felt right. A little dinner, a little quiet, and a lot of contentment. It set the tone for all the Valentine's Days to follow. Call me boring, but I really like to be home and cozy with dinner and a movie. And so I figured that this year would be no different.

But it was different. The weeks prior, the Hubbs called around for a dinner location, and was able to score one because I had to work on Valentine's Day. He was worried the restaurant wasn't fancy enough. Fancy enough for whom I asked? Do we even remember what fancy restaurants look like? Then we tried to convince the kids to stay the night with Grandma, but they wouldn't have it. They didn't want to stay anywhere and were sure curious why we would need them too. I figured this year would be like most date nights, we go out, we enjoy some limited alone time, and we come home the the monkeys that would still be awake, way past their bedtime with wild eyes and lots of questions. I was okay with that, in fact I was good with that.

He wanted to go to a fancy restaurant and do this?

A few days before Valentine's Day the Hubbs mentioned that I would need to pack an overnight bag. Yes, he said an overnight bag. I asked him if it needed to be weather specific, and he said no, we'd stay local. He said that we wouldn't be coming home after our semi-fancy restaurant dinner, so pack some pajamas. Which I'm sure was supposed to be roughly translated to "sexy underwear", which I have none to speak of. I mean who has the time? But I was excited at the idea that we would be going away. Away. To a room, with a bed with clean sheets, no human alarm clocks, and no schedule to keep. Heavenly.

This year I was totally swept away. The kind of "swept" that makes romantic comedies worth watching. It was nothing extravagant, it was nothing historical, but it was perfectly us. It was the idea that the Hubbs wanted to do this for us. For. Us. To give us this night, and this time together, that is so precious these days. He reminded me that he does listen and pay attention, as evidenced by the package from Lisa Leonard. Sure enough, the earrings I posted to the Hubbs Facebook wall over a month ago were now mine. Then dinner out was fantastic. We sat and talked for an hour without serious interruption. Even though I had to send my dinner back (I'm a food allergy person aka a server's nightmare), and then they threw away the Hubbs dinner while they remade mine, we just ordered more drinks. We laughed about how the cooks and the server probably hated us, and didn't mind waiting longer for our food, since this time we didn't have to keep a schedule. We didn't have to cut the night short. We walked around Fresno's Tower District, which we never inhabit, and I went to a bar I had never been too. We had time, time to spend and waste together. We had each other's undivided attention. And I only took out my phone to capture some pictures.

When we did make it back to the room, the one the Hubbs booked on the sly, it was glorious. Champagne and chocolate covered strawberries, laughter and love. We watched stupid TV and sipped champagne and laughed about both. We had a wonderful night just the two of us, and were able to really enjoy each others company. We didn't have to argue about the kids or the dishes or all the paper towels I leave on the counter. It was just us, like it was so many years ago. Because we sometimes forget that we really do like to be around each other. We get busy and distracted. We have to work and parent and sell Girl Scout cookies all weekend, then fit in some grocery shopping along the way. We don't get to be selfish and runway together. So we forget that before all the other chaos, it was just us.

He pulled out all the stops, champagne included.

We woke up the next morning bleary eyed and exhausted. If we could have, we would have booked another day and night. Just to make the time stand still. Just to live in that little pocket of time where it was just us again. But of course we thought about the girls, and if they were missing us, and if they were giving my mom a headache. We had to pack up and come home, but not before we stopped ourselves and ask, "Why don't we do this more often?". Because I'm voting that we totally do this more often.

After ten years and two kids, I was swept off my feet, and I can't wait to be swept away again.

Isn't it romantic?

My husband really wants to take me out for Valentine's Day.

This may sound normal to you, but in this house, we rarely do Valentine's Day. Sure we do little things, like he will bring me flowers, look the other way when I charge a mani pedi on or around the fourteenth, and I may or may not cook dinner. Like a real one using pots and pans and ingredients that have to be chopped. But anything that needs a reservation or shaved legs is usually out of the question.

Isn't it romantic?

With Valentine's steadily approaching I suggested we go to this fancy chain restaurant because we got a gift card there for Christmas. Look, I am in no way above letting my man treat me with a gift card. Because money we save there means money I can spend on books or fifteen dollar salads at Whole Foods (which are a very real thing). But when he called they said they were booked. Booked? I didn't even know they took reservations, because WE NEVER GO ANYWHERE THAT WOULD NECESSITATE A RESERVATION. And I'm not complaining, it's just a fact. We go to places like Red Robin so no one notices that our kids are bat shit crazy.

The Hubbs was bummed, he called around to a few other restaurants and they too were booked, because I guess Valentine's Day is a thing... Who knew? So I suggested the Ultimate Valentine's Day;

Let's take the kids to my moms. Force them to spend the night. Then we can get take out or cook and then spend the entire night watching movies or stupid YouTube videos, or binge watch a show, in our bed... Then we can sleep in the next day and watch TV in bed or whatever... And we can be in our bed, alone. Just the two of us, in our bed watching movies that say the eff word. A lot.

Because if I'm totally honest, that's what I really want.

It's been years since it was just me and The Hubbs. We used to do those things. Wake up on a Sunday morning and stay in bed for most of the day. Watching dumb movie after dumb movie, and Lawd have mercy if Beerfest and Super Troopers was on. We'd eat food in bed and go to Starbucks and Taco Bell in our pajamas and ignore the laundry or the fact that the next day was Monday. There were no other mouths to feed or bodies to make/force to take a bath. It was just us, being lazy and enjoying every damn minute of it.

Isn't it romantic?

We found a restaurant. They had a reservation at seven. Which is fine since I have to work Valentine's Day anyway. We will get dressed up and ship the kids to my moms. We will enjoy ourselves and eat food we don't have to cook, on dishes we don't have to clean, and then we will come home, and most likely our kids will still be awake waiting for us. And it will be just as good as any Valentine's Day we've ever had.

But before you all get so wrapped up in what a romantic couple we are let me share this story...

The Hubbs and I both had to work last Saturday, but he had to be at his job hours before I had to be at mine. I heard him get up. Which is usually fine... Except he, well, what is it about men and the first thing they do immediately after waking is shit? I mean what is that? Anyway, here is our conversation:

Hubbs gets back into bed.

Hubbs

Good morning (whisper)

snuggling and cuddling happen

Me

silence

Hubbs

Are you up?

Me

Stop. Shitting. With. The. Door. Open.

Bed starts shaking because the Hubbs is laughing

Hubbs

laughing silently

You heard that?

Me

Yeah. I heard that.

Hubbs

Laughing

Isn't it romantic?

Dear Mom and Dad, Happy Anniversary

photo by Laura Hernandez Photography

Dear Mom and Dad,

Happy Anniversary. Forty years is quite an accomplishment. I should know, I'm married too, and as I've learned, marriage is hard. Like really hard. Why didn't you tell me?

Forty years married, but more years as friends. Thank you for teaching me that marrying your friend is the key. That marrying someone that makes you laugh is everything. Some of my favorite memories are the ones of the two of you laughing and sharing a joke. All the times Dad talked to the TV and made us laugh. All the times Mom said something backwards, and made us laugh harder. 

Thank you for showing me that love was always most important. No matter how mad we got. No matter how much we shouted. You taught me that love is worth every fight. I appreciate that now that I'm married. I realize that there is no perfect marriage. I realize that love is imperfect as well. But despite it's imperfections, it's always worth it.

Thank you for teaching me that there are things more important than money. Probably because we never had any. Thank you for showing me that when we did have a little extra, we spent it on things we would appreciate. Like dinners at Gino's on the Wharf. Or trips to Disneyland when I realize now you should have paid bills. Thank you for that. Thank you for teaching me that sometimes making memories are more important than saving money. I get that you made those sacrifices now.

Mom and Dad, I know that the last forty years haven't been perfect. Most likely they haven't been a sweeping and passionate love story. And that's ok. What's important is that the last forty years have been your love story. There were hard times and happy times, and times when things most likely sucked. But thank you. Thank you for hanging in. Thank you for sticking it out. Thank you for loving each other enough to know you couldn't live apart. I'm not a kid anymore, and I realize now, more than ever, that this is the hardest part of marriage. The sticking by each other. Even when you'd rather sock that person in the jaw. Thank you for making it look easy when I know it was anything but. I appreciate the work you guys put in. I appreciate you both.

Today I want to celebrate you both. Because Dad will buy you a funny card, Mom. And Mom, you will forget to buy him a card at all. I want to celebrate you guys and your success, as friends, as a married couple. Because you Mom and Dad mean the world to me. And you've made my world a better place. 

Happy Fortieth Wedding Anniversary, Mom and Dad. Cheers to many more.

Nine {on our ninth anniversary}

For the Hubbs on our ninth wedding Anniversary.
Nine things I love about you.  

#9 The way you make me laugh, even when I don't want to. Even when I'm mad at you.
#8 Your laugh. The one you do until you cough. Like when we saw that guy combing his beard at a four way stop.  

#7 You know how to fix things. Like broken cabinets and lights. And even the fifty dollar vacuum that was so obviously dead.
#6 That you clean the house when I'm not home. It used to bother me, but not anymore. Because I hate to clean.  

#5 The text messages you send through out the day. Some husbands send mushy texts of undying love and affection. You send me pictures of fat guys on scooters. Because you know my language of love.
#4 That you speak in movie quotes. That we can talk in Beerfest quotes. I really would freeze you in the winter and skate on you. Among other things from that quote.  

#3 That out of all the things I've ever called you, (asshole, shit face, et al.) my favorite name you answer to is "Dad".
#2 That you have never given up on me, even when I have given up on myself. That you are always the voice of reason and optimism,  even when I don't want a voice at all. That you love all my faults,  and perhaps even love me because of them.  

#1 I love you because that's what I decided on the last  Friday night in July of 1999. When it was so hot I couldn't see straight and  you were wearing a long sleeved button down. You were so dressed up and standing in the kitchen drinking a beer,  and I said,"Who died",  and you fave me the funniest look. Thankfully my sarcasm wasn't lost on you.  

Happy Ninth Anniversary Hubbs. Because it would never have worked without you.

Show and Tell

When was the last time you really hugged your spouse. Like really hugged them, given them one hundred percent of your attention? I know the last time I hugged the Hubbs, because it was the first time I had done it in months. 
I've always said that marriage, including my marriage, is very hard. It's a job. It's another part of life that requires work. I didn't think that once I got married life would be a fairy tale, but holy hell, I thought it would be easier than it really is. I never once realized that marriage is something that has to be cultivated. Something that has to continually hold your attention so that it grows and flourishes. No one bothered to tell me that along the way.
I think as mothers, and as women, we take on the world. We carry it around as if it's a badge of honor. Look at me, I can do all of the things, with minimal help, and oh look, I just posted a picture of me doing all of the things on Instagram. We give, and give, we create, and clean, and make our worlds a better place, daily. Then at the end of the day something happens. We deflate, one hundred percent, and we don't want a single thing. We don't want to be talked to, or touched, or anything of the sort. We want our wine, our favorite TV show on DVR, and sleep. We always want our sleep.
So what does that say to our spouse?
I never once imagined that the Hubbs would notice that I hadn't hugged him. Or spent real time with him. I was even surprised that he would question my happiness or my desire to stay married to him. How on earth could he even think that? But when you walk around with a dark cloud over your head, yell about every little thing, and demand to be left alone for three freaking minutes for the love of all things Scandal... Yeah, I can see where he could doubt me.
I'm the first person to be an advocate for free time. I'm a mom to two wonderful little girls who think the world revolves around them, because it kind of does. I work part time now. I'm a friend, I'm a daughter, I'm a Daisy troop leader, and I'm a writer. I have to make time for all of these things, plus me. But did you see what I forgot to mention? I'm also a wife.
I forget I'm a wife. I forget that for a lot of years it was just me and the Hubbs, before he was the Hubbs. I forget that I'm still a wife, and that he still needs to know that I am. He still needs to feel that I'm his wife. That I love him, even if i want to talk to my bestie on the phone, or watch Scandal instead of talking to him about my day. I forget that out of all the other people that I continually give and give of myself to, I need to give him a little of me too. I forget that even he, the man who hates to hold hands, needs a unsolicited hug every once in a while.
I've said to him, more that once, that I feel like I give and give all day, and that at the end of the day I have nothing left to give. That's not very fair is it? I'm not proud of being a total bitch at the end of the day, with zero motivation, and only the desire to sleep. But I have been, and I am. But now I'm trying to turn a corner.
After fourteen years of dating, not dating, and being married to the Hubbs, I'm humbled by the fact that I still have many lessons to learn on being a wife. That the work doesn't end after you hit the five year mark, or the ten year mark. Marriage is a continuous job, just like motherhood. There is something very refreshing and very scary about being brutally and totally honest, with someone who knows you best. Finding out how far you can go with honesty. Feeling safe again after baring so much. It's so easy to forget that I fell in love with him for the simple fact that I could always be myself with him. That he always accepted the person that I am. Yet, here I am, learning that saying those three little words, mean nothing if the person who hears them can't feel it. I can write a million blog posts about how much I love the Hubbs, but I have to actually love him, for him to know it.   I feel like loving someone is truly without context. It's something you say, and something you do, but how do you put it into context? How do you make it into something tangible, something you can hold on to. Something you can give the other person, your spouse, your love, and say "Here, here is how I love you. Here is how you know". Last week I found context.
Last week, Mac asked the Hubbs to measure her. We've been measuring the girls on their door jams since they could stand on their own. Caitlin has measurements on two door jams in this house, since she's had two different rooms. So, the Hubbs did just that, he measured Mac on her door jam, and showed her just how much she had grown. And as I watched I felt it. That tangible thing, the context, that maybe, just maybe, he needed to hold. Because that is what I have always wanted with him, a house filled with door jams marked with proof of growing children. Those little unspoken things that make up the big thing. That make up this life. Who knew all those years ago, that door jams marked with sharpies would be the exact thing I'd been waiting for in my life. 
It's so hard to show that kind of love isn't it? It's easy to put those feeling into words, but to show it, on a daily basis? That's hard. I think that is why marriage is so hard. It feels like a given. You take it for granted. Your spouse is your spouse. They are supposed to be here, they are supposed to love you, but you know what? You are supposed to love them back. You are supposed to show up too. Marriage can be the constant, but you just can't take it for granted. I didn't realize that I had been taking the Hubbs for granted for some time. That I just assumed that he would know my love, without me having to do too much. Unfairly so, since I always ask him to hold my hand. The one thing that he hates to do, and not because it's my hand, but because he thinks it lame. But he always does it anyway. You'd think that I'd remember that when he wants me, without distraction.
I always read on Pinterest or Instagram, quotes that say hug your babies, or hold your babies close. Today I'm going to tell you to hug your spouse, hold them tight and hold them close. Tell them and show them that you are here, that you showed up today, no matter how much you want to disappear into that book, or blog, or Instagram feed. Give them a little bit more of you, before you deflate. Before you take for granted something you think is a given.
As cliche as it is, actions do speak louder than words. I just never realized that love demands to be the loudest. 

Love and Football

Fresno State 41.  Boise State 40.

Yes.  We most certainly are: That Couple.

Celebration Selfies.

If you don't live in Fresno, Boise, or have a football team in the Mountain West conference, then this may be news to you.  On Friday night, after eight, EIGHT years of heartbreaking losses, Fresno State, my Alma Mater, finally beat Boise State.  Like I said this may mean zilch in your college football loving heart.  You may care less about college football than you do about the NFL, and that's ok, but this game meant more to mean than just a long awaited win. Once it sank in that we (Fresno State) had finally broken the curse, I realized that this game symbolized so much more.
The last time Fresno State beat Boise State, I was a newlywed.  Just seven months into my blissful journey as Mrs. Crutchfield.  I was bright eyed, bushy tailed, and so very naive.  We, the Hubbs and I were both in that sweet spot.  Still living in the bubble of just wedded bliss. The, I wish you would pick up your socks, put the seat down, please but I'll let it slide because I love you so much bliss.  You know what I'm talking about.  That time when you will do just about anything to make the other one happy.  Even biting your tongue until it bleeds. Eight years ago it was just me and The Hubbs.  No babies, just us, living the dream.  And when Fresno beat Boise, seven months into our lives as husband and wife, we were unstoppable, on top of the world even.  But like so many games, or in our case challenges, in our married life, victory wouldn't always come so easy or so sweet.
What followed were eight years of not so wedded bliss.  Like Fresno State we put our best foot forward.  We fought the good fight, but our victories were sometimes hard won.  Other times there were no victories (like the games against Boise).  What no one bothers to tell you is that marriage is hard work.  So hard in fact that sometimes you want to throw in the towel. That you say horrible things to each other.  That one of you nags the other constantly, that one ignores the nagging constantly.  No one tells you that sometimes you have to fight one yard at a time.  That many times you are 4th and inches, and sometimes you go for it, and sometimes you don't.  No one tells you that every yard gained is a small victory even when your are just shy of a first down.  
Friday night was a huge win for Fresno State, but also a huge win for us.  The Hubbs and I have been working towards our own win since 2005.  After eight years of marriage we are back where we started.  We remember why we took those vows, we remember why we like each other, and want to spend time together.  For all the crap I talk about football season, the tailgates that start at dawn (I'm only kidding a little), and the late nights in the stadium; I love Fresno State Football.  It reminds me that at our core, we are still those college kids cheering on our Alma Mater.  We are still those newlyweds without a care in the world.  We are still those parents that can sneak away for a Friday night to cheer on our team as they win big, bigger than they have in eight years.
Because my marriage won big too. And just like our team, we've worked so very hard for this win.

Ye of little faith

I have a confession to make.
Prior to my Las Vegas getaway, I didn't believe in date night. I loathed all the date night pictures on Instagram. I mean, really, you like your husband that much? Who does that?
Maybe it was envy. Maybe it was because I always come up with excuses. Maybe it was because I hadn't let loose in years.
Well readers and friends, I was wrong.
You see that Hubbs? I said I was WRONG. About date nights, just date nights.
I digress.

As evidenced by my Instagram feed, my Las Vegas getaway was fun. It was more than fun, it was amazing, exciting, glamorous, stimulating... It was refreshing and relaxing. It was everything my marriage needed and more.
Because we really have forgotten how to be John and Megan. Because our days are filled with being Mommy and Daddy,  or Absolute Mommy and The Hubbs. We got to Vegas and suddenly we were us again. The relaxed and affectionate us. The let's got to be at 3 in the afternoon us. The let's stay out all night us. Those two haven't been around in years.
My marriage needed those four days.
Mornings that were spent in bed, no one demanding mini pancakes, no one calling "I'm done" from the potty.  Mornings that were slow to start, with breakfast in bed, quiet conversation and dare I say, more?  Afternoons spent out, shopping or drinking.  Not a care in the world.  No schedule, no dance classes, no late afternoon tantrums.  Evenings spent dancing, singing along to music, having dinner and not worrying about spilled drinks and cutting up hot dogs.  And while we went on this trip with friends, the two of us, The Hubbs and I, were able to reconnect in a real way.  To remember what it was like seven years ago when it was just us.  To remember what it was like when we first met.  Those two college kids that could not get enough of each other.  Who spent their days and nights filled with booze and laughter and stolen kisses.  To remember that at one time we liked each other best.
 Now I believe in date night. I believe in second and third honeymoons. I believe that at some point you have to remember what it was like to love your husband recklessly and messily.
Even if you have to schedule the time to do it.

My epic Rom-Com

  I recently read a post by Lisa Jo Baker that was all about her love story.  Which she said was actually quite boring in comparison to the movies.  In the movies love stories are epic.  They are heart breaking and heart stopping.  The common theme of her "boring love story" was that, her husband, has "never run through an airport for me".  It got me thinking.  The Hubbs has never run through an airport for me either.   But does it mean we have a boring love story?   Does it mean our love story isn't epic?    I can't tell you how many times I complained that the Hubbs is unromantic.  He isn't one for mushy displays of affection.  He doesn't even like to hold hands.  He picks out really funny Hallmark cards, but has he ever left love notes around the house?  Rarely.  He can be spontaneous, he can be sweet, but would I ever classify our marriage as romantic?  Probably not.  But do I really need an epic love story like The Notebook?  Do I need tear jerking romance, or do I need Rom-Com romance?
I've decided, I need Rom-Com romance.  

Yes, that's him, flipping me off while he flies a kite for our children.

  Maybe he has never ran through an airport, but he gets my movie references.  Sunday at Costco, I wanted a watermelon.  The Hubbs was wrangling the children and pushing the cart, so I went over and picked up a huge watermelon myself.  It was heavy, and so as I walked back to the cart I said, "I carried a watermelon".  To which he replied, "Don't hurt yourself baby".  Now many of you may or may not understand this exchange.  If you do, then you know he wouldn't put me in a corner.  If you don't, then I know it's a little bit of romance between me and the Hubbs, that we can converse in movie quotes when the mood strikes us.   He may have never waited for me outside a church with his red convertible (Sixteen Candles), but he did once tell me he wanted to be my "Mr. Big".  This was as I was wearing designer shoes I had spent an entire paycheck on, and also while I was drinking a Cosmo.  This was during my Carrie Bradshaw phase, as you can tell.  To say I almost fell off my bar stool is an understatement.  Because we had broken up for the third time.  Because we had fought viciously and said somethings that we couldn't take back.  Because I knew, in my heart he was the one, it wasn't over for me, not by a long shot.   I took him up on that offer.

Last year we won a "serious dance" contest.
You couldn't crack a smile or you were out.
This is what marriage can do for you.

  The Hubbs didn't propose at the beach.  He didn't hide my ring in dessert.  He didn't send me on a scavenger hunt, have a professional photographer waiting in the wings, nor did he do it at a place that would remind me of our love.  He DID try and get me to go out of town, and I refused.  I was tired and whiny after working all week.  So he did what he needed to and proposed, well after midnight on a Saturday, as I walked out of the bathroom.  Toilet still flushing in the background, he was on one knee, ring box open.  And while I still laugh to this day, at our most unromantic proposal, it's still one of the best stories we have.  Plus it's totally poetic if you remember that the Hubbs sells toilets for a living.
The Hubbs would never write me every day for a year (The Notebook).  The man rarely writes a grocery list.  I get cards on my birthday and Mother's Day that are funny and perfectly from him, but he normally just signs them, but once, on my college graduation, he wrote me a real love note.  In my graduation card, he wrote the following (totally paraphrasing): being with you has been a roller coaster ride, and I hate roller coasters, but here I am, enjoying the ride.  He also bought me a diamond pendant, which he really couldn't afford at the time.  I held on to both so tightly, and never forgot his words.  Even when we broke up 4 months later, even when got back together and broke up again.  Even when years later, and 2 babies, and the mess of life took us to the brink and back, I never forgot those words.  Because I hate roller coasters too, but I'm still not willing to get off this ride.   The Hubbs never stood outside my bedroom window with a boom box playing In Your Eyes (which was a real life fantasy I had for a time).  He has been known to post 80s rocker love anthems to my Facbook wall in a boozy haze at 2 am.  He will always play "my jam" on the iPad, which is Midnight Train to Georgia.  The fact that he knows that makes me swoon.  He took me to a Blink 182 concert years ago, because he knew they were my absolute favorite, even though deep down he hates them with a passion.  He has even been known to sing along to Party in The USA and Call me Maybe with my girls, which if you are wondering, sets my heart afire.    

Who needs love letters when you have this over text.

  The Hubbs doesn't hold my hand, but he does take out the trash and clean the litter box.  He may not leave me love notes on the bathroom mirror, but he does text me pictures of hilarious shiz on the Chive.  He my not have read a single Harry Potter book, but he can quote the Prisoner of Azkaban like no body's business.  And not just the main character parts, but a particularly long scene featuring Sirius Black and Professor Lupin.  The Hubbs may hate posing for selfies, hate Instagram as a whole, and may never understand the importance of a WIW post, but he has read and commented on this blog a time or two.    I don't need the Hubbs to run through an airport.  I don't need him to hold a boom box over his head.  I don't even need him to write me a love letter every day for a year.  What I need is for him to love me anyway.  The house is a disaster, there is never dinner on the table, I practically keep Target in the black, and I hardly ever vacuum the house.  Some days I don't shower, I rarely wear make up, and I'm getting laugh lines and crows feet to go with my already graying hair.  My kids eat junk, they drink soda, and they are spoiled rotten.  And he does exactly what I need him too, he loves me anyway, he loves me despite all of these things, he loves me because of all of these things.  
 

  After reading Lisa Jo's post, and writing this one, I know for a fact that my love story is epic.  It's not the stuff Nicholas Sparks would write about, but it is the stuff Mindy Kaling or Tina Fey would write about.  It's romantic in the way knowing all the best lines in Mallrats is romantic.  It's an epic love story in the only way we know how to write it... With humor, laughter, and sarcasm.   
  Our story is the story of two people, who love each other despite the fact that one leaves all her crap on the kitchen counter (me),  and the other always turns off the AC in my car whenever he drives it (him).  My love story began on a boozy night in late July of 1999.  At a housewarming party I didn't want to go to, a party I wore a baseball cap and jeans, a party where I was convinced I would graduate college without finding Mr. Right.     It's the story of two people who couldn't stand each other when they met.     All the makings for an epic Rom-Com.   Think your love story is boring? Please read this post by Lisa Jo Baker. It will change your life and your marriage!