Different

You know, for a married couple Brian and I actually don’t share that much in common. That sure makes for interesting observations from people.

I’m short, he’s tall.

He’s skinny, I’m…. well, not.

I’m dramatic, he’s practical.

I’m loud, he’s reserved.

I like to buy pretty things, he likes to save each extra penny.

I’m quick to anger, and he’s rational down to his very core.

I’m a dreamer, he’s a realist.

He doesn’t bat an eye when I talk about moving to a farm in the country, or get a hare-brained idea to paint the bathroom at 11 p.m.

But for two people so drastically different, we share one thing and that’s our love.

Sure, our marriage has taken a beating. When times are tough and it feels like the whole world is against us, we know that no matter what we’ll be okay as long as we have each other.

We’ve stood through job loss, death, sickness, financial hardship, and so much that was designed to destroy us, but we’re closer and stronger than ever before.

Being married to someone who battles depression can’t be easy. There are man times that I felt like I was floating out in deeper darker waters by myself only to be rescued by Brian. He’s my rock. He’s pulled me up when it felt like I was being swallowed by the deep darkness.

As the year closes, I’m thankful for my marriage. I’m thankful that I get to spend every single day with my very best friend. I’m thankful that my marriage gives me something to fight for and a reason to push back the suffocating darkness of depression. I’m thankful that we are so different.

I am thankful for this life.

Growing Up

I turn the big 3-0 in less than six months. It should be no surprise that I love my birthday, it's the celebration of my most favorite thing in the whole wide world... me!

I think 30 is going to be awesome, at least all of my friends who have already entered that stage of life seem to agree that it definitely kicks 20's ass and I had some pretty good times in my 20's, especially my late 20's. I really think that I'm one of those people that gets better with age, like I'm growing into my personality. Or maybe I just care a whole lot less than I used to, who knows.

I feel like life is getting better. I worked a whole lot through college, met cool people, met some not so cool people, and then rushed to graduate right before marriage. Then finding a job, then getting pregnant, building a house, more jobs, being financially broke, losing people we love, and then having a second kid, being a little less financially broke, and finally starting to get our shit together. That's pretty much makes up a nine year marathon from age 20-29.

It's nice to be on this side. Secure in myself, finding friends that I actually like, raising children, being married for longer than not, having people like me for me, and not really giving a damn about those who don't. I guess I'm just saying that my 29 year old self could make a really awesome "It Gets Better" video for my sixteen year old self. I never knew that watching my two babies sleeping could ever bring me more joy than a shopping spree at Nordstrom or a few bottles of wine.

That is the best.

Oh, and I'm still learning things! Just a few weeks ago I cooked using the outside grill for the first time. That's a very big thing. My husband keeps trying to teach me how to mow the lawn. No way, sir. Not going to happen. I can't be all that independent yet, but who knows once I turn 30!

I still have a few things left on my 30 under 30 list that I really need to take care of, including learning how to surf, get sewing lessons, a random acts of kindness day, and decorate a fancy cake.

I intend to squeeze every bit of goodness left of my 20's and I hope you'll stay along for the ride.

Weekend

Saturday sucked. From the moment we rose from the bed to the evening we just couldn't get it right. I snapped at Brian about the dog and we argued off and on about a series of things that were so unimportant that I've since forgotten what they were. We tried our best to forge through the day, each saying we'd start the day over around noon but we couldn't shake the weird unfamiliar fog between us.

I felt so consumed by bitterness, it ate my stomach and behind my eyes. We just couldn't get it right. I know I apologized a million times and him the same. We went to bed anxious for a new day to begin.

Sunday was different. A do-over. A relief. I kept the kids home with me while Brian went to church since Leah was still recovering from Hand, Foot and Mouth, and we ran errands and visited an old friend and then got ready for a special date night that we had planned weeks before. The sitter came to watch the kids and we ran off in our fancy clothes for dinner at Kirby's.

We got to spend a few hours talking and stuffing our faces with our favorite foods. We talked about the future, about our dreams, and about happiness. It was my favorite everything. We both ordered non-steak dinners at an expensive steak restaurant and we laughed at the irony.

I admired my man in his blue sweater and khaki's for the amazing partner he is, and despite all of the ways that I fail him, he still loves me. He puts up with me, all of me, which is a lot to handle. And he makes me feel beautiful, absolutely beautiful. He tells me so every. single. day.

Yep, he's a keeper.

We left the restaurant with just enough room in our bellies for dessert and stopped by the Cheesecake Factory for a take-out sugar fix. (Chocolate, and it was AH-MAZING.)

Then we got home and sat ourselves in on the couch in our date night clothes after kissing the babies goodnight and watched the last bit of the Olympics while sharing a fork. I love my husband because he always gives me the last bite.

Saturday was good.

But there are no pictures because we kept our phones put away and captured the evening in memories focused on each other. And I remember it just as it was, perfect.