marriage

This weekend Hubby and I celebrated six years of married bliss, or in reality, six years of love, passive aggressive fights, good times, awesome times, not so awesome times, and just simple life.

Every year I force him to watch our wedding video so I can ohhhh and awwww over every wedding detail I agonized over, my pretty dress, my tiny waist, can you believe he brought that horrible girl as his date, our first dance, my husband looking oh so dreamy in his tux, and those sweet vows. One part of the video that really caught my attention this year was not us cutting the cake to the silly song Adam Sandler sings at the end of The Wedding Singer, but the priest’s sermon about how a marriage changes through the years. So I got to thinking about the things that have already changed is six short years…

Lots of things change the longer you are married, but if the days you want to high five your husband or even kiss his face outweigh the days you want to punch him in the face, well now, that is some wedded bliss!

If you read my blog, you may think “Wow! That gal is a hoot!” or maybe you are thinking “That girl has pizzazz! That husband of her’s is a lucky devil.” And if you think that, you would be sorely wrong (well I am a hoot, but the other stuff is a stretch).

To be honest, I am a pill to live with. I am bossy, demanding, over emotional, and a lousy housekeeper. On top of that, I don’t reciprocate backrubs, I often say things like “I’ll cut you if you don’t stop snoring”, and I threaten divorce if Hubby speaks to me during True Blood, Homeland, Glee, Scandal, Nashville, Friday Night Light re-runs… you get the picture. See what I mean? A real pill.

Most days I am really hard on Hubby and I know I need to lay off him because he really is a great guy (even if he is missing a chromosome that reminds him to shut drawers and cupboards). Today I watched him push the kids on the swings outside and I got to thinking about the things he is better at than I am, and they are all things that are super important to kiddos. So for once, I will ease up on that boy I married a million years ago and let him know he is doing a good job. Here is what I came up with:

He is way better at rough housing than I am. Maybe it is because I am terrified that I will hurt them or I have had by boobs stepped on one too many times, but I leave all of the rough housing over to their Dad. Research suggests kids rough housing with their dad is actually good for a kid’s development. So go ahead, big guy, throw those kids in the air (but you better catch them or I will cut you), roll around and wrestle, let them win sometimes, let them lose sometimes, let them knee you in the balls and pretend it doesn’t hurt because the kids LOVE when they pin you, and I can sit on the couch and play referee with both boobs intact.
He said he was getting his MBA, but I suspect he was taking classes in fort building. I’ll admit, my forts are super lame. Usually I throw a blanket over a chair and call it a day, but when I leave Hubby to his own devices he will create a fort masterpiece. I’m talking couch cushions, blankets, ropes, tunnels, doors, and even secret hideouts. He puts my fort skills to shame and that’s OK because I would rather play in his fort too. That sounded dirty…
He reminds me that breaking their schedule is OK sometimes. I am super Type A and keep my kids on a tight schedule. They thrive on their schedule, I thrive on their schedule, but if the kids go to bed late or miss a nap once in a blue moon, it’s fine and I will just make him deal with their crabby arses the next day.
He always cleans out the rogue sippies. You know, the ones that were filled with milk and have been hiding under the couch for a few days. I seriously just vomited in my mouth thinking of it. Because I gag at the thought of opening that toxic waste, I rely on him to open and clean the cup so that we are not running to the store each week to replenish our sippie collection.Taking one for the team.
Because I am with the kids all-day-every-day, my fuse is super short at night. So when Monkey and Mimi start streaking through the halls after bath time and I am left with their jammies and lotion, Hubby scoops them up before I lose my shizzz and put everyone in bed naked and itchy. As the second string quarterback, he makes sure the kids make it to bed every night lubed up and in jammies and Mamma has a sliver of sanity.

See, the guy is great. Maybe I should think of these things when I have told him 374 times to take the recycling bin to the back of the house and he ignores me. He can still be a real pain, but he is super cute. So I am going to try to cool it with the cutting threats…for now.