Thirty

Thrice this week in my Facebook newsfeed a quote has popped up that essentially says that if you have a clean house, your priorities are out of line. That well-loved children are better than an immaculate home, and that it’s one or the other. 

When I read that quote, I immediately felt guilty. For the record, I agree. However, I like having a clutter-free home, and to the best of my ability I maintain that. In my wedding vows to Ryan, I even said something about creating a harmonious home environment, and to me, that partly means that I straighten my home every day. But that Facebook quote makes me feel bad for doing so, like I am not able to play with or love on my children because I have a clean(ish) house. 

That’s all beside the point though. That quote, coupled with my reaction to it, made me think about something much more important than toy bins and happy children.

What I really want to say is this: I’m sorry. I’m sorry for every time I said something that made you feel bad about your choices . . . your priorities . . . yourself. 

I turn thirty tomorrow. They say that the twenties are full of ignorance and ambition and selfishness and that the thirties bring wisdom and confidence. Since I’m not actually thirty yet, I can’t attest to that, but what I can attest to is that I have learned a lot these past twenty-nine-plus years. 

One of the most important lessons I’ve learned is that people don’t need my opinion or assessments. They just need my love and acceptance. My mom recently shared a quote with me (as usual, I don’t remember the originator of this quote) that said something to the effect of, “If you assume each person you meet is hurting, you’re probably right.”

One goal for this next decade of my life is to encourage those I love, including myself, more. 

(I will probably still clean my house, though.)

Cheers to a new decade!

8 years

When I typed "8 years" into the Title box, I--without thinking--hit shift while I hit the 8 key. That left me with an asterisk, which I think is pretty appropriate.

Appropriate because I feel like there should be a footnote. It would go something like this:

Ryan and I have been married for eight years* now.

*This is only a technicality, of course. We are still 14 and 15 and are waaay to young to have actually been married for two years less than a decade. Still, the calendar claims that eight years have passed since our wedding day, and who am I to argue with such an impartial tool?

Also appropriate because an asterisk is a star sometimes. And I feel like our marriage deserves a star. A big, fat gold one.

Fifteen years ago, Ryan saw me for the first time and said he was going to marry me. Thirteen years ago, he asked me to homecoming. Twelve years ago he asked me to be his girlfriend.  Nine years ago he asked me to be his wife. And eight years ago I said yes.

I don't know what I expected marriage to feel like eight years down the road. Certainly not like this. I guess I assumed it would be routine, comfortable, serious, mature. You know, past the honeymoon stage but well before the intimacy that comes from having been married thirty years.

I find myself still really liking being with Ryan. He still makes me feel cool and funny and pretty. He's still cool and funny and cute. In short, the great stuff about our teen relationship has continued, and the other experiences we've shared have just added to the good base we already had. We have two awesome kids, we plan really fun (for us) parties and vacations together, and we just do life together. The mundane hasn't taken anything away from trying to impress each other or from even being shy around each other sometimes like I assumed it would.

(There are hard times, too, of course, but who wants to discuss that on an anniversary reflection post? Not me. I do want to keep it authentic and admit it's not all roses here in the Bond house, but I'll leave it at that admission and move on. Or I would if I would stop typing.)

Anyway, these past eight years have held so much beauty and fulfillment for me. Mom and Dad: thanks for letting me walk down the aisle, away from your home and into my own. Ryan: thanks for meeting me there at the end and leading me towards the very best life I could have imagined.

(And God: thanks for giving me Mom, and Dad, and Ryan.)

Cold HARD cash

It's now August 3rd, which means we have been on the cash system for only two days.

It's already a disaster. I seriously have no idea how people pay cash for things. (I get the whole you-only-buy-what-you-have-money-for concept, but I don't get the whole I-pay-for-everything-with-actual-cash-money practice.)

I went to Walmart on the 1st, and it's like my children knew checkout would be More Difficult and wanted to make it Even More So. Madeline started crying (maybe because of the creepy guy behind me, I can't be sure), so I had to get her out of the cart to hold her as I tried to put all my junk on the conveyor belt. She almost face-planted right on top of the chicken breasts more than once, I'm ashamed to say. (Also, the people in front of me had two transactions which took FOREVER since they paid for one of them with food stamps and the other with cash which was dug out from every pocket and crevice of a gigantic purse.) ANY-way, Coralie became jealous that I was holding Madeline and started crying to be held also. At this point, the creepy man behind me started making General Observations about parenting and my kids, which I tried to politely acknowledge while simultaneously blowing off. But back to Coralie: I tried to reason with her that I could not hold both of them, unload the cart, shove the price-match ad in front of the cashier, AND pay, but she didn't believe me. I had to set Madeline down in the cart and pick Coralie up as I sifted through my wads of cash to find the "Food/Household" category, counted out how much money I owed Walmart, took my change, and shoved it somewhere so I could grab my bags and go.

Still, I was proud that I spent about $20 less than I normally do. All in all, I was pretty confident the cash system would be good for our family.

But yesterday Mr. Cash-Loather was around for a few transactions.

The first one was at dinner last night. After paying the majority of the bill with a gift card, I realized I needed a $5 bill to pay the last few cents and to tip. Well, our "Dining Out/Entertainment" category did not have a $5 bill. So I looked to make change in another category. As I was doing so, Ryan started shifting uncomfortably in his seat and noticed a wait had formed in the lobby. Then my ears started burning, as they always do when I am feeling rushed with counting money. Well, after digging around in three categories and finally making change, I procured a $5 bill. But I couldn't remember where all the piles of money now laid out on the table had come from, so I had to COUNT EVERY CATEGORY still in my wallet to see which category was missing which amount.

Then we went to Walmart to pick up some coffee, a drink mix, and strawberries. I headed towards the beverage section and Ryan peeled off into the coffee aisle. I grabbed the (cheapest) mix and met Ryan on the way to the produce section. He saw me, felt convicted (I guess), and said he was going to put the coffee back since we already had some at home (he had been saving it for. . . I don't even know) that we should use before spending money on more.  I picked out three pounds of strawberries (price matched to Aldi's 0.88/lb) while Ryan disappeared somewhere else. He walked back towards me carrying four limes--LIMES!--with a look of "I dare you to question this purchase." I did, of course, and he said that he HATED the cash system but then marched his butt back to the lime tray to put two of them back. I won't bore you with the actual paying hiccup, but there was one, of course.

I guess what I've learned is that paying in cash does make us spend less but it also dramatically raises the stress level upon checking out. Ryan was so uncomfortable during all of the transactions that I would not have been surprised had he taken the wallet out of my hands, thrown it down on the ground, and whipped out his trusty debit card just to get out of the restaurant or store faster.

And yet! I find myself dreaming of all the extra cash we'll have at the end of the month, and how Ryan won't know that I squirreled it away until I have saved around $10k in six months, and how proud he will be. I can't wait.

Presidential marriages

I just finished reading Hidden Power: Presidential Marriages That Shaped Our History, which I highly recommend. I never really enjoyed history class in school and thus have such a shaky working knowledge of our country's past that I am not qualified to engage even a three-year-old in discussion.

But this book is not really about history anyway. It is about the men who became president and the women who were along for the ride (or, as in some cases, who DROVE) and how their relationships worked. A side effect of reading about these marriages is that I have a much greater understanding of all of the important decisions that were made in the last one hundred years or so. (I never knew what went down in the Iran Contra scandal, and now I do. A little. I believe there was a rogue aid who sold weapons to the enemy who came back and said that he was Luke's father or something of that sort.)

But far more interesting to me were the analyses of how these marriages worked. Most of these women put up with unfaithful husbands, whether that meant they had affairs (like FDR, LBJ, and JFK. . . Wait a hot minute-- if Ryan ever wants to go by his intials, I should suspect that he is up to no good as it seems there is a trend here.) or forsook their marriage for their careers (like Nixon). There were some marriages that seemed to work well, perhaps even better once the men became president (like the Fords and the Carters) and some that were close no matter what (like the Reagans).

I wonder what people would say of our marriage. I like to think we have a really good marriage, that there is a bond of loyalty, a give-and-take approach to each other as individuals, and a genuine enjoyment of each other. But it is often easier to acknowledge the good than the bad. So today, I am going to spend some time reflecting, pretending that Ryan is president. (He already likes me to treat him like he is POTUS anyway, so it won't be much of a stretch.) What would a book on presidential marriages say about us? About me as his wife?

Heavens, I may not want to know.

What about you? Have you ever wondered what your biography would read like? Or a book on your marriage?

Please tell me I'm not the only one who thinks about stuff like this, because then this post will just dangle awkwardly in cyber-space, and no one wants an awkward dangler.