I'm With Him

February 25, 2009 | Category: Thy Wedded Life

If you've been here before, you know that life - especially mine - is not a fairy tail. There was no white horse, no happily ever after, no castle with roses climbing the side.

What we got was messy, chaotic, brilliant, and hard. And full to the brim, even at the worst of times, with love. I could say that's 'cuz of me. Strange but true - I have never stopped loving anyone in my life. Anyone I have ever loved, I still DO love. Just... differently. Maybe, it could be argued, somewhat theoretically. Considering distance and time and...

I digress.

My point (and I hope there's one around here somewhere) is that we are now in a somewhat good time. Last fall, a crack appeared in the ceiling and we had to dig it out, find the source, patch it. They say that broken bones once healed are stronger than before. If that were true of relationships, my marriage would be made of titanium.

It's not.

We're human. We screw up. But we know how to choose to fix things, now. We know the difference between pain and anger. Into this wisdom, we've found a way to walk very gently with each other. To be very on-purpose with our communications. We stopped letting in people who are full of negativity. And we started cherishing the good, now that it's here for a visit.

Last Saturday was the Icelandic version of Thanksgiving. This has been a pain in the ass in the past because it forces CD and I against our natural roles. Neither of us likes to be social in groups, but when forced - I'm the ice breaker and networker, he's the guy standing just to my left carrying two drinks with a pink cell phone, a tube of "Brick-O-La", and a Revlon compact stuffed in his pockets.

But for Thorrablot, he's got to be the first one through the door. He's the one who - quite literally - speaks the language. For those hours, it is his childhood memories being invoked. His traditions. His heritage. I'm the American appendage, somewhat clueless and mispronouncing most people's names.

Some years, his frustration at being forced out of his hard protective shell has triggered some last-minute scuffles. This year, I had decided that I could over-prepare us into a better start. I found a babysitter way in advance (it was adults-only because of space constraints), had formal outfits dry-cleaned for both of us, and made our contribution - a chopped salad with 9 different ingredients - a day in advance.

Then, at the last minute, disaster struck. My go-to pants? Were NOT what I brought home from the dry-cleaners. My husband had several suits, all lovely. But because of a bunch of reasons that all gathered to sabotage me - every back-up outfit I own was unavailable. CD ripped the house apart as I finally had to get in a shower. When I emerged - fully made up and blown dry and totally naked - he sighed.

Well, he made a pass. THEN he sighed.

"Here's the deal," he said, with the face that let me know I wasn't gonna like it. "I pulled our jeans from the wash and tossed them into the dryer on high. They should be done in about 10 minutes."

"You mean my jeans," I corrected. "It's a fancy occasion. The Icelanders will all be dressed up. You have to wear the suit."

"Babe," he shook his head. "We'll both wear jeans - it'll be fine."

I swallowed growing dread. "That's stupid. You won't feel right in jeans. It's not Icelandic."

"Screw being Icelandic," he answered, and I swear he almost laughed. "I'm with you. We're wearing jeans."

So we did. And?

We had a wonderful time.

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