Heart of the Money Matter

This past weekend I drove up to meet Mark and the boat in West Palm Beach. WPB is a super cute little town –everything is new and so Floridian. While relaxing on Sunday, Mark took me to the outdoor shopping mall. After not finding a place to cut Mark’s hair and a lunch at Panera (something I’ve seriously missed since moving down here), we walked into Macy’s.

As we past the designer purses, Mark suggested I get one. On cue, the sales lady popped up over the display cased and just happened to mention everything is 25% off. Of course “SALE” is my kryptonite. I meandered around the locked bags trying a few on and finally pick one. As the final price popped up and Mark paid, my knees when weak and I immediately regretted my moment of lapsed judgment.

See, I have a thing about Mark spending a large amount of money on me because I still see it as “his” money – not “ours.” Mark works, I go to school. Mark earns money, I don’t. It’s his money. Though Mark begs to differ.

Since day one, Mark has always said what is his is mine. (I would have offered the same, but all I came into the relationship with was 20 pairs of heels and a very large Chihuahua).

When we began dating, I didn't mind Mark paying because he had no other expenses (the boat paid for virtually everything), while I was barely living paycheck-to-paycheck at a dead-end corporate job. And since we only really saw each other every other weekend, and we stayed on the boat when I saw him and we usually found cheap plane tickets (multiple layovers and late arrival times), I’m sure we easily could have spent a similar amount of money on dinners, dates and events in those two weeks if we had been living in the same city.

However, no matter how dead-end the job, I was still working and I was earning “my” money. I could occasionally pay for a plane ticket or a hotel room or a dinner or a round of drinks. Working gave me a sense of pride.

I struggle because if I did get a job now it would either be a retail job (no pay and draining) or I would have 15 hour days, six days a week; meaning that when Mark is home, we’d be nothing more than roommates who see each while brushing teeth.

Mark makes it clear that we are a team, but that is a hard pill to swallow when you realize you can’t give the person you love everything that you wish you could (Mark celebrates his 35th this year, and I wish I could do something amazing for him). Mark noted on Sunday night that whatever he might provide me with financially, I provide him with emotionally. He assures me that a time will come when he is looking for something land-based and I will be the only one with a steady income. It’s hard feeling like a teammate when you feel like you can do better. However, I guess if what concerns me the most about our relationship is how I can provide better means we’re probably doing better than most.

Everyday is Valentine's Day

Today is Valentine’s Day! And it’s a big one, not only because it’s our first as a married couple, but in the three years Mark and I have been together, it’s our first Valentine’s Day actually together in, not only the same country, but ever!

Due to Mark’s job, he’s usually is in the Caribbean during the winter months, so we just forego the holiday all together. Instead, I usually make plans with my single gals and we nosh on bottomless-baskets of tortilla chips, sip margaritas and entertain ourselves with the Spanish-only speaking servers.

So here it is. The very first Valentine’s Day I get to celebrate with a significant other … and we have no plans.

As a little girl, I LOVED LOVED LOVED Valentine’s Day (probably an early sign of my sugar addiction). I loved the red and pink (obviously). I loved the candy and cookies. I loved searching for the perfect Valentines to give to classmates. I loved the class projects leading up to the big day. I LOVED Valentine’s Day!

As time past, and with no boyfriends, I became a bit jaded. Although at my root, I am not a flashy person, and most likely would be a majorly embarrassed, I secretly wished I had someone who would send flowers to my high school on that special day.

In college and the years following, I started to enjoy Valentine’s Day again. Rather than focusing on the fact there was a lack of quality men in my life, I was grateful I had amazing girlfriends to spend it with. And it’s a save bet we had WAY more fun than we would have had with boyfriends.

And now, I have an amazing man who gives me anything I could want or imagine just because. But more important than any gift, is that we actually, truly enjoy each other.

When Mark and I first started dating, we were apart more often than together. We never fought or got upset with each other because we didn't want to ruin our real-time together. Later in our relationship, we had to learn how to fight appropriately. But we took something very important from those first months … we still believe our time together is precious.

It’s corny, but Mark and I really get to celebrate Valentine’s Day all year long. Some days are a little less pink and rosy than others, and flowers and dinners out are always a nice, butI believe our time together is more appreciated than most. And I believe that’s what Valentine’s Day is really about – slowing down from our busy lives and appreciate those in it.

They're Coming to America ...

(You have the Neil Diamond song in your head, don't you?)

I haven’t written in a while, and although I had another post started, something more interesting came up.

Due to recent events, that hit a little to close to home, Mark and I have decided to begin the process of applying for his green card.

We talked about applying right after we got married. As you know, with my schooling and Mark’s line of work we barely squeezed in a honeymoon before Mark had the boss on board in the Bahamas for a few weeks. (If you didn’t know, travel is suggestively forbidden while a green card application is under process.)

Long story short, Mark and I met with an immigration lawyer this week.

I have no doubt in my mind Mark and I will pass. However, to have to allow the fate of your marriage to be decided by a government agency, someone who, no matter how much information or how many wedding photos are in a binder, doesn't really know us.

Until Tuesday, I didn’t know Mark’s favorite color, and until Tuesday he didn’t know mine. I did know how Mark loves waking up early, having the first cup of coffee, going to the pilot house to check emails and just enjoy the quiet – on the boat and on the sea. Mark knows that my dog is my most prized possession. He knows my weaknesses are sugar, diet soda, reality TV and Dachshunds. We both have fat days, we could spend all afternoon at the dog beach, our families are very important to us and we struggle daily with submitting to God.

As the process continues, I will chronicle what I can. It’s a weird feeling to think we have to defend our marriage.

I know the immigration agency is doing their job. And I am grateful, since I wouldn't want just anyone in this country, and I sure as hell don’t want the Sacrament of Marriage to become causality to the immigration process.

I know the immigration agents have a tough job and I don’t envy them. To help them out (hopefully!), Mark and I have started on the mound of paperwork (and the remembering!) as well as collecting every scrap of paper, every card and every piece of evidence we have that not only do we have a marriage, it’s a real marriage.

After all, happy, healthy relationships aren't about favorite colors or what country we are from. It’s about knowing that obstacles are just hiccups in the long run … and that’s exactly what we are in it for.

The Couch

Wow! Happy 2011! I thought I would have the chance to write before the holidays, and again at least before the new year. This blog had been in the works for a while, but perhaps this post wasn’t ready until a few days ago.

Mark and I traveled to my parents for the holidays. It was the first time I was home since the wedding. Of course, the number one question everyone asked was, “How’s married life?”

With only three month under our belt, I think Mark and I believed we would fall into our new roles with ease. Me, wife, you husband. We would take moonlit walks, enjoy Sunday morning coffee and have friends over for Uno tournaments.

Well, our moonlit walks involve taking the dogs out, Sundays usually involve me studying for the upcoming week and being in a new city, we don’t know enough people to even have an Uno tournament.

But most troubling was the amount of disagreements Mark and I were having. If you know us, you wouldn't believe it. We are usually happy, goofy people. We enjoy playing with our dogs, paddle boarding, Chinese take-out and vegging on the couch watching America’s Funniest Videos.

As a dating couple, Mark and I rarely fought. We aren’t use to, nor are we happy with, arguing.

When Mark and I went through Pre-Cana (the Catholic version of the pre-martial preparation) we had a speaker that talked about merging of two families. Do you open gifts on Christmas eve or day? What foods do you have at Thanksgiving? What other traditions do did you grow up with and how will they fit in to your married life?

Those are more superficial discussions. What about bigger issues? Mark and I are both first-borns, who are used to being in charge and having our way. We are both super independent. We’ve both lived alone. We are use to doing our own thing. We have different ways of communication. Where Mark tends to an exceptional speaker and the more verbal one, as a writer, I like to think about and edit my words. How do you combine two very similar, yet different personalities?

It wasn’t until I had coffee last week with a friend that the truth came out. She asked me how marriage was. Then she said something that struck a cord, “We [her and her husband] fought all the time our first year.”

Her relationship mirrored mine. And she had dealt with similar stresses in the few years as well; a move, school, marriage.

As she continued on, she mentioned that her and her husband started couples counseling within the first year and still go once a month for maintenance. She said she was embarrassed about it at first.

It struck a cord with me. A couple months ago, Mark and I had a argument where Mark offered the thought of couples therapy. It only made me angry. Maybe it was the super-caffeinated Americano, but hearing it in Starbucks sounded different.

Why not counseling in the early stages of marriage? Counseling or therapy has become such a last ditch effort for most couples; why not start marriage with counseling? By the time most couples sit on the couch, issues are deep. Roles are established.

What if counseling was used proactively?

I think what my friend and her husband are doing is extremely wise and could be revolutionary.

My friend and her husband, like most couples who marry under God, went through pre-martial preparations (which can range from continuous counseling with a pastor until the wedding day to just a meeting or two with a priest). She mentioned that she wished the pastor had followed up a few weeks after the wedding, just to see how things were going.

Marriage is such a checklist now (and a multi-million dollar industry), that you can literally feel like a number while sitting in from of a pastor or priest. Those couples that actually marry for a lifetime and not for the white dress, the house and soon-to-follow baby, can get lost. Pre-martial preparation is about getting to the altar, not about what happens after the "I dos" are exchanged.

The issues Mark and I have are the usual growing pains that most couples face.

Mark and I drove back from Ohio last weekend. Mark had driven nine straight hours, with two more to go. So we started talking. We started asking questions, bringing up issues that were bothering us and overall just talking, calmly

We haven’t made a decision about counseling, though it would be nice to have a third party assure me that storing apples in the fridge is the right place to store an apple. But we also aren’t against it, especially as a maintenance initiative. People always say marriage is work. Romance and dinners out can only get you so far.

We decided to read the Love Dare to try and talk about potential issues before they real issues. And finally we decided to make an effort to go to church (We use to go back in Ohio, but have been a bit lost at finding a church that made us feel as comfortable, yet as spiritually-challenged as the one we left).

And wouldn’t you know it. God has a plan. One of the verses mentioned during service on Sunday was Proverbs 12:1, “He who loves instruction loves knowledge; but he who hates correction is stupid.”

Our thoughts about post-martial counseling aren’t out of fear or a last-ditch effort. It’s to seek to understand each other and to correct faults or shortcomings we may have so we can not only cultivate our relationship but have the best marriage possible. To not want to challenge yourself to be better and to grow stronger with your spouse … well that is just plain stupid.

The Heavy

This weekend south Florida felt like fall! And thank goodness, because after attempting to squeeze into my skinny jeans for date night on Friday, and seriously failing to do so, my sweatpants and I became best friends without too much discomfort (at least due to the weather).

It’s official. I have fallen prey to the relationship weight gain. Not only did I add a husband to my life, I added a pants size. And while to most people that isn’t a lot, I am only 5’2” so a few pounds really screws up my wardrobe. But it’s not just my wardrobe. I stopped wearing my heels, I’ve slack on make up, my nails have been chipped for the past week and we have not gone out past dinner since …. well I can’t even remember.

I’m blaming Mark. In the three days leading up to the wedding, I slept a total of 6 hours, took one shower and had put make up on zero times. My sweet soon-to-be-husband came in from running errands, hugged me, kissed me and then stepped back to look at me.

“I really like this look,” he said in all seriousness.

“The dirty-hobo-bride look?” I joked.

“Yeah. Well I mean the no make up and sweats. It’s cute.”

When Mark and I began dating, we lived like rockstars. It was expensive, but we flew around the world to see each other, dressed up and when out to eat and party every night. I worked my ass out at the gym and suffered through meals of green beans and brown rice, so I could party it up on the weekends. I would go shopping for cute dresses and new shoes. I can’t count the number of times I would drive to the airport, hands out the window, in order to dry my nails before I had to hit up the security checkpoint.

But living in a tropical climate, where the heat is obnoxious and rain is unpredictable and tsunami-like, and not having anywhere to go on a regular basis, I have relaxed a bit. Sandals have become my staple footwear; I can’t even remember the last pair of new shoes I bought. Shopping is the enemy, especially since our gym has been under renovation for the past two weeks. And working out to a Jillian Michaels video has become a chore, since I now have two dogs sitting standby, just waiting to lick the salty-sweat off my face right about the time as I am trying to come up from a push up.

I know Mark is feeling the weight as well. We both are uncomfortable. We both like to watch TV on a Friday nights, because we both are usually asleep before ten o’clock. We both turned 85-years-old in just a few short months. (Scratch that, my 92-year-old grandmother has more energy that us).

By no means do I want to be high-maintenance. As much fun as a fancy dinner and cocktails are, I really do love sitting on the couch watching a movie with Mark. And because up until a few months ago our relationship has really been anything but routine, it is nice to be a little mundane when Mark finally comes back home.

So, this weekend, after my second peppermint hot chocolate from Starbucks, I declared war. The gym re-opened, so I hit up the Elliptical (promptly followed by a sushi dinner and an ice cream sandwich … and a Reese’s cup … okay, two. But they are the really small bite-sized ones.). … Hey, it’s a start.

After the White Dress, Do Things Change?

Whew!

Yesterday was our one-month anniversary. I thought I’d get a post in before the wedding, and at least right after the wedding, but c’est la vie.

Not a lot has happened since married life began. We did get a puppy … while on our “mini-moon.” She is a 2-month-old Border Collie mix, named Morgan. She’s a handful, but oh-so-cute. Martini, my Chihuahua-mix has gotten somewhat use to the idea that Morgan is here to stay, and I even caught them playing a few times.

So, how did Mark and I celebrate being not-so-newlywedded? I believe Mark scoured Charleston, SC for Chinese takeout for his boss. I celebrated by cleaning up after a certain puppy and making my muscle, nerve, action chart for my musculoskeletal anatomy class. See, just two weeks after we were wed, Mark had to go back to work and has been gone for two-and-a-half weeks. That means we have spent more time apart as newlyweds than we have together. Which pretty much 1. defines our relationship and that should mean that 2. I didn’t expect much to change once we got married.

… But maybe I did.

Mark and I had a talk on our drive to Naples for our mini-moon. He had the rest of the month off, so while I was running around trying to catch up with school and clinic, he spent all day alone in our shoebox of an apartment. Those four walls are enough to drive anyone crazy (I know!), and they ended up frustrating Mark a bit. He expected something different than waiting for me to come home from school everyday. I laughed and asked what he expected to change. He said he wasn’t sure, but he just expected something different. I told him a majority of my married friends said really not much changed after the tux was returned and the white dress preserved.

But now I have the same feeling as Mark. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this. Now it’s my turn to sit at home alone. Mark comes home on Thursday, and while I can’t wait to see him, it’s hard knowing his time here is short-spent. And it’s even harder to start a life with constant interruptions.

I am not bitter or upset about Mark being away or his job. It has to happen. I’m in school for another two years. Mark makes good money and he likes his job … at least most of the time. And we’ve spent a majority of our relationship apart. But something in me is ready to move on to the next step … and no, not babies. (I think a 2-month-old puppy is great birth control.)

No, I want to make friends, buy a couch, graduate from pouring a bowl of Lucky Charms for dinner to actually cooking for someone. And while Morgan and Martini would love my cooking, they aren’t great conversationalist. I guess I just didn’t expect to be single and alone after getting married.

I’ve heard that brides often go through a bit of a depression after the wedding is over. For the most part, I believe it’s a loss of such a major part of someone’s day-to-day life over the past year. But I think for me it is the realization that, after almost a year of being here, I don’t have a life in Florida. My family and my friends are up north. And the one person who I care about more than anything isn’t here consistently. When he does return, it’s hurry up and hang out. There’s little appreciation for just being together because there is little time.

Where are future leads us is obviously up to God, and I just pray that Mark and I finally end up someplace together.

The Cost & The Important Things

Two weeks. That’s it. Only 13 days until I receive my MRS. It’s so strange that it’s literally around the corner, and it hasn’t hit me just yet. Granted I have to get through a week of school, clinic, a Junior League meeting, a quiz and a plane ride home before I can really think about the walking down the aisle.

Not to mention a family emergency this past week caused me to consider postponing the already too-long engagement. It also caused me to consider a lot of other things: the importance of family and God and the lack of importance of centerpieces and chair covers (though, if budget allows, I’d still really love chair covers). In a blink of an eye, the dress dislike and my fear of crappy centerpieces disappeared. God, love, and the strength of family took their places.

And I have to say, that I have the best fiancé in the entire world. Though a few states away, he sat silently through my crazy crying spells and made sure to end every conversation on a positive note. He never questioned what was happening, but instead gave me support and encouragement.

Through this I have discovered what is really important in this wedding, and much to my mom’s disagreement, it’s not the cake. It’s the relationships that are being strengthened (with my parents, with my brothers and with Mark) and those being formed (between our parents, between our brothers, with our in-laws).

Okay, well with all the sentimental and learning experiences out of the way, I will get right down to my chief complaint: the freaking cost of “wedding.” I wasn’t ignorant enough to believe I could actually stay on budget. However, I do not believe in paying for $75 for three orchids on a cake. Yes. $75. I can pick up two orchid plants for $20 on any corner of US 1 in Miami. And wedding cake. It’s flour, butter, water and some flavoring. Hopefully it’s infused with gold for the amount we are paying for it. We don’t have an elaborate design either (though there will be edible glitter involved).

It’s like as soon as you add the word “wedding” or “bridal” to anything, the cost triples. I realized I am in the wrong line of work. However, I thought with the whole green, eco-, natural, holistic way of thinking, I might be able to find my niche in the wedding industry. Pre-Wedding Acupuncture: Only $300 a needle. J