It has been a few days, and I should apologize. Since last time we spoke, I have aged one year. Yes, that makes me officially one year closer to 30. Not that I'm counting or anything.
It is becoming a tradition that I don't get to spend my birthday in the place that I call home. My birthday falls in the early-to-middle of college spring semesters, making it nearly impossible to find the time to drive the 400 miles from my alma mater's campus to my hometown. So I'd have lovely birthdays with my girlfriends, which nearly always included a trip to an ice cream venue. (Yes, in February. This is one of those things that both Beardface and I feel strongly about; ice cream is an appropriate snack - or meal - at any time of day or any season of the year.)
As I got to know my college friends better and better, campus felt like home, and during my junior year abroad, I felt a tug to return to Virginia (not my native New Jersey) for birthday celebrations. That plan was thwarted, and I ended up working a late shift at the pub on my 21st birthday. (I should mention, that night wasn't all bad, though. Most of the customers heard it was my birthday from my manager, so they kept buying me drinks to have after work or another night. Later that week I came back with a few friends and had several pints of beer :D )
Anyway. My 22nd birthday was mildly lackluster, having had work from 7:30-9:30 in the morning, then class til 5, and work again from 8-10pm, I was just happy to have time to sit down at the end of that day.
So this year I had been looking forward to a real birthday. The kind where you get flowers and a cake and your tone deaf friends and family sing to you. And I was so close.
But then my work had to foil my plans (oh what a world, what a world!) I spent my birthday in Boston, and I basically demanded that Beardface find himself a way to get here for the weekend. Knowing his aptitude with finding things on the internet, I knew this would not be an issue, and I really wanted him to put forth the effort, showing he wanted to see me.
I can be amazingly insecure sometimes, despite how obvious it is that Beardface does, indeed, want to see me and spend time with me.
I should give you a bit of a proper background about things before I discuss this weekend. For all of you considering marriage and anticipating it, it is a wonderful covenant between husband and wife (and God, of course!), but it does take work! Life is fulfilling and both parties are happy only if they both use some serious elbow grease (a phrase stolen from my ever-eloquent mother to mean "hard-work"). The first year of marriage is tougher for some people than for others, and so far, I don't think ours is very rough, though I have not gotten a general survey of the first 7 weeks from the hubby. Most couples, though, will find themselves fighting over the dumbest things: how to do laundry, when to feed the fish, whether Catholic churches are pretty, I mean ANYTHING. I realize I have always had a bit of an argumentative nature, but this is not serving me well in my marriage. Poor Beardface is a calm, quiet, and pensive soul very willing to sacrifice things for me, while when things don't go my way, I find myself blaming him in my head and often reprimanding him for our communication breakdowns.
This happened during our weekend together. And it shouldn't have.
I picked up Beardface from the airport, and immediately brought him to Wendy's to feed him. The little Italian woman in me says that if I don't feed my husband, I am a bad wife. Luckily I can buy him chili and a cheeseburger for under $5 to shut up that little Italian woman.
Now, there was some substantial forethought put into Beardface's arrival on his part. He had showered, shaved, dressed spiffily, brought a gift, and cake his sister had given him to decorate and bring to me. I did not know one could fly with birthday cake in their carry-on, but apparently the TSA is pro-cake. They just got a gold star in my book.
I had done my part in setting up a day for us to spend together. I had picked out spots to have lunch and meet a friend of mine, go see some things he'd love, and have a nice dinner in the city. Well, travelling for several hours made Beardface very tired, and mildly ill on Saturday. He stuck it out for treck to visit my friend in Cambridge, but when we got back to the hotel in the early afternoon, he expressed his desire to just lay down for a little while. We both napped for a few hours, before I woke up and began poking him. I required a feeding, and I wanted him to join me. He wasn't up for eating, but definitely for a walk. At this, my inner five-year-old emerged. "How could he do this to me on my birthday? All I wanted was to go out for a nice dinner? Why can't he just suck it up, sit across from me at some cute little trattoria and eat some pasta?" (Let me interject and say that I am not always this selfish, I was just having a particularly bad day for this type of thought.)
One long conversation and several kisses through tears yesterday, we ordered food in (from an Italian place, might I add) and watched the Big Bang Theory (it's like comfort food to us, I swear).
Marriages take work. And you don't always get what you want, nor what you expected. But sacrifice and compromise will bring your night to a satisfying close. I'm amazed sometimes (ok, all the time) at how patient Beardface is with me. I have moments where I am ridiculous and just plain mean, but he is still patient, and he still listens. I'm working on it, Beardface; I promise. I'm really glad you're patient with me.
