guess what? michael and i set our wedding date. in october, we will get married and celebrate with the best bunch of our family and friends.
wedding planning hasn’t been a cake walk. several venues fell through or flaked out. i cried many times in frustration. i even pretended to write a book called love in the time of pinterest (inspired by an email to tania).
i’ve realized now that we don’t want a perfect wedding. we expect a day that is filled with love, joy, giggles, blushes, minor mishaps, and hopefully small moments of serenity. oh, i can’t forget— thrifted decorations.
p.s. if you like the cameo illustration, it’s available for you and your sweetheart here.
it took a long time— almost three years to be exact— for michael and i to pick out furniture for our deck. everything we liked cost the same as “real” furniture so we finally settled on a classic wooden picnic table and an outdoor rug from lowe’s.
every warm weekend, we look forward to porch suppers. i cover the table with a neutral tablecloth and table runner, move our flower vase from inside to outside, block sophie from escaping into the yard, and we’re set. we even have a chalkboard for the night’s menu.
because i’m debating whether to paint our table, i’m only sharing a few snapshots for now. by painting i mean stenciling it with stripes or triangles or turning it into a giant slate. you’ll have to wait and see.
american media glamorizes eternal youth. women are perpetually twenty with glistening skin, perfect hair, and feet that never hurt in heels. no one ever goes grey or gets cellulite. no one ever admits to spoiling dinner with a handful (or three) of cheese puffs.
in college, i dreaded growing older. with age came responsibility. with responsibility came the future and everyone knew the future was unpredictable. i relished car rides with friends and singalongs to saves the day CDs. i looked forward to dance nights at 11 p.m. and bike rides on narrow streets. i didn’t need glasses or moisturizer.
last week, i turned thirty-two. my twenty-year-old self would have said “ew” to such tragic news. my twelve-year-old self would have said “ew” to an unfathomable event. but today my thirty-two-year-old self is smiling.
i have a wonderful family, friends, job, and pug. most nights i’m in bed by ten. i gave up “goal” jeans and simply wear good ones. i plucked six white hairs off my head on sunday.
i am growing older. we all are. but somewhere in between then and now, i’ve realized that we never stop growing into who we are supposed to be.
i feel happy. i feel creative. i feel beautiful. i feel young. and i like cheese puffs.
movies and books can’t help but equate love to grand gestures: the chasing of trains, the trails of rose petals, the impulsive cross-country flights. our hearts swell just thinking about a hero (or heroine) who takes a leap of faith in the name of love accompanied by a perfect soundtrack.
but love also means little things. i don’t think love could survive without sweet notes, presents just because, or car ride sing-alongs. in honor of valentine’s day, here are the little things important to our family.
- buy a box or bag of each other’s favorite candy. don’t eat it! put it by a frequented place (ex. desk or sink) and pretend you have no idea where it came from.
- hold hands when someone’s mad (usually me). it’s difficult to stay angry when michael squeezes my fingers.
- send a lunchbag note. make sure it’s really embarrassing.
- dance to silly songs and get the words wrong.
- listen up and then really listen. everyone multitasks nowadays. put down the mouse, dishes, or phone for a few minutes and let your partner share a story or vent a frustration.
- appreciate each other. it could be a simple “thank you” for taking the recycling out or getting dinner ready.
- say i love you whenever you want. for me, it’s often. there aren’t any rules for it unless you’ve been sitting outside of ryan gosling’s house for days. then that might be creepy.
do you have any little things to add to the list?
