After the Wedding

I'm trying something new here at WashingTina . . . I've joined a gang.  Not what you think (puh-leeze, if you've been reading this blog for even a little while, you're not thinking gang anyway.  I'm about as likely to join a gang as Justin Beiber).  I've been recruited by my friend Susie Kline over at Motherhoot (and she is a hoot, so check her out) to join her Blog Gang.  The idea is that a group of bloggers all blog on one topic once a month or so, and then link up together.  Today's topic is marriage.  When I got the email about the topic, all I could think of was that scene in The Princess Bride (one of my favorite movies):



As I've mentioned before, WH and I have been married for two years. I can remember our wedding like it was yesterday -- all of our friends and family together for one day to celebrate together with us.  I remember my dress and the flowers and the music and the face of everyone who was there.  I remember the months of planning and all of the trips to the dress shop (Carine's in Georgetown, in case you ever need the best atelier in the city), standing in a giant (and freezing) floral warehouse picking out the flowers, the paper for the invitations, selecting all of the courses during our tasting.  I remember it all.  But that's not a marriage.  It's a wedding.  And there's definitely a difference. 

Every day since then, WH and I have been building our marriage. When I got sick on our honeymoon, that was marriage. Without complaint, WH got up with me, before the sun, and rode in the rickety "taxi" (consisting of benches in the bed of a pickup truck) in the rain all the way to the highest point on the island of St. John to go to the "hospital," which was a small building that could only be entered after having rung the doorbell.  There was one nurse on duty and one doctor on call.   He waited with me for three hours, wandering around this tiny shopping center while we waited for the pharmacy to open at 10:00.  He went with me to the same sushi restaurant three times, just so I could get miso soup (the only place we could find soup on a tropical island).  He held my hand as I cried on the plane home as my eardrums burst. 

We are a team, WH and me.  We laugh at the same things, roll our eyes at the same nonsense, and enjoy the company of the same people.  But even though we are a team, we each have our own interests.  WH is an athlete, enjoying the gym and nutrition.  I'm literary, enjoying to read and write in my spare time. We go out together and we go out separately.  We have had our ups (loads of them!) and downs (a few of those, too--have I mentioned the honeymoon bronchitis?) over the past two years, but at the end of the day, what we have is each other.  And when you have someone who plans for the zombie apocalypse, walks through a blizzard with you to get McDonald's, continues to live with you in a "staged" apartment while it's on the market,  protects you from pigeons in your air conditioner and indulges your love affair with Cher (or whatever it is that's important to you), hang onto it, because there's nothing better. Trust me, I know.