Kittens and Grad caps

Yesterday, my husband was (as he says) "tea bagged" in Pensacola Bay. I would loved to have been there for it. Heck, I would love to have been helo hoisted out of the bay too. The adventure of being rescue lifted, without the need for actual rescue. I'm nowhere near as brave as my husband, but there are times I would love to be there with him. Don't even get me started on his trip to Japan... *sigh*... someday, Sophie, someday. I want to be stationed in two places during our lives: Japan and Italy. Sure, I love their cultures, but really... I'm in it for the food. I absolutely live through my stomach.

Last night, I was reading in bed. James brought a book too, which is surprising. He's not much of a reader, that one. Anyway, he puts down his book, turns to me, and says, "how about we get a kitten for your birthday?"

I won't lie. I want a cat. I want a dog. I love animals. The problem is, once you get one pet, you can't go without one ever again. Plus there is a $300 deposit at our apartment place for a pet of any kind, and I don't want hair all over everything and especially not in my food. So there are a lot of reasons not too... but I want one anyway.

The Pensacola Humane Society has lots of cats. You can view them online, see pictures and stats. I'm glad everything's available online because it keeps me from physically going down there. If I go down there, I know I will come back with a pet. I'm weak.

If only my garden could talk to me... then I wouldn't need a "real" pet.

Just the two of us...

Living together. Yeah... how about that?

My husband and I dated for about five years before we got married, in high school, through college. Very soon after we started dating, we were attached at the hip. Friday night dates turned into Friday nights and Saturdays... and maybe Sundays. Then we saw each other in school. We even had a lot of the same classes.

Our parents were remarkably open to this. Only my mother (in characteristic fashion) said anything. Sometimes, when I said I was going over to James' house, she would say, "you just saw him all week in school, plus Friday night, plus Saturday." I didn't care, though. I just couldn't get enough of his company. Still can't.

It's a funny thing, love. Usually, after awhile, I get tired of people's company. I know that sounds bitchy, but let me explain. I've had best friends, old friends, new friends. I love hanging out with people, but eventually, enough is enough and I just want to be alone. That never happened with James. I would always prefer being with him to being alone, or to being with anyone else.

Now we're living together. We don't go out with friends a lot. It's just the two of us. And I like it that way.

The other day my mom e-mailed me that every time she decides to take a day off from work lately, my father decides to take one off too. I thought that was such a sweet thing to do. Thoughtful. When I was little, my mom complained that he worked all the time and never spent enough time with family. I really liked to hear that they were spending time together.

My mother, however, e-mailed me something different. She said that she likes spending time with him, but with him continually taking simultaneous days-off, she doesn't have any time for herself.

So which is it?

I live in fear of that day. It's not that I think married people can't have separate interests or pieces of their lives. Of course they should, of course they do. I, however, feel that these separate pieces are just that, pieces, and that on the whole, you have to be in it together.

People will say I'm in the "honeymoon" phase of marriage. I still consider myself a newlywed. But consider this: my husband is hands down, the best friend I have in the world. The only one I can talk to about all of my problems, even problems I'm having with him. We like the same music, the same movies, the same foods. We laugh at the same jokes. Plus, he's a fantastic kisser and Olympic champion cuddler.

So, I'm going to revel in every moment we have together. Even if it's not all sunshine and roses, at least he's here, in the flesh. I appreciate that man so much.

The Simple Things

This morning, I was logging receipts into our expense book and found out that my husband spent $37 last week on lunches with his friends... when I had already lovingly packed him a lunch each day. It left me a little miffed. He asks me to pack his lunch because a) He doesn't have time b) He likes it when I pack his lunch (probably a sexist macho thing). Plus, we're saving all our extra money for his cousin's visit. Plus, my frugal heart protests deeply at the thought of buying lunch.

We just had a conversation about this too. He said, "I've got to stop buying lunch." I said, "yes, you do." He just feels self-conscious about eating a "packed" lunch. I told him that he is a grown-up now, not a sixth grader. When you're an adult, eating out every single day is not the smart thing to do and his friend who eats out every day is the exception to the rule.

I understand the pressure. All your friends are going to a restaurant for lunch. You, however, do not want to spend the money. What do you do? How about being honest? Our roommate (who moved out a some months ago) is going through flight school too. He's already a stage ahead of my husband. He packed his lunch every single day and ate with his friends, every day, on the beach overlooking the water. How great is that? I would love to be able to eat lunch like that every day.

I try to help my husband appreciate the free, simple pleasures in life, like being able to eat on a beach on a beautiful, sunny day like today or sitting out on the sun porch reading a library book. It can get a little frustrating because I don't think he gets it. There is a learning curve to these things though, so he may still catch on in a big way.

Such a Novel Story

You know how, in books, the guy wants to go out drinking and the woman wants to stay in and cuddle? Today, I am that woman.

Every Friday, James (husband) and I (Sophie) meet his friends downtown. Last Friday, they all decided to go out afterward. I am too cheap to spent $30 for a cab to get home so I volunteered to be my husband's DD.

You know what DD stands for? Debbie Downer. Yes, I was.

Tonight, he comes homes and says, "so, what do you want to do tonight?"

There are two things I am certain of:
1) Friday night is hanging out with friends night. He knows this. I know this.
2) That look on his face that says, "I am hesitating to say something."

I knew he was going to say something about going out afterward (I guess I was certain of three things). Frankly, I didn't feel like it. I'm kind of... over it. I've seen enough people throwing up, enough people making poor beer-influenced choices, enough alcohol-induced confrontations. James hasn't.

So, I skipped the club (and dinner out, which I was looking forward to) and opted for James calling me for a ride home, which is, needless to say, ten times more exciting. Now, don't mistake me. I'm not mad that he wants to go out. Completely normal.

But part of me, wishes he'd insisted I go. Insisted that it wouldn't be fun without me. Though I know this is not true.

I do not begrudge him a good time. I do not hope his night is rotten. I just hope he calls me before midnight because I am one tired lady.

The kicker was, after he left, I was hoping he'd come back. He'd say, "come on" and grab me by the arm. "I'm not going without you," he'd say. It was quite a nice little fantasy I had going. Suddenly, the door re-opened. "Sophie," James called. "Yes?" I said. "Just letting you know it's me. I forgot my hat."

Forgot his hat. Of course.