Being led beside still waters

Things are really looking up. The past few months were so hard. I feel like the joy has returned to our home. Fear is such a thief of joy. I have so much hope for our future together.

The fear of not making it

I have heard that in every marriage there are moments that you want to quit, that you can decide it's too hard and walk away. Cut your losses. I always wondered how someone who was not being battered or whose children weren't in imminent danger could just walk away... Until a few weeks ago.

To say I was surprised that I would even think of walking away so early in our lives together, because we had a very rough couple of months financially or because we had an argument is an understatement.

I'm glad I didn't walk away in the moment, cut my losses, and figure out how to make a life worth living on my own. Now that we're seemingly on the other side of that difficult first mountain of major issues that threatened our marriage, I breathe deeply and know that more will come. But for now, I'm just going to walk and keep moving forward.

I'm so thankful that God is faithful when I want to run and hide. He says, run to me, hide in me.

4 months into the experiment...

If you are immediately fear stricken when your husband says he left you something in the bathroom, you might be getting used to being married. Fortunately, he had left me a love note in the mirror with a dry erase marker. But the fear was there. Well played, Doorway Man. Well played.

Why I'm glad I was an older bride

As I watched so many of my friends and associations walk down the aisle by the time they were 22 or 23, I worried that I would never have a husband and family. By the time I turned 30, my hope had dwindled to a scary place regarding those dreams. I didn't understand why it had to be that way.

I'm starting to be thankful for the years of struggling to make my own way and the skills I picked up as a survivor of those hard seasons. I certainly feel stupid where marriage skills are concerned. I fight like a girl and find myself pretty much fumbling through the relationship stuff as if I'm on roller skates on a rink covered in oil. I am confident in the hard lessons I've learned about finances and my ability to brainstorm till I find a solution.

I think of the young brides in my life, and I wonder how much harder they had it. When you join your life with someone, you don't really know how well equipped they are for the future. It's all guesswork till you yoke yourself with them what they are really made of. I'm thankful that I know what I'm made of. I'm thankful that I know myself well enough to know that I'm a survivor.

I have had both kinds of surprises where doorway man is concerned. I have seen him respond and give in to fear, and I have seen him rise up and be bold and courageous. I once heard intimacy described as "in to me see", and it's true. I'm sure he's seeing my best and my worst as we walk together as well.

I am so glad I had those years to grow into me and learn the things I've learned. I'm glad he had those years, too. I'm hoping it makes this process easier to grow into. So far I'm thankful.

Money, money, money, money, Mon-ey

We have entered a difficult phase of life recently. My dear sweet doorway man has had all kinds of issues with finding a job...and keeping one. At first, it was learning experiences that were very frustrating. He learned with his first two jobs that you can't call in sick the second week of work. He has kept a security job that does large events for several months while looking for other more consistent work. But some weeks there are no hours. He just got signed on with another security company that does events, so that's going to be similar, I'm afraid. That's just it. I am afraid. Yesterday, we found out that because of my vast wealth and prosperity of my $30,000/year income and no savings or assets, he will now get a $700 month cut in his disability benefits. I've worked so hard the last ten years to restore my credit from the stupidity of my college financial decisions. It just sickens me to think that with the cut if we don't both find better income, we will be homeless in a few months and lose everything. Something has to give.

We have so far been doing things right and drawing from each other strength and support in tough times. We've gone from an adversarial approach of fear to reminding each other that we are a team and vowing to do whatever we have to to make our lives work. Marriage is a miracle, and God is revealing that to me more all the time. These trials are bringing both of us into oneness and revealing and stripping away our selfishness. It's a different journey for me. I'm so thankful for this man that God gave me.

I don't want to be afraid. I want to walk in confidence in God's provision and know that my husband is seeing his heavenly father come through for him in ways that others have failed him.

Expensive shoes

When I was in high school, Dr Martins were all the rage. I wanted some very badly, and finally had the money to purchase them at one point. I think the ones I wanted were about $200. I had never owned shoes that expensive, and I was very excited. I went to the mall and found the ones I wanted. The sales lady told me it was better to get them snug because the leather would stretch as I broke them in. So I decided to do what I was told and got them a little snug.

After trying to wear them for a few hours at a time for the next few months, I realized that I had purchased shoes that I would never be able to wear. I kept the shoes for about a decade before I sold them in a garage sale. I still have the corns on four of my toes as evidence.

Did the sales lady lie to me? I blamed her for a long time. But I don't think she had all the tools to determine that the shoes were the right size. I was the only one who could feel them. She gained nothing by leading me to the wrong size of shoe, and I was the one who would have to live with my decision. I had the choice to try a larger size, and I chose not to. I had been wearing shoes all my life, and I questioned my ability to select shoes based on the opinion of someone I'd never met. I never bought another pair of Dr. Martins.

I've done similar things with other major decisions in my life. I've second guessed my ability and authority on making my own decisions and done what others thought I should do.

Not that I haven't made some bad decisions on my own. No doubt I have regretted a few things I've done. Some of them with people advising me wisely against doing them.

I'm mostly not talking about decisions I have made on impulse. I'm talking about things I've spent months or even years anticipating and praying for.

There are alot of well meaning people in my life that have seen me doing or being something different than what I truly know I'm supposed to be. And I've lived in situations in a life that wasn't truly authentic, and when that season was over, I felt cheated. I felt like I cheated myself of what I truly could have had. I took a wrong flight and ended up somewhere I never wanted to be, longing for the place I wanted to go in the first place.

A few years back, I decided I was old enough to live authentically and be the person I feel I was created to be. It took some doing, and I scared alot of people who really love me.

I have lost some people along the way, and many people who were main characters in other chapters of my life would probably ditch me if they hung out with me long enough to see how much I've changed. It's not that I like losing people from my life, but I really hated losing myself in who I was trying to be before.

I'm not sure the decisions I've made for my life are all going to be blockbuster success stories, but they will be my story and not someone else's screenplay. I won't be wearing someone else's shoes.

I want to be in the will of God, but that means something different than it used to mean. I believe he created the path he wants me to walk, and it fits me. I won't feel like I'm walking in shoes that don't fit, even when there are trials and tribulations.

I don't want to wonder if I'm doing something simply because I'm afraid others will be disappointed. I also don't want to live only considering myself and my feelings and disregard all counsel. I want to know the difference between feeling pressured to fit into the molds that others think I should live in and wise counsel that I should actually listen to and follow.

I used to think if I respected someone or if they were experienced in a certain area that I should always take their advice. I felt that it was disrespectful and even stupid to follow my own path if advice from a quality source had been given. It became gospel. It wasn't always.

The truth is, there are pieces of the puzzle that only I have. Even God has reserved one piece of the puzzle and given it to me: my will. He reserves it for the most beautiful reason there is. He wants the final decision on whether we follow him to be ours and ours alone. Whether we love him to be ours and ours alone. When we do the will of others, we steal from God the only thing he treasures most: for us to want him.

He wants the shoes we walk in to fit. He made them perfectly and exclusively for us to walk in. They aren't meant for everyone else.

Mama bear

Don't get too excited. I'm not pregnant. Fingers crossed not for a little while...

I'm discovering a very deep, very intense part of myself when it comes to my husband. I saw it on some level when the opposition to our decision to marry was in high gear.

Mama bear.

I find myself as a watchman on the wall, looking for potential dangers that threaten the future of our family or that attack my husband specifically.

I've noticed that there are alot of threats. Satan hates marriage. I believe that is because it is something holy, and it's designed to be representative of the relationship we get to have with Jesus in heaven.
I see things the enemy sends to tear him down as a man, emasculate him, and I hate those things. Words that others speak over him, curses and such, are an enemy to my marriage. The ones I have to hate the worst are the ones that my own tongue wants to throw in moments of frustration.

I've done pretty well overall, because I know words carry so much power. I've had some weak moments, but God has kept me in check.

I also have been challenged by one of his so called friends that I would really like to put my fist between his eyes. He's the kind of person that puts my husband on blast on social media, throwing his past mistakes out publicly for all to see. I don't understand my husband's loyalty to someone who speaks so hatefully to him and about him. I asked him today if they had hidden a body somewhere at some point together, because I would have totally ditched this guy by now.

So I walk a fine line on this issue. My husband is not my child, and he is not helpless. If I step in and try to fight his battles, I emasculate him. So I chime in only as a supportive presence in these conversations, then I back off and let him fight it on his own knowing that I'm in his corner.

With my family I made a choice that I am living with. I chose my man, and my relationship with my parents may never again be what it was. But that relationship would have changed anyway, just maybe not as much. I've grieved the loss of the closeness and trust that I enjoyed for so long, but I don't regret the decision I made. Some days are harder than others. I believe time will heal, but that season of being under their covering is over. We will have to build a new relationship, hopefully a more healthy one than before. I'm praying that the unhealthy aspects of our past relationship fall away during this time.

I've become very protective of this man that God gave me, and of the beautiful covenant growing us into one life. And I like it. It feels right.

I Do, but I thought for a couple of days that I Didn't

That is a long title. Could she have not realized that was the title line? Yes, I realized that was the title line, but I like long titles sometimes, ok?!?!

Anyway, the past week-ish, I've been watching for the confirmation from the Great State of Texas that I am recognized as a married woman. Every day, doorway man tells me that it's not here.

I can be kind of a pest. And after I pestered people for six months before the wedding about cakes and photos and music, and was just in general obnoxious, I've been keeping a low profile on the followup stuff.

But as I grew more anxious about the magic envelope of goodies I need to change my name, I finally decided to reach out to the minister who married us, my uncle.

I asked in the meekest way I knew how by email if there was anything I needed to do to make it legal. (READ: Did my parents beg you not to mail my marriage certificate? -Not really. He wouldn't do that. But I did want to know that it was mailed.) The response was that they gave it back to us. Aaaaaanh!!! We no got no marriage license!!!!

So this was the timeline.

Reception was winding down. We were really tired. I remembered we hadn't given the license to the minister, so we tracked it down and handed it over with the envelope. And we headed for the door where our guests were waiting to blow bubbles in our faces and shoot us with silly string. And right before we step outside, my sister hands my new husband an envelope. We take one more step into chaos and run to our car amid cheers and bell ringing and whatever to our car. We open the door of the car to possibly a hundred balloons and to shove an impossibly poofy dress into a Nissan Versa. And the mystery envelope was not seen or thought of again...

And then we went on our honeymoon, all the while thinking that someone else would be mailing the license and any day we would have confirmation that we are married.

Until yesterday.

So I panicked and turned the house upside down and shook it. No marriage license fell out of any crack. I'm thinking the whole time that I spent all this money and inconvenienced all these people, used the gifts and money people bought us, and I'm not even going to be married. The thirty days is almost up, and we haven't built up our stupid fund to pay a license fee again. We're less than a week from the deadline, and we're gonna have to get married again. Argghh!!!

The license showed up in a stack of mail!! We're mailing it tomorrow, and it will be legal and everything. Doorway man found it!

(Sidenote: Doorway man was not in trouble for losing it. I knew that I would not have done any better at keeping it at that particular moment.)

Looking good for his woman

Tonight, doorway man's dad wanted to take us out to dinner. I often complain that he wears his older, worn out clothes when we go out. Over the course of our relationship, I've bought him clothes appropriate for a night out of varying weather and occasion. Clothes are not his thing. Clothes are strictly utility in his world. They are to cover nakedness. If you are not naked, you are appropriate.

Tonight, he came into the living room in this outfit. He was beaming from ear to ear, with a look of confidence that he was going to really please me by dressing up. This look of innocent and pure desire to be everything I ever wanted in a man is why I love him.

But it was so funny...and awful. I immediately laughed and asked him if I could take his picture with tears of laughter flowing from my eyes. My love for him doubled with his look of confusion.

I softly through laughter told him he couldn't go out like that but I loved how much he wanted to please me and the look of innocence on his face will forever be etched on my heart.

Luckily, he has a tough skin and quickly could appreciate the humor in the situation. He agreed to let me post it on Facebook, probably more to check the consensus than anything. Facebook is the place to settle the unimportant debates, apparently.

I have a big job ahead of me training this man God gave me, and it will be lots of laughter and sweet moments like this one, I hope.

Baby Face

There has been an ongoing issue since before we were engaged that has sparked more drama and discord between us than any other issue. To shave or not to shave. That is the question.

Doorway man has very coarse facial hair. When he goes more than 24 hours without shaving, his beard is like a wire brush that chews my face off when he kisses me. Unfortunately, doorway man thinks that shaving once or twice a week should be sufficient. He says it's very irritating to his skin to shave, he usually gets really bad razor burn and cuts himself, so I know this is true.

During the period that young men learn to shave, my beloved taught himself because his dad was not involved in his life. So I also think this is a training issue.

Anyway, I started off using positive pressure to get him to shave more. I would kiss him a bunch and call him Baby Face, and tell him how much I loved his smooth face. Praise, praise, praise. Positive, positive, positive.

This did not work.

Next, I resorted to begging. I complained about my raw face and tried to reason that if he shaved more, it would get less irritating to him.

This also did not work.

Then I resorted to anger and hurt.

This obviously did not work.

I am now in the phase of trying to find answers to the problem. Last week I bought him a shaving kit with a badger brush and ceramic cup and soap, as well as a anti irritant creme lotion.

He finally used it after days and days of my relentless nagging. And he said it helped with the irritation. My next step will be to see if I can find someone to make sure he really knows how to do it properly and teach him better technique.

This might work.

I thought this was very insightful

http://m.tickld.com/x/100-wise-words-for-everyone-

The great debate of 4/30/14

My beloved used the word "ammonia" in reference to the illness last night, and I challenged him on it. He insisted it was a homonym to the word that is a cleaning solution. As is often the case, doorway man will not back down from a debate. He will die on his cross defending his position. It can be really funny, especially once you know that he knows he is wrong. At the point that he realized that he could not win this one on one battle, even without google, he called on the Ultimate Authority to settle the debate... His mom.

Lucky for me, the Ultimate Authority ruled that I was the winner of the debate. I'm pretty sure google would have supported my position if she hadn't, but I'm not sure even google carried the authority of my mother in law.

Thanks, Mary.

The Honeymoon

My sweet boy decorated the bed the first night of our honeymoon. I thought it was so sweet. But because he put the petals on the hotel bedspread and I was icked out about laying on it, and because I thought it might be dangerous to have the candles lit on the bed, we redid it. But he's really sweet.

Sidenote: pink rose petals look like little poop balls all over the bed when they get mashed. Silk petals from here on. Who knew?

The sleepless night before I do

As I lay here next to my younger sister waiting for my alarm to go off in a few short hours, I can't help but have a wide range of emotions tripping my sensors and changing from one to the next as fast as I can decipher which one I'm feeling. Moments of giddy excitement followed by shivers of fear, quickly followed by dreamy wonder, followed by a moment of acknowledging the depth of the love I have for this man and all the ways my life has changed and will be changing as soon as I can blink.

The hardest season of waiting I hope I ever encounter in my life is ending today. This time of waiting has shaped who I am to the core of my being and I hope that God is pleased overall with the result of the burning and chiseling of my soul that I have walked through. I haven't always been gracious. I haven't always been faithful. I most certainly have not always been strong. But I have made it to the end of this season with a keen understanding of how it feels to be an outsider and to have an ache in your heart so deep that at times felt as if it might be rotting your flesh. I'm not unmarked by the road that I have not chosen to walk. But I hope that this long time of waiting for my bridegroom will leave only strength and depth.

My love has finally come. I feel like my life can actually begin.

In high school, I went to a small Christian school. The entire high school was 36 people and we all were in one classroom. We had one option for girls sports and that was volleyball. I was on the team only because there was no other phys ed option for girls. Our team was the best team in our small league every year. They were not messing around.

In every practice and every game for my entire high school career, I sat the bench. In practices, I often was told to run laps inside the gym. I knew I would not play. I am not sure I ever hit a ball that went over the net or that another player could humanly save. I knew I wasn't good. I knew my place. I could cheer for the girls that could play. And I did it with the same or more passion than anyone who was on the court played. I gave anyone that got traded out their water and praised them privately for their contribution.

As I've watched dozens of my friends get married, I cheered and did any and everything I could to help. I learned to be super bridesmaid and super wedding coordinator. I watched from the sideline, sincerely happy for the ones who got to play in the game, but painfully longing to be called in. I felt as though I was labeled as a bad player even though I had never been given the chance to try. I read the Bible several times cover to cover and absorbed every sermon, every book on relationships I could find. I even gave advice that was sound and researched, but almost never given even the smallest amount of creedence. I had never played the game. All I had was... Research. Theories. Observations.

I know I'm going to miss some plays and have times that I foul or step over the line, and I might run face first into the net and clothesline myself. But I hope with the right practice, I can find myself ready and fearlessly on my knees with steady hands and focused sight to land the plays exactly where they need to go to win the game for my team.

Twenty five days...

Seems like a million years ago and yesterday since doorway man put this ring on my finger. Looks like this wedding is actually going to happen.

With the worst part of the drama hopefully behind us, the next twenty five days should be a fun time even if it brings that crazy stress of planning an event that changes your life forever.

Money is super tight. Like so tight that I'm not sure how all this is going to come together. But I'm sure it will. And then we'll have to figure out how to live after that.

Update

So the last few weeks have been a roller coaster, but it looks like things have calmed down. Word on the street is that my parents have changed their mind and intend to come to the wedding. I'm still processing the whole situation and have alot of emotions about it.

The full spectrum.

The past week has been hard. Really hard. I'm trying to keep my eyes on the joyful and wonderful season that this really is. I know that life is often filled with seasons that contain the full spectrum of emotions. I don't want to lose the joy in the drama. I don't want to be robbed.

One thing I can be so thankful for are the people who I'm surrounded by.

My beloved fiance has been awesome. There are no words. He watches my every move for signs that I need a hug or a kiss. There have been some really sudden and severe breakdowns.

My bridesmaids have been amazing and have gone so far beyond normal bridesmaid duty. Two of my bridesmaids drove the ten hour round trip drive to my hometown with me and counseled and prayed and loved on me for three days. Another who could not get off work drove 14 hours round trip to be there for five hours. My sister was everything a sister was supposed to be and more.

The shower was beautiful and although it was a smaller crowd, it was exactly the people I needed to be there in my mother's absence.

And this weekend I have one here in DFW that should be easier, because most of the potential attendees have never met my mother. They will assume she couldn't make the trip up here. There won't be a need to explain.

I'm trying to get to the place where I'm not angry and I don't want to blast her publicly.

I'm not there yet.

This isn't what leave and cleave means...

Leave and cleave has taken on a new meaning in the past few days.

All of my life I have dreamed of my wedding day. In all of those dreams there were certain parts that always looked the same.

My dad walking me down the aisle. My mother smiling through happy tears as I take my vows.

My parents have made the decision to boycott my wedding.

This may be the most terrible loss of my life. It's like both of your parents committing suicide on the same day and leaving you a letter that says it's your fault.

I don't understand how we got here, and I don't know where we go from here. I feel like my parents love was conditional upon whether I allowed them to call the shots.

I have tried desperately to make peace, and it seemed the only thing that would appease their anger over the past few months was to cancel the wedding and eliminate my fiance from my life.

The weird part is that he's never mistreated me or been disrespectful to them. He's met every request that they have had. Once they decided he was not up to their standard, there was nothing that would sway them.

I believe it's normal for parents to have reservations about the mates their children choose, and I believe it's important for parents to make those reservations known. I believe this situation has been far from normal and their opposition has been far from reasonable.

I feel bullied and confused. I feel like they are throwing a massive temper tantrum and holding their breath to force me to give them their way.

I'm not trying to be unreasonable or disrespectful of their place in my life. I haven't known what to do.

The only thing I know to do is move forward on my future, with or without them. I'll forgive and leave the door open to a future relationship with them.

I do see this as an intentional and hostile ultimatum, and I'm not going to be intimidated and bullied into any decision. They can be in my life and respect my decision, or they can throw a fit and abandon me.

Yesterday, I had my first wedding shower. It was in my hometown and hosted at my sister's house, just blocks away from my parents home.
My mother did not come.

I didn't realize until the shower was almost an hour in progress that she really was not coming. My mother was not coming to my wedding shower.

I drove five hours to get to my sister's house with two of my bridesmaids Friday night to be here. This shower was for local connections, mostly from a decade or more back, and for my mother's friends. My mother did not come.

You might wonder why I would be surprised that she didn't come when I was told she would not come. I thought I had done my crying and had prepared myself as much as I could. But apparently, the trusting little girl who has always had such faith in the love of her parents expected that when the story played out, her mommy would come. That love would prevail. That her mommy would come.

But she didn't.

And that means that this little girl has to really try to prepare herself to not have her daddy walk her down the aisle and not have her mommy lovingly caress her and kiss her cheek on the most important day of her life. Because they said they weren't coming.

And unless there is a miracle, it looks like they won't be coming. And that they won't be there to kiss her babies. And they won't be there.

Engagement photos

I've been waiting for months to get our engagement photos done. Every time we scheduled it, the weather was crazy or some other crazy thing came up. (Read: We couldn't agree on what he would wear or where we would go to take them. He didn't understand why he couldn't wear whatever he wanted and why we weren't going to take them at the Cowboy Stadium or Rangers Ballpark. *cough*)

So today, with no argument about the engagement picture wear or where, and no crazy weather, we finally got to have a photo shoot.

Morning time

My beloved starts his new job today and we're really gonna see how car sharing with two addresses really works now. Things are about to get alot more interesting!

Today, he had to be at his job at 9am and so did I. I live in Fort Worth. He is in Arlington. I work in Arlington, and he works in Fort Worth. How convenient.

We pretty much make a big circle. I leave the house by 7:15. I pick him up. He drops me off. He drives to his work. He gets off two hours before me, so that should not be a hard part of the day. If there were no traffic, the whole trip might only take an hour. But obviously, that's only a dream that there would never be traffic.

Life will get easier once we're married for so many logistics reasons and probably harder in others.

I think one thing I'm learning in this process is a new level of teamwork. I was on my own for so long, and made all my own decisions always. I didn't consult anyone on anything unless I chose to. If I made a mistake, I dealt with it on my own.

At first, I thought I would only involve him in what I wanted to and continue to control what I thought was working already for me. Adding another person changes everything! Nothing that works for you as a single works for you as a couple.

I have to let him be a real part of the team.

We learned really quickly that we couldn't just mix our finances a little. Holy sweet Jesus! Disaster!

But we're learning. I'm learning that I have to trust him to put us ahead of himself, and that I might be the one that has the most trouble thinking of us first. I find myself wanting to be selfish and even sneaky about purchases, and justifying my actions to myself. Then I get convicted about it and confess and he doesn't care. He has no desire to control me. I find myself going the "ask forgiveness instead of permission" route.

I'm learning teamwork and submission and humility from this marriage thing. It's not about me. Car sharing is best for us right now. I can't just pull the "It's my car. I make the payments." card every time I want my way. I have... but I'm learning.

I'm kind of a mess. I do not like to get up early. I will cut you if you make me get up early. (I'm gonna love parenting, right?) If you want to party until late at night, I'm your girl! But on this, I know it's important to be flexible.

I'm learning and I'm growing.

Wedding disasters

So far the wedding planning process has been eerily smooth. Part of that is that I've been in roughly one million weddings. I'm not saying there won't be a few details that won't come off right, but I'm saying that I might be better prepared than some.

The store where all the dresses are from notifies the bride whenever a bridesmaid dress comes in. Nifty! I got a notification yesterday of the second to last bridesmaid dress. I had confirmed that the late bridesmaid had an appointment Friday to order hers.

I texted her when I got the email that she was the only naked bridesmaid, and she freaked out! She thought I was telling her she was too late.

I was at work and didn't see that I had caused her angst right away, so she called the bridal shop. They confirmed that it was too late to order the dress! Nooooooooo!

They found one, so we're good. She was certain I would commit justifiable homicide over this, but I have laughed off and on ever since.

Of mice and men

Yesterday, I tried on the full slip my friend loaned me to go under my bridal gown.

Doorway man looked at me, puzzled.

"Is that for the wedding? It's pretty!" With lots of enthusiasm.

Awww... Bless his heart.

Sasquatch gear

By the time I was in fifth grade, I was pretty much full grown. I measured at 5'8" while trying to slump to close the gap between myself and all the other little kids my age. I was truly closer to 5'10" When I became an adult and stopped trying to force myself to scoliosis to be shorter. I wore a size 10 shoe by the time I was out of third grade. I'm a big girl.

I always said I wanted to marry a "wall of man" jokingly seriously. When I met doorway man, I was taken aback by his overall size. At a staggering 6'7" with oversized shoulders even for a person of that height, his size impresses people in general. He's often good advertising for the Nissan Versa we drive. One less than tactful man at a fast food restaurant equated seeing him get out of that car with "clowns getting out of a toy car". Doorway man is not the least bit phased by these types of interactions and easily joins in on the humor of his size.

So needless to say, being able to be petite next to him has been surprisingly fun for me. Something about it makes me feel more feminine and delicate, which is not a common feeling when one towers over many men and most women.

Last week my doorway man was hired on with a security company. They called him in the following day and they have a reasonably specific dress code. Solid white tshirt. Black pants. All black tennis shoes. Black socks.

Cool! All we needed were the shoes. That's a pretty standard thing. We should be able to find those...

We went to the Mecca of tennis shoes, because I figured they would have a grand selection of shoes we could choose from.

Apparently, not in a 15 wide. Poor doorway man. We could only find one black pair in the store that even fit him, and they weren't solid black. He had to contact his boss with the sad story and get approval to wear shoes that weren't quite right. They thankfully had pity on our plight, and approved them. I'm not sure what we would have done if they hadn't.

Anybody know of any sasquatch shoe stores in DFW?

Building a life and home

Engagement is a wonderful time, full of discovery and new experiences.

There are things that you look forward to when you wait till you are 36 to get married. You look forward to not having to wear a dress that someone else selected in a color or shape that is horrifically unappealing to a wedding. You also look forward to the gift registry. At this point, you have spent a fortune on wedding gifts for other people while using knives you bought at the dollar store.

I was excited. My love and I were going to go to the big house store and dream about our life and home while shooting the labels of everything our little hearts desired. It was going to be this awesome bonding experience and we would walk out of the store holding hands and smiling as we dreamed and loved and dreamed some more...

That's what I thought would happen.
That's not how it went.

I should preface this story with a little background info on myself and my beloved.

We were raised very differently. Besides the difference between male and female, we were raised in quite different socioeconomic backgrounds. I was raised with more than enough of just about everything. He was not. Our definitions of what we need to start our lives together is very, very different.

As I skipped thru the front of the big house store with butterflies resting on my hair and shoulders and pixie dust sparkling around my gracefully dancing feet, much like the beginning sequence to a song in a romantic musical... I am warming up for a clicky gun extravaganza of epic proportions.

I had patiently waited even to look online, because this was something I really wanted us to do together. I wanted to really experience this together.

We are making a life and a home together. It's beautiful.

I headed straight for the bedding to pick the bedspread that I would someday stare at tiny baby fingers and toes and snuggle out bad dreams and have hours of tickle fights on. As I raised the gun to the tag of the lucky choice, my dreams cracked like a smelly, rotten egg on my head ran down my body in a bubbling, slimy poison of my girlish fantasy with the words... "We don't need that. It's $250. For a blanket. I'll bring my blanket from home." (Imagine that last line with the effect of a recording played back very slowly.)

With almost every attempt to select an item, I was met with lines of reason and practicality, such as... "Where are we going to put that?"... "Don't you already have that in a different color?"... And other horrific things that I've blocked from my memory.

This man who looks at me like he would tame the ocean at my whim or catch me a falling star to put in my hair... was saying words I not only had not heard him say to me, but could not comprehend.

In my shock and horror, I crumbled under the weight of my bitter disappointment.

I looked into the future and didn't like what I saw. No pretty, shiny things. Nothing unnecessary. Nothing frivolous.

This was not fun. And I was GOING TO CRY.

Crying is really not my thing. Do not be deceived. All this wedding business has cracked thru a really tough shell and reduced me to an emotional wreck. Crying at chick flicks, hallmark commercials, inspirational posters... I've spent a lifetime building up an immunity to the stuff that makes other girls cry.

But I was going to cry. It was inevitable. And he had no idea what he'd done. He was going to find out, though.

So we got in the car, and drove in almost complete silence to take him home and then I would go home and cry.

I later explained in a more rational emotional state what had transpired to the clueless man to whom I am betrothed. When he realized what he'd done, he showed the proper amount of remorse and tenderness.

And we agreed that I would complete the registry by myself and let him pick out a few sports things for his man room as payment for his silence.

76 days...

At this point in the wedding planning process, we are in the phase I want to get out of as soon as possible. We don't live together, we are both working, and we are sharing a car. Oh yeah, and I'm planning our wedding. Yesterday, I ran all over the DFW metro area running errands that I have been putting off.

I love the diy part of planning this wedding so much more than I ever would have thought. I started my pinterest page when I realized I was going to be getting engaged about 8 or 9 months ago under the guise of helping my friend June Bug plan her June wedding.

So far, I've made my bouquets, my garter, my unity candle, my table decorations, a hair fascinator, and part of my bridesmaid gifts. It's been a great distraction from some of the drama that has surrounded the wedding.

At this point, I'm working on an elaborate tablecloth embellishment for the bride and groom reception table. I'm trying to make about fifty handmade satin flowers that will cascade down the front of the table to the floor.

I think all weddings should have one ridiculous project that is really time consuming and endless. As in, if I need stress relief from all the emotional drama, I can pull out my candle and melt some satin into a flower (Fire!) and I can stop at fifty flowers, or I can make a thousand if I need to. Whatever level of catharsis I need, that's how many flowers I will make.

Let's just say there will probably be more than one table decorated with these.

Our first fight.

You know this is why you are reading. The drama. The twist to your oreo cookie.

Here goes...

Two months ago, I moved into a new apartment. With a lease term that was over five months before the wedding, we decided to go ahead and move me into a two bedroom apartment that we could live in until we are ready to buy a home. Neither of us are fond of moving, and we would soon find out why. (Read: We both suck at it.)

For me, although future Dh is disabled, he is very strong other than his lame leg, so I was very happy to have obligatory male help to move.

When you are a single woman who has moved roughly 4,388 times since moving out of my childhood home, moving is just a terrible thing. I learned a while back to just hire movers to move the big stuff and boxes. The problem that I'm finally willing to admit is this: I am incapable of packing for a move properly. In some ways, I'm very capable of organizing. With moving, I just can't do it. My "stuff that I'll just throw in a box when I clean after the movers leave" is always horribly underrated. Between this fact and future Dh not really being an expert at fully utilizing the available space in a Nissan Versa, this amounted to roughly 15 carloads of "stuff I'll throw in a box after the movers leave" that we moved ourselves.

I'm bad at moving. And painting. You should not ask me to help you. (Unless you want paint footprints on your floor and roller marks on your ceiling. Call me. I have a gift.)

So future Dh is really a good natured fellow. He smiled thru the pain in his lame leg and continuously told me how much he loved me, wouldn't let me carry heavy stuff, etc.

We were so tired when we decided to unpack some boxes in the kitchen.

(Cue suspense music)

When future Dh suggested that we put the pots and pans in the lower cabinets in the kitchen, we had a problem. You see, I have a really bad back that much of the time renders me unable to bend over, so I always put most of my most used dishes in high cabinets that I don't have to bend to get to.

I said: I need them where I can reach them when my back hurts.

He thought: Why would you be cooking when I can cook when your back hurts.

He said: You don't need to do that anymore.

I heard: I don't care if it hurts you.

Chaos ensues.

I have never been good at expressing myself in anger. Usually I cry before I can embarrass myself. Usually.

Not this time.

Future Dh stood in disbelief as the woman he loved...

You aren't ready. I can tell you aren't ready. Maybe I should end this post now.

Ok. I'll keep going.

I began to unravel as a human being.

At 36 years old, I began to throw a fit that would have shamed a two year old. I flung a pot lid at him and jumped up and down and squealed thru gritted teeth with eyes ablaze.

He stopped cold in his tracks, horrified... and probably instantly wondered if he really wanted to get married. Where the woman he loved once stood, stood a beast. An out of control fire pit of estrogen threatening to suck out his eyeballs.

He stood there stunned for a moment. Then he gently reached up and wrapped his giant hands around my flailing arms and pulled them down he leaned down to my face and said in a controlled, quiet tone.

"Do not throw things."

Instant shame. I then slipped into a crack in the floor and hid for the rest of my life, where I still hide to this day.

End of blog.

Nah... But it is the end of that story. And then we finished moving and I behaved. We're still getting married. Yay! 

A life of romance realized. Part 2

Although we had a rough start, there was something about him. A deep sweetness and tenderness that I couldn't seem to shake. He let the little boy in him show. There was a real beauty in the innocence of his heart. I saw it in little ways.

So many times, men are afraid to really smile. I'm not sure why, but they smile stiffly as if smiling makes them effeminate or weak. I guess when you are doorway man, no one questions your manhood over a smile lest they be crushed by the tip of a massive finger.

But he smiles without restraint, not in a creepy way, but like a kid opening Christmas presents. I like that. No, I love that.

As we got to know each other, he told me things of his childhood that would have made lesser people a slave to bitterness. Not him. He remembers the good parts of his interactions with people and the bad was just a moment of the whole timeline, a blip on the radar that is over now. Interesting... I can't do that. I wish I could be like that. We should all be like that.

After our first date, we mostly talked on the phone. We had a few meetings that he would call dates. I tried not to lead him on and was determined to redirect him to the friend zone.

He tried to kiss me on two different occasions, and both times he was met with a half step below self defense violence. (Future Dh claims he was reaching for his cell phone one of those times and grazed the side of my face with his lips.)

This inspired a talk that consisted of several rules.
1. You are to make no moves on me in the car. Closeness in proximity does not constitute an invitation.
2. At my house, we sit on separate couches unless I decide otherwise.
3. If you violate these rules, you will not see me again.

There. That's how it is. Deal with it, buddy.

The conversation above happened shortly before the first time he came to my house. We sat on separate couches awkwardly and the crickets chirped wildly.

A few days later, he called me. He sounded nervous. He said he noticed that I had alot of Asian stuff in my house and he had heard there was a cool Asian light festival in downtown Dallas. He asked me if I'd let him take me to it.

I had some friends who had seen it and said it was really a nice display and that I should go. I did want to go. Beyond that, something broke inside me. When you have pretty much only dated narcissistic psychopaths, you don't know how to process a development like this. I realized that I had never had a man that I dated do anything thoughtful for me... Ever. My dad is a good man, and has always looked for little ways to show his love for people that are important. I knew this was something very important to me but I didn't realize how much. This man cared for me. I wanted to be cared for.

I agreed to go with him, but I was still fighting, now internally, to keep him in the friend zone.

The day of the date to the light festival, I went and bought a new outfit from head to toe and got my hair done. I cut it from the middle of my back to a short pixie cut. I knew then that I was in trouble. I liked him. Alot.

I'm not sure how he did it. I was so sure he wasn't my type. The more I got to know him, the more I realized he was right for me.

I still struggled with the things that I had concerns about initially, but as time has gone on, I've seen that those things have not been that big of a deal.

To summarize, I taught him how to drive. It turns out that driving was not as difficult with his disability as he had been told it would be. And he has recently begun working and so far thinks he will enjoy it. When I realized that although he was raised Catholic, his values and beliefs are similar enough to mine, that was not as much of an issue. And... In seventy-six days he won't live with his mother.

Not that we don't have problems. We do. Thus the name of this blog.... Mauwwage for dummies.

The wedding is in 76 days, so I'm definitely not writing a how-to advice blog. If you came here for that.... RUN!!! I'm hoping to laugh at myself and chronicle our struggles as a newlywed couple in a lighthearted way.

I admit that I am too stupid to get married, but I think most people are. I'm sure there will be plenty to write about.

A life of romance realized. Part 1

My story...

At thirty-five and one month of age, I'd pretty much broken my own heart into a trillion pieces. I was raised in a very conservative Christian family, and my misunderstanding of what kind of mate God had for me had almost destroyed me. I have a very strong personality. I've been a prominent leader in almost every church I've attended since I was a child. While a strong personality is an asset as a leader, it can really be an issue when finding a mate. I'd always thought I needed a man with a stronger personality than mine to have a godly balance in my household in marriage. He had to play the alpha role if I was going please God. So I had a severely unsuccessful dating life full of insecure alphas, controlling abusers, and shameless cheaters. I didn't date much either, because finding someone that could "handle me" was a pretty specific bill.

Since I don't go to bars and church had proven to be a very bad place to meet men for me, I decided that I would see what the interwebs had to offer. After all, all good things are found online! So I took my strong and adventurous personality to the free dating site underworld.

I had some trial and error for about a year and a half getting to this point, but I hadn't been brutally murdered and disposed of with a paper shredder, so I figured I was pretty good at this online dating thing. Not exactly a resume skill, but a skill nonetheless. And although finding a husband seemed pretty unlikely since all my eggs were vested for retirement with a down payment on a condo in Florida, I thought I would keep trying.

So I met him online.

We talked for a few weeks online and over the phone. I had a three week rule before I would meet guys in person. I'm super safety conscious, verging on paranoid. This weeded out men looking for one-night stands and gave me time to screen them for red flags.

Future Dh was different from the start. I was pretty sure he was all wrong for me, but he was very nice. I had some serious reservations.
1. He told me up front that he was disabled and didn't work.
2. He lived with his mother.
3. He was such a mild temperament and I wasn't sure that he would have what it took to "keep me in line".
4. Catholic upbringing.
5. He didn't drive.

Even before our first date, I had already decided he was destined for the friend zone, but I decided one little date wouldn't hurt.

I pulled up to the Chili's and this HUGE man was standing outside. (Sidenote: Future Dh is 6'7" tall and his shoulders are almost that broad. *Imagine a doorway with a head.) It was November, and he was wearing shorts, white knee socks and tennis shoes, and an oversized sports t-shirt and a baseball cap. My immediate thought was that he looked like he had lost his daddy at the ballpark, minus the worn beloved stuffed monkey.

First date was painful. He barely spoke as he ate his dinner. When he suggested the date continue after dinner with a movie, I internally groaned. I didn't want to be rude, but I really wanted to go home and I didn't want to risk my safety by letting him ride in my car on the first date. After looking him over and having that same picture of the young boy at the ballpark with the missing monkey, I decided I would be safe and go to a movie with him.

We decided to see Flight with Denzel Washington, which we would both decide was a horrible movie. It was an old theater with the old style chairs with the seats that fold up when you stand. The only two seats together were next to a wall. I decided to go in first and take the seat next to the wall. I step on the feet and hands of 54 angry people to get to my wall seat and attempt to sit down. My seat is broken. Lopsided. Might not be attached on one side. I decide to tough it out. Then the human doorway sits down. I now am occupying approximately a 3 inch space. I quickly realize that proximity might encourage some kind of intimacy like hand holding, so I decide that I had to find a way to create space between us. I needed distance. Fortunately, due to accident in a lab years ago, I was able to use my suction cup fingers and other spidy skills to climb the wall enough to create the necessary buffer between myself and the doorway man. Crisis averted.

The ride to take him home was filled with polite, but pointed references to a wonderful tropical life together in the friend zone where there's always a seat or two between us in theaters.
Good date. See ya.
(To be continued...)