Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Lesson #30: Guys and their romance incompatibility

We've been caught between a rock and a hard place when it comes to romance lately.  The month of February and all of the hearts and cupids everywhere threw me into sort of a romance tizzy.  We're still trying to figure things out, but I thought I'd take this chance to let the boys in on some things.

Gentlemen: Your wife truly appreciates everything you do for her through working hard at your job and bringin' home the bacon.  Unfortunately, she needs more than that.  Yes, we are that needy.  Understand that although you might not be a romantic yourself, there is some part (big or small) of your wife that craves romance.  Because the love a husband and a wife share is supposed to be an unselfish love, do something romantic.  Do anything romantic.  She doesn't need 12 million roses filling the house; she just needs something every once in a while.

Has she been asking to go ice skating for the past three winters?  Then sew a sequined leotard and get on that ice!  Does she always suggest going out for ice cream?  Actually agree with her and hop in the car.  Do you know she's having a stressful day and can't seem to even make it through preparing dinner?  Walk into that kitchen, grab the chicken, and cook it for her (Lyndon did that yesterday...twas wonderful).  Is she feeling a little under the weather?  Make her lunch and watch an episode of Lost (we did that today).  It doesn't take much, but a romantic gesture of some kind will go a long way.

Maybe you were romantic while you were dating because you had woo her.  Now you don't think you have to be romantic because you're married.  Don't romance her to win her heart; you have it.  Romance your wife because she's your wife.  You might not be a Fabio, and that's okay.  She didn't marry Fabio; she married you.

Thursday, February 17, 2011

Lesson #29: Couple-y Friend Things

My beautiful friend Bonnie and her beardo husband Taylor leave for Africa tomorrow.

Africa.  They're going to the Congo for Taylor's internship, and they'll be gone for nine weeks.

It's weird.  It's really weird.  Taylor and Bonnie were the ones who set Lyndon and I up.  Our "blind" date was with the two of them.  They've always been around for the two of us ever since the beginning of our relationship.  I got to watch them get married (Lyndon was busy doing Army things at Basic), they were both in our wedding, we live right next door to each's just weird that they're going to be gone.

I haven't gotten to the sadness yet.  I'm too excited for them.  What an incredible opportunity to spread the Gospel, eh?  They've been such a blessing (pain) in our lives; it's time for them to go bless (bug) others.

But what are we supposed to do while they're gone?  I'm learning more and more how important they have been in our lives.  Marriages need that.  They need other marriages to relate to, to hang out with, to borrow milk and spices from, to vent to when necessary.

My dearest Bonnie,
I could be sappy, but that's lame.  You know I love you.  Come home in nine weeks, okay?  We'll make Indian food and watch Baby Mama to celebrate.  Goodnight, Gilbert! this wasn't really a lesson.  I'm over it.

Sunday, February 6, 2011

Lesson #28: The kitchen is a dangerous place

I'm going to take a leap of faith and make the general assumption that I'm a decent cook.  Neither Lyndon nor I have died after a meal yet, so that has to be a good sign.  Even though the end result is usually a good one, the process is something entirely different.  Things are spilled, food on the stove boils over, whatever is in the oven is left in for too long, I cut myself, things in the microwave explode, pots and pans are left in the sink for a while, the stove has food all over it, etc. 

The whole cutting thing is not pretty.  On three separate occasions has that happened.  I was doomed the day we opened our wedding gifts and got four sets of knives.  I mean really, four sets?  One of the times, poor Lyndon came home from work to see his wife with blood running down her hand under water in the kitchen sink.  Another time, while washing a knife, it slipped and slashed my knuckle and then continued to bleed for 15 minutes.

As far as dishes being left in the sink, I blame that on my childhood.  My sister and I always had to wash dishes after dinner.  It was always a battle over who got to wash and who got to dry.  Some of my dishes, I use all the time, but I can't put them in the dishwasher.  That always just sounds like the worst after making dinner and cleaning up; therefore, they're left in the sink for quite some time.

Conclusion: I've accepted that I'm never going to be a clean, tidy cook.  Who cares?  As long as I don't drip blood into the food, what's the problem?  ...gross