Website as excavation project: 2000, 2001. Skip ahead a bit, and here we are again, well past the no-longer-newlywed stage and into the haze of The Early Years. Five years, come and gone, and right now, we are gone, holed up and quiet, in a bed not our own in a weekend that wholly is.
When I was in Arkansas this past weekend, my grandmother was surprised when I told her that it was our anniversary this week. "Five years already?"
"In the grand scheme of things, it's not many."
I make no secret that domesticat.net isn't an open book, despite the regularity and honesty of my words here. Certain subjects are off-limits by choice; my friends may learn many things about me by what I publish here, but the overwhelming majority of my relationship with my spouse remains a subject not for public consumption.
What most of you don't see is the fellow who doesn't let me off the hook nearly so easily as you readers do. He gets the thankless job of trying to remind me to only set cookware items on the stove burners, to not forget to buy the shake-and-bake when I am on one of my innumerable road trips, and who will actually pretend that everything I cook is edible.
(I really appreciate that last one.)
I am not an easy person to live with, and have been less so since Dad died a little over a year ago. I've been moodier, more solemn, more prone to bouts of silent, scribbling withdrawal while holed up in the guest bedroom for hours at a time.
Five years changes you. Life changes you. Splitting a house and bills and worries and joys with someone changes you. After a while you've split the difference on so many things, even sentences, that you really can't imagine living life any other way.
He watches subtitled movies now.
When he gets sick, I know to bring home orange soda and cream of chicken soup.
The day that you sign the legal contract is pretty insignificant compared to the days that come after it. So far, we seem to be managing pretty well.
Here's to our quiet weekend. Time to take five. We've earned it.