I have to admit. I took a little hiatus from blogging. It's not to say that my husband and/or my marriage weren't giving me enough material, but honestly things were getting kind of real. I began walking this line asking myself, how much do want to tell on your blog? What's appropriate? Do people really care? Do I just sound like a nagging, cranky wife? It was a little terrifying.
We have been married for more than a year (amazing, still can't believe it) and we still don't have this thing figured out. I'm not entirely surprised. Relationships are a lot of continuous work.
After some serious thought and a much needed break I've decided, I want my blog to be real, not some hoaky blog full of embellishments and fabrication.
So I'm back, ready to write as I originally envisioned. The ups, the downs and everything in between.
Enjoy!
© Nichole DeMario, 2010 – 2012. All rights reserved
10.21.2011
7.30.2011
11 Things Never to Say to a Man You Love
In the June 2011 issue of Redbook Magazine I read a fun piece titled, "11 Things Never to Say to a Man You Love" and wondered how many of those I had accomplished over the course of 10 months of marriage.
1. I can't wait to see what you're doing for my birthday.
I plead pure excitement with this one. I can't help that Nick is great with surprises and I never know what he's going to get me! I deserve a free pass.
2. Are you...crying?
This one isn't fair. My feeling is real men cry just as real men wear pink. If you call them out on it they shouldn't feel any less masculine. Now I do the draw the line at some point. If he blubbered over every little thing I know that would grate on my nerves. But really sad movies (ask him how feels about Marley and Me), the passing of a relative, a baby being born and other life experiences more than acceptable.
I cry over EVERYTHING so really who am I to judge?
3. If we leave right now, we'll have time to stop by Bed Bath & Beyond.
Poor Nick. I do drag him everywhere on the weekends. I'll have our entire day scheduled and am sure I've made statements similar to this. I don't know how many times I've heard <sigh> "Do I really have to go?" Where my simple response has been, "It'll only take a few minutes. It's not going to kill you." An eye roll ensues with more sighing. Then I get, "Well will you buy me something?"
4. Do you need help lighting the grill?
I wouldn't be very helpful with this one. I'm petrified I'll somehow manage to blow up our patio with the propane tank.
5. I'm putting this whole conversation on my blog.
Look what you're reading. Enough said.
6. You had so much hair back then!
We haven't gotten quite to that point just yet, however I will openly admit I have checked his hairline from time to time looking for signs of rescinding.
7. I don't care how big and drunk he is, he shouldn't be talking through the movie. I'm going to say something.
Oh boy. I've gotten Nick into a couple hairy situations (no pun intended to #6). I take for granted that my husband can hold his own, however, I don't need to help him into it.
8. Actually; it doesn't happen to every guy.
Yikes. Low blow right there.
9. We're vegetarians now.
Yep tried this one too. I didn't go nearly that far. I mentioned an article I read about "going vegetarian" one night a week can add years to your life. When I mentioned my plan you would have thought I told him we were selling all of our worldly possessions and going to live off the land.
10. My dad can fix that; you should call him.
Eek. Is it bad I've almost accomplished all of these? Do I least get a bonus point because a called my grandpa instead? Or do I lose a point because I called someone even older than my dad?
11. You know why.
One of his biggest pet peeves I'm sure. Assuming he should know. In a year of marriage and a seven year relationship, I've discovered men are oblivious to many things that annoy the hell out of most women.
Well, Redbook Magazine you have me pretty well figured out. I wonder how I've managed to become such a typical woman. I blame men.
Compiled by Troy Pattee of Dadventurous.com, Shawn Burns of Backpackingdad.com and Aaron Traister of redbookmag.com.
© Nichole DeMario, 2010 – 2012. All rights reserved
1. I can't wait to see what you're doing for my birthday.
I plead pure excitement with this one. I can't help that Nick is great with surprises and I never know what he's going to get me! I deserve a free pass.
2. Are you...crying?
This one isn't fair. My feeling is real men cry just as real men wear pink. If you call them out on it they shouldn't feel any less masculine. Now I do the draw the line at some point. If he blubbered over every little thing I know that would grate on my nerves. But really sad movies (ask him how feels about Marley and Me), the passing of a relative, a baby being born and other life experiences more than acceptable.
I cry over EVERYTHING so really who am I to judge?
3. If we leave right now, we'll have time to stop by Bed Bath & Beyond.
Poor Nick. I do drag him everywhere on the weekends. I'll have our entire day scheduled and am sure I've made statements similar to this. I don't know how many times I've heard <sigh> "Do I really have to go?" Where my simple response has been, "It'll only take a few minutes. It's not going to kill you." An eye roll ensues with more sighing. Then I get, "Well will you buy me something?"
4. Do you need help lighting the grill?
I wouldn't be very helpful with this one. I'm petrified I'll somehow manage to blow up our patio with the propane tank.
5. I'm putting this whole conversation on my blog.
Look what you're reading. Enough said.
6. You had so much hair back then!
We haven't gotten quite to that point just yet, however I will openly admit I have checked his hairline from time to time looking for signs of rescinding.
7. I don't care how big and drunk he is, he shouldn't be talking through the movie. I'm going to say something.
Oh boy. I've gotten Nick into a couple hairy situations (no pun intended to #6). I take for granted that my husband can hold his own, however, I don't need to help him into it.
8. Actually; it doesn't happen to every guy.
Yikes. Low blow right there.
9. We're vegetarians now.
Yep tried this one too. I didn't go nearly that far. I mentioned an article I read about "going vegetarian" one night a week can add years to your life. When I mentioned my plan you would have thought I told him we were selling all of our worldly possessions and going to live off the land.
10. My dad can fix that; you should call him.
Eek. Is it bad I've almost accomplished all of these? Do I least get a bonus point because a called my grandpa instead? Or do I lose a point because I called someone even older than my dad?
11. You know why.
One of his biggest pet peeves I'm sure. Assuming he should know. In a year of marriage and a seven year relationship, I've discovered men are oblivious to many things that annoy the hell out of most women.
Well, Redbook Magazine you have me pretty well figured out. I wonder how I've managed to become such a typical woman. I blame men.
Compiled by Troy Pattee of Dadventurous.com, Shawn Burns of Backpackingdad.com and Aaron Traister of redbookmag.com.
© Nichole DeMario, 2010 – 2012. All rights reserved
7.19.2011
A Testament of True Love
I know my blog was intended to be a diary/journal of the adventures, misadventures and lessons Nick and I learn together as we navigate married life.
But sometimes others have a way of making an incredible impression on your life. I had to share.
Paralyzed bride to marry one year after accident
A year ago, I remember turning on my favorite news station and hearing the story of a young couple, preparing for their wedding day, surrounded by tragedy.
The bride-to-be was enjoying her bachelorette party, when one of her bridesmaids pushed her into the shallow end of a pool. She immediately knew something was wrong and desperately asked her friends to call 911.
She was paralyzed. It was one month before she was set to say I do.
But on air the couple seem relatively unscathed. You could see the hurt on their faces, but behind those looks was something more - true, unfaltering love.
They didn't blame the bridesmaid or even seem angry with her. In fact, she was still on the guest list. They recognized this event as a tragic accident, one that would reshape their entire life together.
The groom-to-be said he never once thought, "What am I going to do?" only, "What are we going to do?".
Naysayers may say "aww, how sweet" and go about their lives. This story, however, struck me to the core. It made me check myself. How many times since Nick and I exchanged our vows had I joked or threatened divorce knowing I never meant it? How many times had I criticized instead of discussed or supported? How many times had I nagged about something petty in the grand scheme of things?
I don't doubt this couple won't face their fair share of challenges. But regardless of the challenges they will face, it's easy to see the tremendous amount of support they have for one another.
It's been a year since this couples life together was shattered. They've picked up the pieces and never looked back. In good times and in bad...in sickness and in health. Those vows are more than just idle words. They are a testament and a promise to one another.
I don't know this couple and most likely will never meet them, but they have given me an invaluable gift. One that I can use over and over again. It's a reminder how fragile love and life can be. When you know you have met your soul mate, your true love to never, ever take that for granted.
© Nichole DeMario, 2010 – 2012. All rights reserved
But sometimes others have a way of making an incredible impression on your life. I had to share.
Paralyzed bride to marry one year after accident
A year ago, I remember turning on my favorite news station and hearing the story of a young couple, preparing for their wedding day, surrounded by tragedy.
The bride-to-be was enjoying her bachelorette party, when one of her bridesmaids pushed her into the shallow end of a pool. She immediately knew something was wrong and desperately asked her friends to call 911.
She was paralyzed. It was one month before she was set to say I do.
But on air the couple seem relatively unscathed. You could see the hurt on their faces, but behind those looks was something more - true, unfaltering love.
They didn't blame the bridesmaid or even seem angry with her. In fact, she was still on the guest list. They recognized this event as a tragic accident, one that would reshape their entire life together.
The groom-to-be said he never once thought, "What am I going to do?" only, "What are we going to do?".
Naysayers may say "aww, how sweet" and go about their lives. This story, however, struck me to the core. It made me check myself. How many times since Nick and I exchanged our vows had I joked or threatened divorce knowing I never meant it? How many times had I criticized instead of discussed or supported? How many times had I nagged about something petty in the grand scheme of things?
I don't doubt this couple won't face their fair share of challenges. But regardless of the challenges they will face, it's easy to see the tremendous amount of support they have for one another.
It's been a year since this couples life together was shattered. They've picked up the pieces and never looked back. In good times and in bad...in sickness and in health. Those vows are more than just idle words. They are a testament and a promise to one another.
I don't know this couple and most likely will never meet them, but they have given me an invaluable gift. One that I can use over and over again. It's a reminder how fragile love and life can be. When you know you have met your soul mate, your true love to never, ever take that for granted.
© Nichole DeMario, 2010 – 2012. All rights reserved
7.18.2011
Battle of the Ages
Everyone has their favorite go-to outfit. That outfit you know looks good. You wear it when you don't know what to wear, you haven't done laundry, you're running late, you don't want to iron and sometimes just because.
My husband has his, too and he wears it everywhere. This favorite outfit is, "comfortable" and has been worn to family gatherings, barbecues, graduation parties, get-togethers with friends, lounging around the house, on vacation...you name it.
And he doesn't mind if we spend time with the same people two weekends in a row either. That good ol' outfit has to come along.
Now let's get this straight. We have an enormous walk-in closet and he takes up half of it. We also share our dresser equally 50/50. So this outfit is not for lack of options.
I've come to despise those green plaid flannel shorts with accents of slate gray, purple and yellow coupled with his black and gray graphically enhanced Chicago Blackhawks shirt with red Blackhawks logo.
He swears to me, "It matches! See black and black." Or my personal favorite, "You can't tell me this doesn't look good together." Well honey actually I can.
I was hoping his colorblind grandfather passed this genetic trait down to him. No such luck. It's just his favorite two pieces of clothing he decided went well together.
A few weeks ago (before this outfit became a regular occurrence), Nick noticed a small hole in his shorts. He was devastated. Trying to squelch those crushed feelings, I offered to sew it back together.
What was I thinking?
He was elated! And the plaid shorts (and of course the Blackhawks shirt) began to surface more and more frequently.
I started to think if I snuck the shorts and shirt to the bottom of the laundry basket and said, "Oops. No honey they haven't been washed" that would solve my problem. But it never failed, the man who never plans what he's wearing to an event, would ask, "Have you seen my shorts and shirt (knowing I knew exactly the outfit he was looking for). I need to put it in the washer before we go to ___________."
Ugh!
I never wanted to be the wife who told her husband what he had to wear. I tried reverse psychology, saying certain outfits looked great on him, hoping they would become another favorite. I have begged and pleaded for him to pleeeeeaaaaassssse wear something else. I have even contemplated bribery. It was all in vain. He hasn't budged, not even an inch.
At the most recent family party, Nick realized there was a small hole along the seam again. As the night progressed the hole became gradually bigger and bigger and bigger until it ran the entire length of one side of his shorts.
Victory!
I'm left in a conundrum. Do I take out my sewing machine and be the hero? Or do I say they're beyond repair and save Nick from his novice fashion ways? Then all I'd have left to tackle was that infamous Blackhawks shirt. One down, one to go right?
The issues of married life...sheesh.
© Nichole DeMario, 2010 – 2012. All rights reserved
My husband has his, too and he wears it everywhere. This favorite outfit is, "comfortable" and has been worn to family gatherings, barbecues, graduation parties, get-togethers with friends, lounging around the house, on vacation...you name it.
And he doesn't mind if we spend time with the same people two weekends in a row either. That good ol' outfit has to come along.
Now let's get this straight. We have an enormous walk-in closet and he takes up half of it. We also share our dresser equally 50/50. So this outfit is not for lack of options.
I've come to despise those green plaid flannel shorts with accents of slate gray, purple and yellow coupled with his black and gray graphically enhanced Chicago Blackhawks shirt with red Blackhawks logo.
He swears to me, "It matches! See black and black." Or my personal favorite, "You can't tell me this doesn't look good together." Well honey actually I can.
I was hoping his colorblind grandfather passed this genetic trait down to him. No such luck. It's just his favorite two pieces of clothing he decided went well together.
A few weeks ago (before this outfit became a regular occurrence), Nick noticed a small hole in his shorts. He was devastated. Trying to squelch those crushed feelings, I offered to sew it back together.
What was I thinking?
He was elated! And the plaid shorts (and of course the Blackhawks shirt) began to surface more and more frequently.
I started to think if I snuck the shorts and shirt to the bottom of the laundry basket and said, "Oops. No honey they haven't been washed" that would solve my problem. But it never failed, the man who never plans what he's wearing to an event, would ask, "Have you seen my shorts and shirt (knowing I knew exactly the outfit he was looking for). I need to put it in the washer before we go to ___________."
Ugh!
I never wanted to be the wife who told her husband what he had to wear. I tried reverse psychology, saying certain outfits looked great on him, hoping they would become another favorite. I have begged and pleaded for him to pleeeeeaaaaassssse wear something else. I have even contemplated bribery. It was all in vain. He hasn't budged, not even an inch.
At the most recent family party, Nick realized there was a small hole along the seam again. As the night progressed the hole became gradually bigger and bigger and bigger until it ran the entire length of one side of his shorts.
Victory!
I'm left in a conundrum. Do I take out my sewing machine and be the hero? Or do I say they're beyond repair and save Nick from his novice fashion ways? Then all I'd have left to tackle was that infamous Blackhawks shirt. One down, one to go right?
The issues of married life...sheesh.
© Nichole DeMario, 2010 – 2012. All rights reserved
5.26.2011
Cheap.
Anyone that knows me well knows I love money. My father-in-law jokes that I probably have the first dollar I ever made. My grandmother tells me to, "Stop being a miser and take your husband out to dinner!" How's that for old-fashioned?
Poor Nick...I make him eat leftovers, I shop generic and I love a great deal. I was ecstatic when I found four blade disposable razors for Nick to try. They were $4 for 8 of them instead of $9 for 1 with two cartridges...my penny pinching self was over the moon.
When Nick opened his drawer in the bathroom he said, "Thanks for picking up razors. I was running low. Where did you find these?" I paused and said, "I hope you like them. I got a great deal."
I could see the skepticism. The thoughts running through his mind. Great my wife "got a deal" again.
Now don't judge me! They didn't fall of a truck. I didn't find them in the clearance bin. I didn't pick them up at a sketchy, everything is slightly lopsided dollar store.
I assured him that they were four blade they had to be good. The next day was time for a shave. He got himself all situated and ready to go. He grabbed the new FOUR BLADE razor out of the package and got to work removing all remnants of that five o'clock shadow.
I love the feel of his face and the smell of his aftershave after he's freshly shaven. What can I say? That baby face is incredibly sexy. But as he walked out of the bathroom I saw the results of my great deal. Tiny bits of tissue paper stuck on my blots of blood were strewn across his face.
His eyes were not accusatory. I felt guilty beyond belief. I of course was not the one who shaved his face, however I did supply the weapon.
He looked sad. He looked worried. All I could think of was I should really know his blood type for moments like this.
I couldn't help but crack a smile at the look on his face. I apologized profusely. Nick asked with the meekest voice, "I know they were a good deal, but you think we could just toss them and stick to the ones that work pleeeeaaaasssseeee?"
Poor Nick....he had to sacrifice his face for $5. His scabbed face made him look like a recent chicken pox victim.
But I gained more than $5 in my pocket...I got some pretty good razors for my legs!
© Nichole DeMario, 2010 – 2012. All rights reserved
Poor Nick...I make him eat leftovers, I shop generic and I love a great deal. I was ecstatic when I found four blade disposable razors for Nick to try. They were $4 for 8 of them instead of $9 for 1 with two cartridges...my penny pinching self was over the moon.
When Nick opened his drawer in the bathroom he said, "Thanks for picking up razors. I was running low. Where did you find these?" I paused and said, "I hope you like them. I got a great deal."
I could see the skepticism. The thoughts running through his mind. Great my wife "got a deal" again.
Now don't judge me! They didn't fall of a truck. I didn't find them in the clearance bin. I didn't pick them up at a sketchy, everything is slightly lopsided dollar store.
I assured him that they were four blade they had to be good. The next day was time for a shave. He got himself all situated and ready to go. He grabbed the new FOUR BLADE razor out of the package and got to work removing all remnants of that five o'clock shadow.
I love the feel of his face and the smell of his aftershave after he's freshly shaven. What can I say? That baby face is incredibly sexy. But as he walked out of the bathroom I saw the results of my great deal. Tiny bits of tissue paper stuck on my blots of blood were strewn across his face.
His eyes were not accusatory. I felt guilty beyond belief. I of course was not the one who shaved his face, however I did supply the weapon.
He looked sad. He looked worried. All I could think of was I should really know his blood type for moments like this.
I couldn't help but crack a smile at the look on his face. I apologized profusely. Nick asked with the meekest voice, "I know they were a good deal, but you think we could just toss them and stick to the ones that work pleeeeaaaasssseeee?"
Poor Nick....he had to sacrifice his face for $5. His scabbed face made him look like a recent chicken pox victim.
But I gained more than $5 in my pocket...I got some pretty good razors for my legs!
© Nichole DeMario, 2010 – 2012. All rights reserved
5.23.2011
Deep rooted hatred.
We've lived in our townhome for nearly nine months (something about nine months always makes me shudder). We've painted the entire house, decorated and accessorized just about every nook and cranny.
I thought for sure we'd have more arguments about making our house a home. It's bound to happen somewhere between paint samples, throw pillows and pillar candles and creating the ideal man cave. Thankfully, we've made it through that process with all appendages still intact.
Now we're on to landscaping. We have a private courtyard and a modest backyard to make all our own. I hate making choices and now I have to choose grass seed or sod, white diamond rock or mulch, perennials or annuals, flowers or bushes...ugh.
It's exciting to complete another layer to our house. To say, "I did that". Or at the very least, "Nick did that and I did a fabulous job supervising."
Our neighbors recently hired a landscape company to redo their entire frontyard, driveway paver stone, courtyard, etc. So I thought we could borrow a few ideas and do it ourselves.
I guess that comes from being a cliche woman who loves HGTV and DIY Network. Anytime Nick walks into our family room and one of those channels is on I see the look of terror on his face, "What is she going to have us do now?"
After discussing a few things we liked Nick decided he'd get started one day while I was at work. While I'm sure he wanted to get a head start, part of me has an inkling that says he was avoiding being "supervised".
He removed the old, ugly, pinky-coral colored rock from the pathway and then decided to make a gametime decision. See there were (note: past tense) these hostas planted along the pathway. While they were probably a good idea at the time they were planted they grew of course. And they grew and they grew and they grew. They practically took over the pathway through our courtyard and left about six inches worth of clear walking space. If you veered from that path you were guaranteed to have to trudge through what felt like a jungle along your feet.
I had said how hostas were such a hearty plant they would make a great filler in our backyard. Nick had some deep rooted (no pun intended) hatred for those hostas and said he just wanted them gone.
We went back and forth, back and forth about what to do with the plants. Dig them up and pitch them? Dig them up and donate them? Dig them up and transplant them? Again - choices to be made.
I thought we had decided we would put them in the backyard. I came home to a clear pathway prepped for solar lights and new rock. The pile of old rock was left to be picked up...but the hostas were nowhere to be found.
I was excited to get them planted in the backyard. Add some greenery to a blase landscape. When I asked where they were Nick looked coy and claimed he didn't know. He changed the subject quickly and went about his business. I knew something was up.
The mystery of the disappearing hostas baffled me for a few days until I made my way into the garage to take out the recycling. As I walked over to the recycling container I saw it - a weak, limp little hosta leaf poking out of the garbage can. I peered over the edge I saw the damage and the landscaping inhumanity! He mutilated those poor hostas! The hostas were torn to bits leaving no chance for a transplant.
Determined to have not a single hosta in his landscaping plan, my husband took matters into his own hands. He was determined to have his way. He would stop at nothing. Now I have to live with my husband - the plant killer.
© Nichole DeMario, 2010 – 2012. All rights reserved
I thought for sure we'd have more arguments about making our house a home. It's bound to happen somewhere between paint samples, throw pillows and pillar candles and creating the ideal man cave. Thankfully, we've made it through that process with all appendages still intact.
Now we're on to landscaping. We have a private courtyard and a modest backyard to make all our own. I hate making choices and now I have to choose grass seed or sod, white diamond rock or mulch, perennials or annuals, flowers or bushes...ugh.
It's exciting to complete another layer to our house. To say, "I did that". Or at the very least, "Nick did that and I did a fabulous job supervising."
Our neighbors recently hired a landscape company to redo their entire frontyard, driveway paver stone, courtyard, etc. So I thought we could borrow a few ideas and do it ourselves.
I guess that comes from being a cliche woman who loves HGTV and DIY Network. Anytime Nick walks into our family room and one of those channels is on I see the look of terror on his face, "What is she going to have us do now?"
After discussing a few things we liked Nick decided he'd get started one day while I was at work. While I'm sure he wanted to get a head start, part of me has an inkling that says he was avoiding being "supervised".
He removed the old, ugly, pinky-coral colored rock from the pathway and then decided to make a gametime decision. See there were (note: past tense) these hostas planted along the pathway. While they were probably a good idea at the time they were planted they grew of course. And they grew and they grew and they grew. They practically took over the pathway through our courtyard and left about six inches worth of clear walking space. If you veered from that path you were guaranteed to have to trudge through what felt like a jungle along your feet.
I had said how hostas were such a hearty plant they would make a great filler in our backyard. Nick had some deep rooted (no pun intended) hatred for those hostas and said he just wanted them gone.
We went back and forth, back and forth about what to do with the plants. Dig them up and pitch them? Dig them up and donate them? Dig them up and transplant them? Again - choices to be made.
I thought we had decided we would put them in the backyard. I came home to a clear pathway prepped for solar lights and new rock. The pile of old rock was left to be picked up...but the hostas were nowhere to be found.
I was excited to get them planted in the backyard. Add some greenery to a blase landscape. When I asked where they were Nick looked coy and claimed he didn't know. He changed the subject quickly and went about his business. I knew something was up.
The mystery of the disappearing hostas baffled me for a few days until I made my way into the garage to take out the recycling. As I walked over to the recycling container I saw it - a weak, limp little hosta leaf poking out of the garbage can. I peered over the edge I saw the damage and the landscaping inhumanity! He mutilated those poor hostas! The hostas were torn to bits leaving no chance for a transplant.
Determined to have not a single hosta in his landscaping plan, my husband took matters into his own hands. He was determined to have his way. He would stop at nothing. Now I have to live with my husband - the plant killer.
© Nichole DeMario, 2010 – 2012. All rights reserved
5.18.2011
Seven year itch
[If you're not a hopeless romantic do not proceed to read this article]
Sometimes it's hard to wrap my mind around...Nick and I have been together for seven years.
When we started dating we had our driver's licenses for a year. We were trying to decide what colleges to go to. My biggest concern at the time was whether or not he'd make a fun prom date. I wasn't looking for a potential husband that's for sure.
And somehow seven years have flown by. People may think it's crazy to be with someone so long when you're only in your mid-twenties. My response is it's not for everyone. Not everyone can handle literally growing up then growing old with someone. I consider myself lucky.
We haven't missed out on life, but enhanced each others. We've experienced our fair share of challenges, heartaches and disappointments. But it's what you do in those moments and in those tests that make all the difference.
We're at a time technically we're suppose to be experiencing the "seven year itch"...I know it's a little difficult to have when you're a newlywed, but I have to say I've never felt closer to him.
We talk more. Laugh more. Cry more. (eh and other things more).
But the one thing I love the most is that we're still learning about each other. There's so much to discover. I know we have a lot more growing up to do.
My itch is to enjoy this adventure of life together even more than we already have. Challenge each other. Try new things. And most of all don't get comfortable in the norm. Have a routine, but mix it up from time to time. Dare to be a different type of couple.
With Nick, forever isn't long enough.
© Nichole DeMario, 2010 – 2012. All rights reserved
Sometimes it's hard to wrap my mind around...Nick and I have been together for seven years.
When we started dating we had our driver's licenses for a year. We were trying to decide what colleges to go to. My biggest concern at the time was whether or not he'd make a fun prom date. I wasn't looking for a potential husband that's for sure.
And somehow seven years have flown by. People may think it's crazy to be with someone so long when you're only in your mid-twenties. My response is it's not for everyone. Not everyone can handle literally growing up then growing old with someone. I consider myself lucky.
We haven't missed out on life, but enhanced each others. We've experienced our fair share of challenges, heartaches and disappointments. But it's what you do in those moments and in those tests that make all the difference.
We're at a time technically we're suppose to be experiencing the "seven year itch"...I know it's a little difficult to have when you're a newlywed, but I have to say I've never felt closer to him.
We talk more. Laugh more. Cry more. (eh and other things more).
But the one thing I love the most is that we're still learning about each other. There's so much to discover. I know we have a lot more growing up to do.
My itch is to enjoy this adventure of life together even more than we already have. Challenge each other. Try new things. And most of all don't get comfortable in the norm. Have a routine, but mix it up from time to time. Dare to be a different type of couple.
With Nick, forever isn't long enough.
© Nichole DeMario, 2010 – 2012. All rights reserved
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)