Daughter. Sister. Aunt. Wife.

Last week, I forgot I had a husband.

I was at the dentist, chatting with the hygienist about recent events and I said, "Yeah well you know my fiancé was away for two and a half months."

"Your husband," she corrected me.

Oh, yeah.

I hadn't been in for a cleaning since I moved in the fall, so I also had to update my contact information. They gave me form to fill out. And I had to check the "Married" box in addition to writing out my new address.

It was bizarre.

After adding Mr. Wonderful to my health insurance at work, I also had to go in and change my status in our system from "Single" to "Married."

I don't feel married. I don't feel any different than I did before Mr. W and I started cohabiting in November.

I remember how weird it felt to call him my fiancé. This whole husband business is even weirder. It makes me feel like I'm 65. I was a swingin' single gal for so long. Now I'm an old married lady. You notice that people always refer to singles as "girls" but marrieds as "ladies"? I assure you, I'm no lady...

I had one of our cute wine bottle vases on my desk Friday and a coworker said, "Now how does one go about cutting the glass for that?"



I answered, "The husband built a fancy rig in the garage."

"Your husband," my cohort corrected. "Say it."

"My husband built a glass-cutting rig." It felt like a giant wad of Bazooka gum in my mouth.

I know I'll get used to this. But, right now, the strangeness of it all is sort of entertaining.

Enough to Feed a Flock of Five

If you've read this blog for awhile, you probably know that I own two cats. Some would say that makes me a cat lady (I just searched "cats" in my blog post library and came up with 33 posts...). Some would subscribe to my theory that you're only a crazy cat lady if you own 3 cats (you get one because you like pets and then another to keep the first one company, but there's no reason to ever get a third). Some of you won't make it past this first paragraph to even read what sort of feline fiascoes I'm going to describe here.

Anyway, my cats are very Laurel and Hardy in their physiques. Monty, below, weighs about 20 pounds and only reaches speeds of 0.5mph when he is waddling to his food bowl or sprinting away from the sound of the trash truck. Mr. Wonderful and I often joke that Monty could feed a family of five for at least a week if the Apocalypse hit.

Oh but he's such a handsome boy.

My other cat, Zoë, weighs about 8 pounds and is constantly spazzing out, running around the house and burning calories. I think part of the reason she weighs less is because her brain is about a quarter the size of Monty's.

But she's cute so we love her.

Due to some longstanding trauma from losing pet cats to hit-and-runs as a kid, I do not let my current kitties outside. And for the most part, they don't mind. They live in the lap of luxury—particularly now that we're in Mr. W's house with big bright windows that cast lots of warm sun spots on the floor for them.

But this weekend when Mr. W and I were outside working on our garden, I decided to let the felines loose in the yard.

They were both pretty nervous about the new surroundings. Monty seemed to be trying to walk extra gently on the grass, unfamiliar with its texture. And Zoë's tail was puffed much of the time, despite the fact that she was purring.

They'd been outside for about 5 minutes when I heard a hawk screech from the eucalyptus tree at the end of our street. I looked up and saw another hawk fly in and land next to where the first one was perched. A bit more screeching and THREE more showed up on the scene. They began to circle overhead.

"Oh my God," I said to Mr. W, "I think the hawks are after the cats!"

We quickly collected the chubby and skinny furballs (which in itself was hilarious because Mr. W holds cats pretty much like he's holding out a rotten gallon of milk) and returned them to the safety of the house.

Within seconds, the hawks were gone.

Apparently, they too, can spot a fat feline that's capable of feeding a family of five pre- or post-Apocalypse.

This Life on a Loop

At 3:30 a.m. the morning of our wedding, I woke up to the sound of falling rain. I laid in bed caught somewhere between slight panic that it might continue until 2:30 p.m. when we were supposed to do pictures at the park, and relief that it was happening now and might be over within the next few hours.

If it had rained, everyone would have survived. We would have called it good luck and tried to stay dry as we dashed from cars to buildings.

But it didn't rain. Fortune and the forecast smiled on us and we got to enjoy a nice mud-free couple hours of picture taking. And then jubilation ensued...


The day after the wedding, we drove to Santa Ynez, one of our favorite wine-tasting spots, for a mini-honeymoon. It was pouring so hard on the drive up, the windshield went completely white a couple times.

"We are SO lucky this weather is happening today," I said more than once.

We were so lucky that everything we'd worked so hard to plan went off without a hitch.

We were so lucky that our guests crowded the dance floor and filled the air with laughter—even when I had the DJ play Xanadu. We were lucky they loved our food and our cake and our speedy ceremony.

Before we hit Santa Barbara, Mr. Wonderful grabbed my hand and sheepishly told me he already had something planned for our one-year anniversary.

"I booked us the Caveman Room at the Madonna Inn," he told me.

The Madonna Inn is where we got engaged. The Caveman Room is one of their most popular suites and has to be booked months in advance. I am so lucky to have a man in my life who possesses the forethought—and thoughtfulness—to plan an anniversary trip for us an entire year in advance. Ooga Booga Mr. Caveman Wonderful. I'll find myself something leopard print to wear that weekend.

When we returned from our mini-escape and I (finally!) had some time to read my favorite blogs, I came across a beautiful post from Mandy at You've Got to Be Kidding Me. It's about how much she loves THIS life. This one right now. And how she doesn't want to say goodbye. How she wants to live it on a continuous loop.

Me, too, Mandy.

All this luck. All this love. I want to pass through it a million times and a million times again after that.

One Week In

Yesterday Mr. W and I celebrated our one-week anniversary. Don't worry, we're not planning to celebrate every week, it just seemed like the first 7 days of wedded bliss deserved dinner and a movie. At the very least.

Before we left for our big night out, Mr. W pulled up some video that a friend had shot during our ceremony. It wasn't anything fancy—just a clip taken with a digital camera. I bawled my eyes out watching it.


Our ceremony was only about 5 minutes long. But it was truly the most special 5 minutes of my life, thus far.

Years ago, I attended a wedding at an estate in Cape Cod where all the guests simply stood nearby as the bride and groom exchanged their vows. It was so intimate. So special. It made all of us feel so integrated into the process. We were right there, at the bride and groom's level. I decided that day that I wanted my wedding ceremony to be structured the same way.

So last Saturday, our guests gathered on the patio of Ramsey's, right at our level, right up by our sides as we said our I do's. I cannot tell you what it was like to walk outside into what felt like a giant circle of love. It was truly amazing. Like I had a hundred arms around me. Like I was enveloped by a gigantic hug.


It wasn't the vows that did me in. Or the exchange of rings. I didn't shed a tear as we spoke to each other and looked into one another's eyes.

It was the kiss that got me. That last punctuation at the end of the story.

Once we kissed, we were officially married. I remember thinking that I should stop kissing him because I felt like I could have gone on forever. I was so excited and overwhelmed and warm from the bodies all around us, I wanted to just keep on celebrating with kiss after kiss. As soon as we parted, on came the tear faucet.

I think that was the only time I cried all night. And it was my favorite part of the night. Coming back up that aisle—as husband and wife. We had done it. Our hearts were sealed. And almost everyone we loved was around us, cheering for what we'd done. Rooting on our relationship. Lifting us up beyond the high we were already on. All to the tune of U2's Everlasting Love.

I don't think a day will come that I'll be able to watch that video without crying.

Introducing Mr. and Mrs. Wonderful

Great day. Great catch. Grateful for everything (including the fact that he let me post his face on the blog for what may be the only time ever)!

Louder Than Words

Recently I was at a party and struck up a conversation about dating with one of the women there. She told me about how the suitors who were pursuing her had both professed their undying adoration, but weren't making much of an effort to actually see her.

"Actions speak louder than words," I told her.

Such a simple phrase. Such monumental consequences.

The evil ex I had before I met Mr. Wonderful filled my ear with such saccharine, I nearly had to see an audiologist. He told me I was the girl he'd waited his whole life to meet. And then he got someone else pregnant.

When I met Mr. W, I wholeheartedly embraced the fact that he wasn't a words man. He was quiet. A slow mover. But absolutely unwavering in his caring behavior. He never made me doubt how he felt. He always showed me. Even when he let me hang after saying I love you—it took him about 30 days to say it back—his affection and attention were constant. Solid.

Yesterday he returned from his 9-week work stint in London. 7 days ahead of our wedding. We didn't need words. The minute we saw each other, we just smothered one another in kisses.

This morning, as we lay cuddled in bed, he told me he felt like he was starting a new chapter in his life. I rolled over to tell him how I felt. Ever so gently, he pushed my cheek in the opposite direction. He could have said, "Damn girl! Your breath smells like a sewage plant!" But instead he just quietly turned my mouth hole away from his nose holes.

That's my man of action. Always showing me what I need to know.

The Upside of All Those Thank You Notes

Recently, Mr. Wonderful asked me to send myself a thank you note for writing so many thank you notes to our wedding guests. It's a task I didn't really think about until I had my first wedding shower and had to write 20 of them. Then after the second, I had to write about 15 more. Then there were the ones after the bachelorette party (Dear sister, thank you for the candy thong. It really made my whole night!) And as more and more gifts come pouring in through the mail, my writing routine remains constant. It's a big undertaking and can be a bit daunting at times.

But then, when I actually sit down to write, I'm totally overcome with gratitude. I truly feel the thankfulness infuse my body (and my pen) as I tell people how much I appreciate their thoughtfulness. It makes me want to be equally thoughtful choosing my words and expressing my thanks to them.

I also think it has been making me more aware of the good things in my life. It makes sense—practice hones skills, right? Thus, practicing being grateful in my notes is making me better at it on a day-to-day basis.

Sure, it may culminate in weepy sessions in the car where I am overwhelmed by how lucky I feel to have such amazing people around me, and to be marrying such an incredible guy. But the tears are a small price to pay for the warm fuzzies.

I may try to continue the habit even after all this wedding hoopla dies down. Or at least I'll write myself that note Mr. W told me to send.