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Day 66

Marriage is:

The last loss of privacy
I used to live in houses that held up to 7 other women, always sharing a bedroom with at least one other girl. Whenever you rose there's sure to be another morning person up, and when you go to sleep there's sure to be someone who is staying up later than you. But in the bathroom, that sacred hour in the shower, unless the other bathroom was locked and an emergency "evacuation" is upon us, you could latch the hook on the door and have some precious privacy. But even though I've cut down my roommates to one, I've lost that last boundary. You get company while peeing as they brush their teeth, and usually you don't even bother to shut the door around each other any more. It's not like THAT is a secret anymore, but sometimes I forget that it's still a secret to my guests who come over and they would like it to remain as such.

No longer being able to call something "yours" and have it only be "yours"
The two of us went to Target to zap barcodes for our registry (the most fun part of an engagement, aside from actually getting the stuff) and I was talking about what I wanted for my kitchen. "Our kitchen, you mean." I reminded him who would be cooking in there and he reminded me who paid half the rent that included that kitchen (of mine).
Also, when I was twelve my Nana gave me a wide white bureau to put my clothes into. As always, there's the underwear drawer, the sock drawer, and the junk drawer; the pants drawer, the shirts drawer, the pajama drawer, and the athletics drawer. After the honeymoon and he facing a woeful pile of bureau-less clothes, I made what I thought was a generous offer: "I can clear space in my drawers for you if you want." He looked at me. "Those are 'our' drawers now." That's taken a few weeks to sink in.

Learning the creature of "man"
I have two siblings; Natalie is 5 1/2 years younger than me and Erick is 7 1/2 years younger than me. If gender made a difference in that age gap, I definitely am more used to dealings with my sister. Not to mention that for two years I lived in various ministry houses all packed with every variety of girl imaginable. Of course I lived with dad, but dad's are different to live with. Dad would tell me when to come home and remind me to brush my teeth; Dave may still have to remind me to brush my teeth from time to time, but I draw the line before curfew setting. But this man, this husband, doesn't have overemotional reactions toward me, doesn't commiserate about uncomfortable bras or PMSing, starts a playful wrestling match every day of the week, doesn't hold a grudge or have a potential to gossip, leaves shorn-off bits of beard in the sink, and for once in my tomboyish life I have the most hair and exfoliate products in the shower (I lived with a hair stylist for 6 months - she had several bottles that each conditioned for advantages I had never even heard of).

Beautiful
It's kissing Dave goodbye in the early morning while he's still asleep. It's the Valentine's Day bouquet Dave personally arranged for me with all my favorite flowers. It's my burning the bacon from his Valentine's Day breakfast and setting off the smoke alarm. It's a belated Sunday morning writing in bed with Dave lying quietly next to me. It's his arms around me from behind as I wash the dishes. It's listening to him talk passionately about the importance of the Second Amendment. It's working for an hour over chili or cookies and receiving his long-awaited taste approval. It's watching "Spongebob" and "Dirty Jobs" in our living room with a pile of tator tots. It's the smell of coolant and the smear of oil on Dave's hands after a day in the shop. It's the cup of hot tea Dave had ready for me after a long cold trek home on the bus from class. It's listening to Dave Matthews on the radio as we take a late afternoon nap together. It's him tucking me into bed every night before I fall asleep. It's reading pages to Dave out of the latest book I'm excited about reading. It's Dave bringing me home a vanilla Frosty when I'm having a bad day. It's me laughing at him when he freaks out because I can feel his heartbeat. It's him laughing at me because I take myself too seriously and am too cute when I get upset.

Something too precious to ever forget how to be grateful for it and how to laugh at it.

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