photo by me: mounds of ironing after months of neglect made for a lovely Downton Abbey
marathon.
......
"What if we live in a dive for a few months until we find something we can afford?" And just like that we were both laughing. A really exhausting day of house hunting, errand running, and work diffused in a statement of genius or pure insanity. I drove Mr. F to the office so I could meet him for lunch and scope out a loft downtown. We daydreamed over downtown living, hashed out our budget, and walked away laughing. Dreams and reality don't always mix. But somehow as the day plodded on and we looked at more units, each nicer and more expensive than the last, we started creating new dreams. Less desirable housing in an area we like. Not even remotely close to what we had imagined for our start in Atlanta.
So we went to dinner, splitting a quesadilla and queso, still laughing over our misadventure. The house hunt that had taxed us extremely at first had turned into a form of merriment. We laughed over our options. The world may be our oyster, but we can only afford a can of salty sardines.
We drove home that night, still laughing, and increasingly hopeful for whatever our future may be. Making the most of our salty reality and joyfully plotting how to turn it into a salt palace. As we laughed and sang off-key to Christmas music, I marveled at the man I married. Rather than getting disgruntled, he sees the opportunity for adventure. He dreams big and carries me along with him when I tend to get stuck in the mud of everyday life. The day had been rough and confusing, but at the end of it, all I cared about was how happy I was to have Mr. F sitting next to me. The perfect end to a mildly ridiculous day.
.....
Even with him working, it's rare that Mr. F wakes up before me. When he does, it means a meeting at the office is beckoning and away he must go. Braving Atlanta traffic at any hour is no easy feat, but especially in the morning while the many spokes of the metro pinwheel funnel downtown. Coming to a standstill is customary and from our current home outside the perimeter, a generous but taxing hour and a half must be given to ensure timely arrival. So away Mr. F goes, stealthily departing, unaware that as soon as he leaves, I can no longer sleep. The house feels different without him and I am left with the stillness of dawn for my companion. I sit on the sofa, braving consciousness, and watch through the window as the sky shifts from darkness to light. Groggily, I greet the day and prepare for whatever work lays ahead of me and decide that whatever it is can most assuredly be done in pajamas. By the time I convince myself to get moving, the sun is just above the horizon and Mr. F is on the phone, checking in and reporting back on his meeting. He is infused back into our home and I am at peace.
.....
Mr. F worked late last night catching up on a project. Normally he comes in after the long commute exhausted and wanting quiet time. Not last night. He lasted a half hour by himself before asking me to climb into bed with him. We lay there giggling and talking together. No worries about the future, money, or The Great Unknown. Just a late night laughing session. Such a blessed relief after a solid year of stress and tension. I don't know what we spoke of as I kept getting distracted by my husband's big, blue eyes. They're the same color as mine, an anomaly we have yet to explain. When smiling, he has a tendency to squint in a way that makes him look like the world tallest Asian. But when I make him happy, his eyes are bright and clear. I love that I can make him that happy and that his eyes only dance like that for me. He is always at his handsomest at moments like that. Day old stubble, which for most men is a week of growth, ruffled hair and shirt, and eyes as blue and bold as the deep blue sea.
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