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Stay away from the great and spacious building
Family Rule #2: Nobody goes to prison.
Mostly, this rule is in place to protect Ryan from himself. He has a fabulous mind that naturally sees the most effective, logical way to do something—from cleaning our house to arranging a schedule to robbing a bank. If he were a criminal, he would be a criminal mastermind. But he’s not a criminal, and I would like very much to keep him that way. Therefore: family rule #2.
Did you know that 1% of American adults are in jail? With any luck, however, none of them will be related to me. I know it’s pretty basic, but I figure if I can get married and raise a family where nobody dies young or gets sentenced to jail, I’ll have gone a good way towards getting what I want out of life.
Of course I have a carbon monoxide detector
When Ryan and I first started dating, we quickly established some basic ground rules for our relationship (including alternating days to be right and proper usage of the phrase “be nice”). This rule-making tendency continued after we were engaged, resulting in our current list of family rules. All of these rules were established as a result of a conversation—be it silly or serious—and all of them express a need or attempt to fix a problem. (Note: I do realize that several of these things are outside of my control; however, having a rule for it makes me feel better and allows me to stop worrying about it for the time being. Our family, our rules. So there.)
Family Rule #1: Nobody dies before the age of 84. Also, I get to die first, followed an instant or two later by Ryan.
Ryan’s granny has been a widow for decades—she’s spent more of her life without her husband than she did with him. She’s in her 90s right now and will, from time to time, make comments like, “I wonder why he hasn’t called me back yet. Doesn’t he miss me? Maybe he doesn’t want me anymore.” It breaks my heart. Being without a spouse for so long seems so difficult—I get teary just thinking about it. Ryan has brought so much happiness and laughter into my life, I can’t picture living it without him. We chat all day every day—email, text, and even, once in a while, in person—and a life without him seems oppressively silent. I don’t want to deal with that loss. Luckily, Ryan feels the same way about losing me; therefore, we created this family rule—giving us a long and full life together without any real knowledge of being parted.
(Note: This rule will also apply to our children, once we have them, since I strongly suspect that losing one of them would be just as heartbreaking. By being born into this family, they will be expected to follow this and all the other family rules. But this one in particular.)
So you can expect to be reading our obituaries sometime between April 25 and May 3, 2067. (Since that’s within our nine-day window of both being 84.) I’m hoping we’ll go by carbon monoxide poisoning in our sleep; however, other instantaneous, painless ways would be acceptable.
Why 84, you ask? Because 100 is too old—my back’s already breaking down and I’m only in my 20s! I can’t even imagine what’ll be sore in my 30s, let alone my 80s. However, 80 isn’t quite old enough—I’d like to stick around long enough to watch my grandkids become grand-adults. So really, living to 84 sounds just about right.
(Of course, when we get closer, we always have the option of evaluating the age and pushing our schedule back a couple of years. We’ll see how things go down the road.)
Clearly I’m not the cheating type
Though I survived my childhood without braces, by my early 20s it was no longer possible to ignore the movement of my once-straight teeth. So I asked my dentist about my options and he recommended Invisalign. I was sold—the clear, removable trays were a lot less noticeable than regular braces, which made me feel more confident in flirting with Ryan.
Well…the Invisalign didn’t do what my dentist said it would and there were a number of problems in working with him. (Problems like when I asked him about a chip on my front tooth, he said “We can fix that,” and leaned me back in the chair. I thought he’d fill the chip, but instead he FILED DOWN THE TOOTH. With his drill. Without asking. And he did it crooked. That doesn’t count as fixed.)
However, even though I’d have these bad experiences with my dentist, I was reluctant to see someone else. I’ve been going to this same dentist since I was little and even though there were all these problems, I just felt guilty leaving his practice. I’m like that, I guess.
Anyway, last week, I had a problem with my retainer. I asked the dentist to fix it, but he told me it was fine. And then, two days later, the retainer split in half. And that did it. Last straw.
I set up an appointment with Ryan’s orthodontist. And he was great. He wasn’t in a hurry. And he listened. It was so refreshing. I called Ryan and we made a plan for this new orthodontist to fix my teeth. I couldn’t have been more excited.
Then, about 20 minutes after I’d finished that appointment, I got a call…from my dentist.
My first thought? Oh. Crap. He knows. How did he find out? Did my new orthodontist call him? Is there a code of dentists that requires that? Crap.
This is how my brain works.
Turns out, it was just a routine call regarding the billing from my previous visit. But apparently I need to break up with my dentist before I can start seeing my new orthodontist.
Thinking twice
So, after that last post (for the record, I am not in love with Tim Tebow—see the comments section for the real story), I told Ryan I was definitely having second thoughts about giving him admin access to the blog.
His reply: I am glad you are thinking twice about it. My job is to make you think twice about everything.
Everything, Ryan?
Tebow Lover
I have come to the conclusion that my sleepy-head wife loves Tim Tebow more than me. It’s hard to argue. After all he is athletic, smart, Heisman winner, and has one national championship to date. All these things considered, I was still surprised when Jenn said that her favorite husband was Tebow.
Jenn and I found a new favorite game, which consists of asking what the other person’s favorite this and that is (in case you are wondering Jenn’s favorite color is clear, her favorite food is also clear and her favorite color of water is, surprisingly… clear!) Anyways, the other night, while I was getting dinner ready, Jenn fell asleep. After about 15 minutes I thought I should wake her up so she would be able to edit later on. In order to keep her awake, I thought I would play her favorite game with her. As mentioned before, much to my surprise, when asked who her favorite husband was (I was surprised it wasn’t clear) she said Tebow. I did double check and ask again. She only reaffirmed that he was in fact her favorite husband.
Needless to say, I am no Tebow but second to Tebow is nothing to be ashamed of.
I give him way too much credit
Since I’ve been sick, I’ve been extremely warm at nights, so most nights I’ve gone to sleep using only a sheet. Well, the night before last, I woke up really, really cold. As I lay there, debating whether or not it was worth it to sit up and reach to the end of the bed to get my blanket, Ryan sat up, grabbed the blanket, spread it over me, then rolled over and was instantly asleep again.
I was amazed—did Ryan really just tend to my needs in his sleep?
I marveled at that as I fell back asleep—what exactly was it that tipped him off? Did he notice I was sleeping on my hands? Did I not notice I was shivering? I concluded that I was just a really lucky girl to have a husband who cares so much for me that he could notice things like this in his sleep.
Well, the morning came and left in a rush, and I didn’t get a chance to ask him about his kindness until we were getting in bed last night. His reply:
Did I really do that? All I remember from last night is realizing I had both corners of the blanket, so I spread it over you hoping you wouldn’t notice I’d stolen the covers. I just didn’t want to get in trouble.
So. Here I am thinking he’s the greatest man alive for taking care of me and he’s really just looking out for number one.
I sure love that man.
Notice anything?
Nope, I’m not waiting for a compliment on my hair or new sweater. It’s much better than that.
Nate was able to convince my website to stop dispensing medical advice. I’m not clear on the details of everything involved, but I’m pretty sure it included some serious ninja skills. To recognize the change, I thought I’d update the blog design. What do you think? I’m excited about it.
Everybody go tell Nate what a great guy he is.
Thanks, Nate!
Apparently I’ve been hacked
So recently it has come to my attention that when some of you attempt to access my blog, this is what you see:
I feel like I need to apologize. Apparently my blog’s been giving out medical advice—and it’s not even a medical professional. It probably just has some shady medical degree from some online college or something. The only drug I’ve taken in that excerpt was the prednisone, and let me tell you, that was good stuff. Ryan affectionately refers to it as the “love drug” because when I was on it, I told him I loved him about every three minutes. (And I really meant it every time!) But other than that, I really can’t tell you about its side effects on estrus cycle functional groups. I’m sorry I led you on.
Anyway, point is, we’re working on getting things cleaned up so you can read all of my brilliant thoughts without being distracted by my medical fraud. (In this case, “we” is mostly Kartchner. But sometimes me. ‘Cause I’m a helper!)
Wonder of Wonders, Miracle of Miracles
Something happened last night that I thought was never, ever going to happen to me ever in my married life: Ryan cuddled with me all night long. That’s right, for the entire 480-ish minutes we spent sleeping, we cuddled. ALL NIGHT. HOLY SMOKES!!!
To understand the awesome significance of this, let me explain two things. First, when I was single, I used to imagine myself snuggling up against my husband at night and waking up in his arms in the morning. Cuddling at night was among the things I most longed for.
Second, right after the honeymoon, as soon as Ryan and I started sharing my queen-size bed, he made it extremely clear that he needed his s-p-a-c-e and that sleeping next to me was too warm, too restrictive, too terrible to be borne. Not only that, he would wake up several times a night and grump at me for being on his side of the bed—even when I wasn’t. Needless to say, my romantic idea of snuggling all night was quickly replaced by my preference for an agreeable bedfellow. At this point, I’ve become content with a bit of cuddling before bedtime, a good night kiss, and maybe a hand to hold as I fall asleep.
But last night—wow. He fell asleep spooning me and even though my shoulder was tingling, I just lived in the moment until I, too, fell asleep. Throughout the night, while Ryan rolled over and over in his sleep like he always does, his sleepy-self would always snuggle back over to me. Did I get woken up more than normal? Definitely. It was the happiest interrupted sleep I’ve ever had. After only 377 days of marriage, Ryan has fulfilled this longed-for-but-abandoned dream. And it was even better than I had hoped.
I am so lucky.
Feeling Gleeful
While Ryan and I don’t watch too much TV, we do have our shows that we always catch on Hulu or Netflix. (Does anyone watch normal TV anymore?) Heroes gets me with its plot twists and 30 Rock makes me laugh until I can’t breathe, but the show that really makes me giddy is Glee.
I think it has everything to do with the music. See for yourself.
(Sorry about the ads. But it’s worth it to see this clip, I promise. And, Sam, I have no idea how you could hate this show.)
