For our first piece in the series you get to hear from the wonderful Amber of Mr. Thomas and Me. If you don't already know this lady, you are going to want to after reading this! I initially started reading Amber's blog because how can I not love another lady with a half sleeve?! One of my favorite things about Amber's blog is her "Marriage Letters" and today she is sharing an extra special one with you all.
We met on the sweaty dance floor of the Aubergine. You, blonde and musclebound, bopped by, smiling bright, quick to shake hands between sways. Me, blonde and bold in my singleness, dancing with a few sorority sisters, quick to judge you as a man on the prowl. Shy smiles. A quick introduction. And then back to booty-shaking just as we were moments before. It felt like nothing special.
Over the years I've spent moments wishing I could remember the song that was playing -probably some Little John, not yet House stuff. The frat brother that drew you over to our mosh pit of sparkly girls and men's cologne where I was. The sisters who flanked me, but made no impression on your fun-loving soul. I've spent moments cherishing that disco-print dress and yellow belt I was sporting (it now hangs in our closet). Remembering the way your blonde hair seemed to be glowing among the dark fog of the room. Cherishing that He was there, introducing us in a downtown dance lounge.
We dated over dirty dishes and four frat boy roommates begging for some girlfriend-made cookies. We cooked dinner on campus, in a dingy apartment that smelled like weed a la roommates. We sat in my little room, side by side on my twin bed, watching Juno and Transformers until we knew every single line. We coupled up: seeking each other at parties first, then coordinating as dynamic duos galore, then as a package -the Pike and the Pi Phi. They teased us: why settle when you're so young and so good-looking? Begged us to skip on the relationship and just have some fun.
I've spent moments over the years wishing I could remember the way you smelled in those early days before I could soak in the way your soap and shampoo mix in the steamy morning air of our bathroom. The ways you made my heart jump because back then it wasn't helping with drip lines and vacuuming the stairs. I've spent moments cherishing those Juno and Bleaker, Thing 1 and Thing 2, Mr. and Mrs. Clause costumes. Remembering the nerves I'd feel waiting outside the AP&M building for you to emerge. Crying in your arms so early on as we learned we were losing him. Cherishing that He was there, paving the way for us in a oh-so-academic public university.
I left college with a degree and a fiance. We planned. We fought. We compromised. We married. I went from enjoying your company to craving it, to seeking it out, to living by it. I went from wanting you to needing you. You became like the trees: creating bad into good, providing life-sustaining protection, ever present and beautiful, cherished. Part of cherishing is remembering how you've changed me, morphed me, bettered me: it's marriage letters. Writing to you to let you know how much I care, how much you mean, just what you've done to me. Writing to you to capture these moments and their many emotions, affections, their deepest of depths.
We will never be those college kids bumping and grinding on beer-soaked dance floors again. Never will we be living behind my parents' house in an apartment dancing around the kitchen. Not a chance we'll get to do the newlywed period over again with its fighting and making up and learning how to share a bed and a closet and a bathroom. And that never doing it over again comforts me. We were them. And now we're us. Remembering, cherishing, commemorating the steps we've taken -small, almost invisible, and giant leaps alike. Looking forward to the movement we're making together, as husband and wife, as an indivisible pair.
I'm better because I'm yours,