guest post

(Tomorrow is my anniversary - 12 years of marriage. In light of such, I asked a few people to write a post for me, "about marriage or whatever," and La Yen obliged. Here, her words.)


What up, Dawg?

So, I know I promised you a blog post about marriage. But I just haven’t had time. Because W works 19 hours a day, and sleeps for four. And in the one hour that we have together, lately, he goes to people’s homes and administers priesthood blessings. Serio. Six days this week. And today, his day off, he let me stay in bed until 2:00 in the afternoon. Because he knows that it is really tiring for me to be home all day with Jooj AND (fruitlessly) ovulate. Serio.

This is my marriage. There are no love letters (well, no love letters that don’t contain the phrase “Dirty Pirate Hooker”) and we have successfully done nothing to celebrate our past twelve anniversaries. I can count on one hand the times he has been home for my birthday, but would need an abacus to mark the times we have celebrated his together. I try to make dinner every night for him, but he would be thrilled with Hamburger Helper and a bowl of Frosted Flakes. When we watch TV I have to watch the reruns three times, because he missed fifteen months worth and is just catching up. He doesn’t complain when I play computer games in bed because I can’t sleep through his apnea. He is talking—IN ALL SERIOUSNESS—about starting a comic book collection for the sweet Jooj. He would rather eat fruit desserts than chocolate. He could write a book on the practices of dirty, filthy soldiers, but he won’t tell me anything raunchy, no matter how hard I beg. He routinely skips the “please your woman” parts of Men’s Health magazine which, for the record, is the ONLY reason I got him the subscription. *sigh.*

So why do I feel bad for other people who are married? Because I do. Daily. I feel like they would be so sad if they knew what real love was. Because they obviously don’t have as great a marriage as I do. Because they are not married to W. Who always gives Jooj a bath so that I can sit on the couch unencumbered. And gives me a priesthood blessing whenever I want. And endured nine years of tearfully received monthly visits from Aunt Flo, and never once told me that I was being too dramatic. Or demanded I mourn with HIM for a change. He doesn’t think I’m fat, even though, honestly and empirically, I am. One time, when we took our first real vacation (no family, no obligations) he saw how disgusting our cheap hotel room was, dropped me off at The Magic Kingdom, booked us a room at the resort, moved our things, and then met me back at the park, all so I would not have to endure the ghetto that was Expedia-Recommended-Hell-Without-Pillows. There are times I laugh so hard with him, and times I want to punch him in the face. But mostly I want to be with him.

So, anyway, I just didn’t have time to write a marriage blog this week. Sign Lil~J’s cast for me and tell Superstar that Jooj misses her and is planning all sorts of shenanigans for when we come in September.

--Nayvor