Square Peg ● Round Hole







If you have been following my blog or perhaps, you know me personally, you already have surmised that I really don’t blend in with a facade. What you see is what is what you get. So while social media darlings profess their unwavering devotion to their perfect spouse and their perfect life on special occasions. I prefer to keep it real.

The night before our 29th wedding anniversary, my adorable husband impulsively decided to move a queen mattress to Bailey’s room in our lower level. Our guest room is underused and we figured that a larger bed would benefit him along with Brian who sleeps down there as part of their slumber party on the weekends. Honestly, it was all about Brian and his comfort. We had been discussing it for a while, so imagine my surprise when he jumped into action at 8:30 on Saturday night. Anyway, I repeatedly used the words “impulsive” as linens were strewed all over the room and beds were dismantled. After realizing that we were on a downward spiral to hell, I went back to our bedroom and resumed reading.

When it came time to move the box spring, there was a glitch. You see, my husband, the handy one who measures EVERYTHING before trying to accomplish a task, opted to “wing it”. Therefore, it was stuck in the stairwell that lead to Bailey’s room. Oh, the tangled web we weave. I disengaged myself from my book, to aid in the process because nobody wants a box spring as stairwell decor. And Brian’s uncertainty about how it can be removed made me more annoyed than I already was.

Then he started spouting off nonsense about removing steps or something to accommodate the size and that is when I left again. Unbelievable. Thirty minutes or so later, I came back in hopes that the box spring magically disappeared only to find it still lodged in the stairwell. I worked with him to dislodge it, as the reality finally sunk in for him, that he wasn’t going to be able to force this puppy anywhere but back out the door. We did it. Together. Did I want to throw him down the stairs? Yes. Did I rant and rave about how ridiculous this whole situation was? Also, yes. Do you think he learned anything from this event? Maybe. Maybe not. Only time will tell.

Bottom line was my social media post the next day for our anniversary shared a blip about our exciting evening that did not involve a tape measure. It was a tad sarcastic and funny. You see, I love this man. He is my person, but he isn’t perfect. I am not perfect. Marriage is messy, complicated, exasperating, fun, memorable, but most of all, it is work. I am grateful to do life with him. I don’t have to post how “amazing he is or how our marriage is a better union than anyone else” because every relationship is different. We bicker. We annoy each other. That is minimal compared to the other times we show up for one another. We have survived active alcoholism, raising a child with Down syndrome, aging parents, unemployment, and a separation among other things. He is my biggest cheerleader. It’s easy to forget all of the goodness when he does stupid shit like he did Saturday night. But, eventually, I find the humor. Marriage with him definitely keeps me on my toes.