In Sickness...

When you're in a long-distance relationship, every weekend becomes a mini-vacation for one half of the couple.

My fiancee and I live about 90 minutes away from each other. I don't know if I would classify it as officially long-distance, as we're close enough to meet halfway midweek, but it is far enough for one of us to pack up and leave home for a few days just to spend the weekend with the other.

Kelly, honestly, does most of the legwork. She's been a real trooper about coming out 3 of the 4 weeks of the month to stay at my place while I go sleep at my parents'. It's not that my area of town is any nicer than hers (both of us pretty much live in pretty crappy towns, to be honest), but that I have family close by that I can stay with when she comes in to town.

When I go out to her neck of the woods, it means a motel rental. My adventures at the Motel 6 will one day be fodder for future entries, but for now I only mention it because it's pertinent to why I travel a bit less than Kelly during our weekends together.

This weekend was my weekend to go out to her, and I was looking forward to it being nice, relaxing and quiet. We were going to look at an apartment, spend the afternoon at a cider mill and then enjoy a weekend of drinking coffee, watching movies and having some nice conversation.

Then, the Michigan weather changed. It had been pushing 90 degrees all week and then, with one snap on Friday night, plunged into the 50s. My body usually reacts harshly when the weather goes from cold to warm in the Spring. Kelly's, I found out, wreaks havoc on her when the temperatures plunge.

We met up at a coffee shop in Ann Arbor, as we had planned, because she had spent the morning running some bridal errands. We did have a chance to view an apartment, but I could tell she was not feeling well. Her voice was ravaged, she was constantly blowing her nose and I could see in her eyes that she was a bit weak. We spent maybe 10 minutes at the cider mill and left because her cold made it impossible for her to taste the cider or doughnuts (which is a shame: they were delicious).

I don't know how other people react when they're sick, but I tend to nurse myself in isolation. I confine myself to my bed or couch and depend on a therapeutic regimen of Nyquil, naps and television. I could tell that Kelly was exhausted and I suggested on more than one occasion that I could leave and she could sleep.

The truth was, I was very worried that she was going out and keeping me there out of obligation. I knew she probably felt bad that I had driven 90 miles and rented a motel room and now I wasn't going to get to have much fun. I was basically going to be a caretaker. I wasn't going to get to enjoy the cider and doughnuts with her (and I wasn't going to sit there drinking cup after cup in front of her), it hurt her to talk and I knew that she'd need to go to bed early.

And had it been any one else blowing into a Kleenex, coughing violently or talking with that rasp, I would have been frustrated and probably picked up and left. But every time I asked her if I should leave, I was happy when she said no, she wanted me to stay. I was more than happy to go to Meijer and buy some Vicks for her. I had a great time lying on the couch with her and watching "Fantastic Mr. Fox" or "Arrested Development" episodes. I didn't mind the fact that I had to retire to Motel 6 at 10:30 p.m. and spent the rest of the night reading in bed with a bottle water and bag of beef jerky at my side. And this afternoon when I knew that she was in need of a good, long nap, I knew exactly when to pick up my keys and head home.

The truth is, that I'm learning there's something so much deeper to relationship than simply having a good time. Yes, I always love the nights when we can go to the movies or the weekends where we take trips together. I love when we stay up late talking or debating. I love it when we're being romantic and sappy and all caught up in this whole "love thing."

But I've watched couples. I've read books. I've lived life. I know that the romantic feelings aren't around 24/7. And yes, I've always wondered what it would be like in a relationship to live through those moments where neither person is feeling particularly "in love."

And being around Kelly, I've learned that these "normal moments" are some of my favorite in my life because of the sheer surprise I've seen in myself. I'm not by nature a selfless person--I like my routines to be uninterrupted, things to go my way and life to be happy.

But with Kelly, I've seen myself actually want to take care of another person. It was not a chore to go to Meijer and pick up Vap-O-Rub for her. It was not torture for me to sit across from her at Panera in silence because I knew how much it pained her to talk. I felt at home sitting on the couch with her watching TV and even though I couldn't kiss her on the lips when I left, I still felt a peck on the cheek was meaningful for us.

It wasn't the first time I've noticed this surprising reaction in myself. I know for a fact that Kelly hates making the drive out to my house on Friday nights, when she's worked all day and has to fight rush hour traffic to get out there. Sometimes she's not in the best of moods upon pulling into the driveway. And to be honest, I used to have a bit of dread about this because, as I said, I like people to be happy all the time.

A few weeks ago, however, she had to come out on a Friday night and I knew the drive was going to be horrible. And I found myself asking what I could do to make her feel easier when she arrived. So I chilled a bottle of water and walked out with it when she arrived and then came inside and gave her a long hug once she was in.

It's a stupid, little thing. But it surprises me. It surprises me because I'm finding that meeting her needs--even something as trivial as that--is meeting a need in myself as well. I never realized just how much I wanted to take care of someone, to be the one to make them smile after a rough day or just make them feel a little less alone and isolated when they're sick. Meeting all those little practical needs and doing those little non-romantic things may not be what we all dream of when we're single and looking for a relationship.

But to be honest, those little moments are some of the most meaningful to me and the kind that show me just how much I love this woman and how she's changing me.

And that's got to be a good thing, right? After all, I'm expecting life to be filled with a lot more runny noses and long car rides than late night walks and candlelit dinners. And don't these little moments, which require a bit of sacrifice and inconvenience on our part, show love a lot more than a large gesture which we both enjoy?

--CW

A Boy and His Dog

About a year and a half ago, I inherited my brother's dog.

Zeke (the dog) was not adjusting too well to life around my niece. Zeke is not the most overly friendly dog when you first meet him. He prefers one-on-one attention and, unlike my parents' dog, he's not really too excited when visitors come by. The first time I ever dog-sat him, he was so scared of me that he wrestled his way out of his harness and darted out into a neighboring subdivision. My dad and I spent the better part of two hours late on a Friday night chasing him around a pool in a neighbor's backyard, Dad concerned that the cops were going to be called because they thought we were casing the place.

Zeke's mellowed with me a bit and we have a good master-dog relationship. He sleeps at the foot of my bed each night, he jumps up to see me when I come home from work and we'll often spend a good hour or so tossing his toys back and forth across the house. As I type this, he's curled up on the arm of the recliner next to me. He may not be the most affectionate or outgoing dog, but he's my little buddy and I love him.

The problem? My fiancee doesn't feel quite the same way.

It came to a head twice this weekend. This morning I walked in from my parents' house, where I had stayed on their sofa bed while K. slept in my room (this arrangement and my frequent stays at the Motel 6 by her home will be the subject of an upcoming post, I'm sure). I walked in while she was in the shower, so I made some coffee for both of us and sat on the couch while she prepared for church. When she came out of the bathroom I asked how she had slept.

The instant she sighed, I knew that there was a Zeke issue.

To be fair, Zeke isn't always the best sleeper. A few weeks back he had an ear infection and spent much of the night scratching at his ears and crying from discomfort. When he does sleep soundly, sometimes he snores. Last night, his problem was licking himself. All night, apparently. K. had gotten to the point where she had to put him outside around 7 a.m. just so she could get some uninterrupted sleep.

That was a typical evening and, for the most part, they are becoming rarities. While Zeke was rather stand-offish to K. when we first started dating, he's warmed up in the recent months. He'll usually curl right up and go to bed and he's become kind enough to cuddle up to her on the couch if we're watching a movie. So I mentally filed this away as "Zeke had a bad night" and we went on with our day.

Later in the evening we were sitting on the couch watching TV when K. suddenly jumped up off the couch. Two fleas had landed on her arm and bitten her. And that became the final straw.

Now, a word about the fleas: this has been a battle raging in my house for the past month or so. One weekend, Zeke was scratching uncontrollably and K. noticed that there were fleas on him. I took him to get a flea bath and bombed the house the following weekend. Two weekends later, while my parents dog-sat, they found more fleas and took him to the vet. I bombed the house again. Last weekend, while I house-sat for my parents and my own home was empty, I did one final bombing run, hoping to gas the vermin into extinction.

But here they were again, and we knew the culprit: it was my couch. Somehow, despite all the flea bombings and sprayings and everything else, these little monsters were hiding themselves in my couch and not dying. And, of course, K. told me this was not a good problem to have: I had to get rid of the fleas or else all of our weekends would be spent out at her home, because she wasn't setting foot in here.

We discussed things and, as these small things often do, they snowballed into deeper issues. Problems with the neighborhood I lived in, where stray cats and possums wander through the yard and bring in fleas. The continued stresses with the dog, who she is having difficulty adjusting to. Problems with the couch, which she's never cared much for any way (to be fair, it was a free couch that my friends were going to throw out; there was no emotional attachment).

And, after about an hour of discussing things, we came to a plan. We carried the couch out to the curb and set my chair in front of the TV; K. will bring over her papasan in a few weeks so I have a place to seat friends or take a nap. Hopefully we'll get rid of the fleas and hopefully Zeke will have a happy home.

But a couple things stood out about the entire ordeal.

First, there are things that I am bringing to this marriage that K. is not going to like. While I thought that was going to be limited to my zombie movies, it turns out that it's actually something that I can't easily hide from her. See, I love my dog. He may not be the friendliest little guy in the world, but he is my little buddy. I understand him and we have a good master-canine rapport.

But as I prepare to do life with another person, I realize that there are things I love that will not necessarily be viewed the same way by another person. K. has already informed me Zeke will not sleep in our bedroom when we get married and I've told her that I'm fine with that, as long as it means she understands I'm keeping the little guy around.

Which was one of the first tastes I've gotten about how much compromise will be involved in marriage. I may not have to get rid of my dog, but I'm going to have to make changes to his lifestyle and my own so that he can stick around without destroying my marriage. And tonight I had to rearrange my house, throw out furniture and make some quick decisions to try and continue having a comfortable home for K. to visit.

It got tense for a bit, but I'm very thankful that K. and I were able to discuss it rationally and make the right compromises. No one left feeling angry or bitter and the dog seems to be doing alright (Zeke is still sitting on the armrest, starting to snore).

But it also poses a question for me: can I make the same compromises? If I'm bringing things into this marriage that K. doesn't like and she is willing to work with me on changes, am I going to be able to do the same? If she brings quirks, routines or items into our life that she loves and I'm not too keen on, can I be loving enough to work towards compromise instead of being stubborn and prideful?

I hope I can. But one thing I'm learning about relationship is that your character is really tested and put on display in your dealings with another person. It's challenging and often humbling. But I'm excited to see where else this adventure takes me.

--CW (and Zeke)

Here Comes the Groom

I know, I know.

It's not about me.

No one wants to hear about the groom. Our job is to stand at the front of the church, watch our radiant bride march down the aisle and not lose the ring. The wedding is the bride's day. All eyes are on her. It's the day she's been planning for her entire life. There's no show called "Groomzilla."

And I'm fine with that.

A bit of background. I'm 31 and last May became engaged to a wonderful woman. We're to be married on March 25, 2011. And as the day draws closer, I'm beginning to see how much involvement there is in planning a wedding and--even more seriously--a marriage. My fiancee and I live 1.5 hours apart from each other and are planning to get a home at a midway point. So on top of wedding plans, we're also searching for apartments. And we're also planning to uproot both of our lives to be together. She has a better start than me, having lived about an hour away from her family for two years. I've always lived 15 minutes from my family.

It's an interesting time.

As I've mused about marriage and wedding plans, it's come to my attention that there are very few TV shows, books and movies that take place from the groom's point of view. We're either the supportive man who waits patiently while the bride goes through hilarious hijinks or we're the jerk she runs from to marry Adam Sandler. But as I've begun to prepare for our impending nuptials, I'm learning there's a whole new world here. There are fun things, like picking out a deejay. Things that make you take stock of your past, like choosing your groomsmen or creating your guest list. Things that force you to anticipate the future, where you'll be asked to lead a family and take on responsibility. And, of course, the challenge of being supportive and calm while the whole enterprise moves along and threatens to collapse under the weight of fiances, big dreams and other people's expectations.

So, this blog.

This isn't going to be a "countdown" blog or a list of funny essays about wedding preparations--although I hope those are a part of this. This is a page for me to muse on all things wedding and marriage--from the funny happenings that occur while wedding planning to my serious questions, fears and anticipations about being a husband. I hope it's funny. I hope it's deep. Most of all, I hope that it allows me to turn into the man that my fiancee--who will be known henceforth as "K."--deserves. And I hope it's a support network for other men preparing for marriage, because Lord knows we're not really told what to expect as grooms.

Except that it's not about us.

And again, I'm fine with that. Really, truly. I want K. to have a wedding she can remember and cherish. One that our families and friends enjoy. One that shows how seriously we take this commitment to each other and to God.

After all: if we can't do it cheap, we're going to do it meaningful. :-)

Here's my plan for this blog: I want to commit, dear readers, to at least two blog posts a week, hopefully more. I encourage feedback, comments and questions. The more I get, the more we can dialogue and the more fun this experiment will be.

I'm a big believer that couples often focus too much on the wedding and not enough on the marriage. I'm 31 and my relationship with K. is the first serious relationship of my life, and I'm well aware that there are going to be adjustments in store. I'll deal with those fears and those thoughts as well. Because I know that adjusting to life as a husband is going to affect every part of my life, I want to commit to keep this blog running through our first year of marriage. I'm setting out with the plan to keep this blog going until March 25, 2012, ending with our first anniversary. My initial plan is to post every day during that first year of marriage, but as it gets closer we'll see what happens.

I'm looking forward to this. It will be nice to have a space just to share my marriage-related thoughts, plans and fears. Should you like what you read here, please visit one of my other blogs. My personal venting/musing space (with spelling and grammar errors intact) is at www.xanga.com/thedubbs. I also keep a film related blog at http://motownmovies.blogspot.com/ .

Thank you all for visiting and I hope to have my first official post soon!

--CW