kind of a miracle.

The truth is, I only feel like my real and honest self about two and a half out of seven days a week.  I'm too embarrassed to even attempt simple math in front of anyone else.  Sometimes I find myself paralyzed with this fear that my life will never consist of anything other than working full-time, even though I know that's silly.  At least, I hope it is. 
And I would have to say that, yes, I am in love.  Not the ABC prime-time kind of love.  Where I'm, you know, still waiting to see if he'll ever leave his wife for me.  Or sitting by a hospital bed surrounded by medical machinery, tears cascading down my face with mascara that never runs, holding one of his immobile hands in both of mine, just begging him to wake up from a coma.

No.  It's the boring, in-for-the-long-haul, fully-dedicated-to-one-another's-happiness kind of love.  Where we're already married.  Where we go to bed at 9pm if we want to.  Where we talk about water bills sometimes. The kind where I melt whenever he mows the lawn or loosens his tie or tells me that he cleaned out the kitty litter so I don't have to.  Where he fully supports the fact that I'll most likely never have hair past my shoulders.  Where he says he is completely fine spending our Saturday afternoon lunch date listening to me go into a full synopsis of my most current read.

I guess it doesn't make for the best writing.  Not the kind that affairs and comas and love triangles do.  I guess that's why the majority of stories are told prior to the happily ever after, not afterward.

But I am in love.  And isn't that kind of a miracle, in and of itself?

white wash

According to Dr. Taylor Hartman of The Color Code, Drew and I were a very unlikely match.

You see, we're both Whites, with a secondary Blue.  Basically the male and female version of each other.

This combination is common in friendships, but not intimate relationships.  Apparently, it tends to lack a certain "spark," a "tension of opposites" other combinations provide.

Alison Leigh Jones Photography*

And this makes sense to me, on paper. We're both motivated almost entirely by peace.  We find life most enjoyable when it is free of stress and obligation.  We prefer to avoid confrontation, unless absolutely necessary.  Neither of us can stand to do anything that might possibly make another person uncomfortable, even if it makes us uncomfortable.  We feel deeply, but struggle with putting our feelings into words.  We're passionate and motivated only when interested.  We value kindness and sincerity.  We get very uncomfortable when others act out in an inconsiderate and unkind way.  We like secure adventure, and prefer the familiar to the unfamiliar.

In a nutshell, White on White typically leads to a constant struggle with leadership, motivation and being assertive.

The odd thing is, Drew seems to make me more assertive.  Much more so than I was in any other relationship, with a blue or yellow or red.  The way he never demanded any certain behavior from me; he took what I offered and never once looked displeased.  And I think that's what it was.  He made me proud of me.  I no longer felt the need to walk under and around my own tendencies to placate others' expectations.  All that mattered was that I met his.

As far as Drew goes, he's now much more talkative and likely to verbalize his opinions.  This is probably common in any relationship, because we're always more likely to talk when we have someone who values our words.  But, I tell you, this man used to be like Fort Knox to me.  That is, until he figured out that he had chosen a girl with a pathetic need for verbal validation.  Then he got talkative real quick.  Obviously not as talkative as me, because women use 17,000 more words a day than men, on average.  But you see what I mean.

Now, I don't disagree with The Color Code, because that book is like my third Bible.  (Blasphemous?  Borderline, probably.)  All I'm saying is love is its own creature.

*Alison Leigh Jones Photography Website, Blog. 

misc.

"Hope on. Journey on. 

Honestly acknowledge your questions and your concerns, 

but first and forever 

fan the flame of your faith, 

because all things are possible 

to them that believe."

-Jeffrey R. Holland

Drew finally came home yesterday, after deserting me*.  Which means I was actually able to get a good night's sleep for the first time in FOREVER.**

It's kind of pathetic, really.  I used to sleep alone every single night of my life and everything went fine.  Now I have to wear one of Drew's shirts and leave lights on, and not even that works.

Before Drew happened, I planned on living all alone in a classy studio apartment...in New York, or somewhere else edgy, until I was at least 28.  When I think about that now, I just laugh. 

Oh, and I didn't end up getting that promotion, in case anyone cares.  I took it harder than I should have, mostly because the news came on the week of the month where I'm incapable of handling most anything emotionally.  You know.

Seriously.  It was so dramatic.  The only thing I can compare it to is the feeling of getting dumped. Where you feel sad and heavy and sorry for yourself all day long.  And you might be able to take your mind off of it here and there, but then you remember.  And it's like you just heard the news for the first time all over again.  And you can't stop talking about it to everyone and anyone who gives you eye contact.  This can go on for any number of days.  And did.  But I'm better now.

If you're like me, and your guilty pleasure is acoustic guitar, poetic lyrics and haunting melodies, you should really listen to this guy.  He just released a new album, and I'm obsessed.  It's the perfect rainy day music, but I listen to it every other day too.  It makes Drew want to fall asleep.

I'm getting seriously annoyed with being a grown-up in the Summertime.  In any other season, it's still generally bothersome, but not nearly to this degree.  I need outdoor adventures involving tan lines, swim suits, sunglasses, questionably-colored lake water, boat fuel, and not wearing pants!  Don't you understand?  But I'm just sitting in a chair.  In jeans!

*going on a business trip
**meaning two whole entire days

this beautiful man.

Who I happen to be married to.

He's beautiful.

Growing up is packing all of your earthly possessions into boxes and wondering how your parents did this so many times.  Growing up is having a landlord who rides around your apartment on a bike, peeking in all of the windows.  It's forgetting what season it is because all you do is sit in a heated and air conditioned office all day.  Growing up is not even getting excited on payday, because BILLS, and knowing that at least half of your paycheck will be gone before you get a chance to calculate where to.

Growing up is acknowledging that you despise of something, and doing it regardless, because nobody else is going to do it for you.  And if they are, then what kind of grown-up are you, anyway?

Growing up also means eating cake at 10:30 pm, right after working out.  And with your bare hands because you already packed all of the eating utensils.  It's having a husband who still thinks you're at least somewhat appealing after you do such repulsive things.

 Sometimes it can be pretty cool, I guess.   Even when your life feels kind of up in the air and that's one of your least-favorite feelings because you have the type of personality that thrives in security.

“Don’t wonder why people go crazy.  Wonder why they don’t.  In the face of all we can lose in a day, in an instant, wonder what it is that makes us hold it together.”

      -Grey's (I know.  I'm obsessed.  It's okay.)

We're moving.  It's all happening pretty fast, and I'm a little bit sad about leaving our one-bedroom Love Shack.  With its big windows and convenient location.  But I know we'll be fine.  Which is so bizarrely positive of me.

Drew has definitely rubbed off on me.   It's bound to happen at some point, I guess.  When you eat, sleep, brush your teeth and have the majority of your conversations with a specific someone for a considerable amount of time.  Not complaining.

We'll be living in my brother's house for a few months (he and his wife are in Florida for the summer) while we find another place to live.  We're putting in an offer on a house that we're hoping and praying we get.  Perfect size, location, price, everything.

So, if you're at all religious, say a little prayer for us, yes?

If you aren't religious, cross your fingers or boil some herbs or whatever it is you think may bring us some good fortune.  Not that we're especially lacking in it.

It's just there's a garage and storage space and a yard!  A real yard with grass and trees!  Can you even imagine?  And this is really unlike me because I usually avoid talking about any potential good thing until it is a guarantee.  So...not sure what's happening right now.

 It's a pretty obnoxious process, moving.  Even though Drew does the majority of the heavy lifting.

But what were we supposed to do, leave our precious kitty out on the street?!

As if.

I got waxed this weekend.  I am going to spare you by avoiding specifications concerning where or why.  But you can probably do the math.  Swim suit season + vacation next week = ....pain.  Lots of pain.  I tell you, it was a looong winter.

As I'm laying there, wincing and trying hard to avoid screaming out in agony, I'm participating in one of my least-favorite things.  I've mentioned it here before.  They call it "small talk."  To be fair, the girl I was small-talking with was considerably less awkward about it than most people I come across.  But it still had it's moments.  I mean, you can only be so personable while experiencing such discomfort.

"So where did you meet your husband?"

"In high- OUCH! -I mean, high school!"

"Oh how sweet! How long have you been married?"

"Just a little - ah! - bit - AHH! - over a year!"

"Well that's great!  So you're still in the honeymoon phase?"

To be honest, I dislike this question.  Firstly, because it directly contradicts the whole, "The first year is the hardest!" warning I got about a billion times during our engagement.  I mean, which is it?  According to these geniuses who can't keep their marital advice to themselves, the past year of marriage was supposed to be more difficult than any other year to come, AND the most enjoyable because, of course, we're mentally still on our honeymoon.  As if we somehow brought the beach and the no-cost-to-us vacation home with us.

Secondly, because I never know how to answer.  If I say yes, I come across as a naive little twenty-something who won't tell her husband to wipe his urine off of the toilet seat for the sake of avoiding confrontation.  But if I say no, then what does that mean?  That I've finally "grown up" and learned the "hard truth" about marriage?  That it's just one big joke and no matter how hard you try, after this "honeymoon" narcotic wears off, complete repulsion for your spouse is inevitable?

Are you just asking me if I still like my spouse?  Because, yeah, I do.  If that means that I'm still in this so-called "honeymoon phase," then sure.  So be it.  What. ev.

The way I see it, each day that I wake up, still married and still true to my husband is my way of saying, "Hey husband, I'm happy that I married you, and I would marry you all over again if I had the chance."

I wouldn't say it's easy, exactly.  But I would say it's simple.

s c t t r b r n d

I know.  Cats.  I just like cats.  And the Husband, given.  Not sure which gets pictured more often here.

Next weekend is our anniversary.  The Husband and I, not the cats.  One year of marriage and nearly two of being a romantic unit of sorts.  Feels like much longer for some reason that I can't explain.  I was always so terrified of marriage.  It seemed to me like such a nerve-wracking gamble with the potential to end up such a mess.  Which, I mean, I guess it still could, but we do what we can to avoid that.  Keep things happy.  Except I don't even like that word, so I'll say real.  We keep it real.

Like this guy:

"Cause I'm keepin it real!"

good.

Let's just make believe for a moment that you aren't a dreamer who always assumes the best in every person and situation.  And that I'm not a skeptical misanthrope that doubts every good thing you say.  On second thought, let's not imagine that. Because if those things weren't true, I'm not sure what would have brought us together and kept us there with such force.

I've figured something out.

There is a terrible and malicious tendency inside of me to compare my life to everyone else's.  That isn't actually the thing I've figured out, because I already knew that about me and so did you.  Let's back up a bit.

Marriage is the best choice I ever made, but I've found that it also opened up a whole new region of things I could potentially feel insecure about.

What I've figured out is how to send this horrid tendency back to its miserable home, at least as far as my marriage is concerned.  As for the rest of my life...it's a work in progress.

You see, since I've been married, I've spent nothing short of an outrageous amount of time thinking things like this:

"We don't rock climb like them.  Why don't we rock climb like them?  Do we even like rock climbing?  I guess that makes us unbearably boring."

"They stay out later than us.  Does that make them more fun?  Should we be more fun and stay out late too?  I'm so tired."

"His wife has a master's degree.  Why don't I have a master's degree?  I'm clearly the worst wife ever."

"Wait, they cook?  We lose."

"They fight more than us.  We must not be open enough in our communication."

"They fight less than us.  Our marriage is doomed."

But I've found the solution, and that is serving my husband.  After my brain purges itself of all these irrational thoughts, I finally come to terms with the fact that the only thing wrong with my marriage is that I think something is wrong with my marriage.  I get proactive, and make efforts to do little things that I know will make him happy.  In turn, we are happier.  Suddenly, we're back to our roots.  To laughing every thirty seconds, to discussing musical trivia, to dreaming about our future, to waking up slow on Saturdays, to planning road trips for concerts, to dancing in the kitchen, to having what seems like unreasonable amounts of fun doing absolutely nothing.

Good for the rock climbers, and the stay-out-laters, the gourmet chefs, and the mater's degree earners.

Good for you, and good for us.

23rd.

Have you ever held a bunny?  I used to live next door to a farm when I was about five years old.  They had bunnies. I was fascinated with them.  I liked these bunnies to such a major degree that I ventured over to see them one day without telling my mother.  She must have gotten real concerned, because by the time I got back to our house there were police cars in the drive way.  She had called them to come and search for me.  I remember her hugging me and crying and telling me to "never ever go away without telling her again!"  Even if it was just to go hold the bunnies.

Bunnies are nervous creatures, to say the least.  When a bunny is handed to you, they are always kicking and squirming around with their little hearts beating faster than hummingbird wings, trying their hardest to get away.  In order to get them to calm down, you have to make them be still.  This can be a challenge. You have to get them in your arms and hold them real snug until they finally stop fighting.  That's when they quit their kicking and resisting and you can touch their soft ears and feel their heart beat gradually slow down.

This is how I see you and me.  I was like one of those nervous bunnies, and you had to get a good, firm hold of me and not let me go before I finally settled down long enough to realize that you had a hold on a whole lot more than just my resistant limbs.  You had a hold on my heart.

Happy birthday to my sweet, sweet man.  Thanks for making me sit still.

we live here.

Sometimes, when you live in our apartment, you hear a chainsaw going off at 6:30 in the morning.  We haven't quite figured out the reason why this chainsaw would be on and sawing about as loudly as possible at such an ungodly hour, but the non-negotiable fact is that it is.  And we just lay there, the helpless victims who want nothing more than to be able to sleep for an hour and a half more.

At roughly 12:30 am, it isn't rare to hear the girls that live above us walking into their apartment.  Unfortunately, in order for them to do this, they have to walk right past our bedroom window.  Their comings and goings are often accompanied by shrieks, loud exclamations, and louder boy companions.  One time, a group of these hoodlums were gathered directly outside our window, talking as if they were all at least half a mile away from each other.  Good heck.  I crawled across our bed, and Drew, to the window, pulled the blinds away and knocked very loudly.  I added a nice, "Shut uuup!" for a dramatic effect.  They all looked shocked, but followed my orders.  I'm sure I looked terrifying.

There are other times that we hear sirens.  We are fortunate enough to live in extremely close proximity to the fire and police departments.  This is a good thing because if we ever had a fire or a burglar, it would get taken care of at record speed.  This is bad because of the sirens.  I don't mind them too much, unless they go off when I'm trying to sleep.  Then it gets old.

Almost directly next door to our apartment is a convenience store.  Even for a convenience store, it is very convenient for us.  I have really enjoyed the benefits of living so close to this place (aka: chocolate and Diet Dew less than ten steps away at any time I darn well please), except for one time, the other day.  On this particular afternoon, a man had parked his black car outside of the store while he went in to do a little shopping.  The only problem was that he left the music playing in his car on, with the windows wide open.  Bigger problem, the music was played by some horrific metal band at full blast.  Let me repeat the fact that he wasn't even in his car.  The music was just echoing through our street.  He must have stayed inside for roughly twenty minutes, and I wanted to drive the car into the store.

We are also happy to report that we live right down the street from a lovely old bar.  That was sarcasm.  Some strange (and considerably inebriated) characters have been known to wander past our apartment, making obnoxious noises.  They also, at times, choose to break bottles and leave cigarette butts.  Lovely.  So lovely.

But, on the bright side, the rent is cheap, the windows let in lots of light, and our landlord recently blessed us with a new water heater.  It heats water in such a way that a warm shower can last for more than five minutes, and the bathtub fills up completely before the water gets cold.  Amazing.

genes.

Sometimes I get bitter.  High cheek bones, flawless olive skin, perfectly shaped eye brows that never need plucked, long eyelashes, thick, luscious, naturally wavy hair.  This much is considered typical in the Mulvey family. 

And I just think that it's completely unfair that his family has all of the good genes while I sit here with my impossibly white, acne-proned skin, fine hair, mediocre-length eye lashes and high-maintenance eye brows. 

But then I remember that I married this guy, so I get to look at him all of the time.  And he's going to make our children pretty, so I should stop complaining.

PS- Love you, Mom and Dad!  It's not your fault that you're so white.

you do and I do.

It was a busy weekend.  Friday night, I saw The Alabama Shakes.  I haven't seen such an impressive and acoustically flawless show in a long time.  All I can say is Brittany Howard is my hero.

Saturday morning, my family all piled into a 15 passenger van and headed for Vegas.  We were there to see my brother and sis-in-law's baby get blessed.  It was both wonderful and overwhelming to see everyone there.

Sunday night, Drew and I finally made it to our blessed bed.  It seemed to welcome us, to have missed us as much as we did.  I settled my head onto my favorite nook between Drew's shoulder and chest.  My eye lids growing heavy, heavy, heavier.  I heard him say, "This is the happiest place on earth."

I couldn't agree more.

wife of the year.

I like watching the same movies.  I like reading the same books.  I like coming home to the same man every night.  I like the fact that he's the only person I'll kiss on the lips for the rest of my life.

This time of year, people like to go on about cliches. And, honestly, I get it.  A cliche is anything that has become trite or commonplace through overuse.  They can be tiring.  Annoying.  Down right maddening.

But I guess I don't believe it's possible to overuse the things that you simply adore.  I love ice cream.  I love Sunday afternoon naps.  I love sushi.  I'm a sucker for acoustic.  I love my husband and the look on his face when I do or say something super girly that he simply does not understand.  Something tells me that I'll never get enough of these things.  I love these things.  How could there ever be enough of love?  That word itself seems to cancel out a passionate word like "love."  Enough passion?  Never.  Passion is what has created all of the things that make living seem worth it to me.

I'm well aware that a box of chocolates and a bouquet of roses is so completely done by now that you just want to die.  But I don't think I could find a girl that would turn them down, once presented to her.  I'm just sayin. To argue that cliches don't exist would be silly and unrealistic.  But I would argue that, by avoiding them completely, you'll miss out.  Some things are repeated for a reason.

Oh, and just in case your gag reflex hasn't had a sufficient amount of exercise just yet, here's what I did for Drew's V-Day present:

Yeah.  I wrote down a reason that I love him everyday from January 1, 2012 - Jauary 1, 2013.  And I know you may be dry heaving right now, but the Wife of the Year award is going to me and there is nothing you can do about it.

about us. for love-u-ary.

In honor of the grand month of love, Jessica over at The Lyons Den recently wrote a few posts about she and her husband.  I loved it so much that I decided to dig up this old draft that I had in queue and post the sucker.  Be sure to pay Jessica's blog a visit - she's hilarious as well as stylish and I guarentee you'll enjoy yourself.

-The first time Drew told me that he loved me, I didn't say it back.  What I said was, "Thanks..."  I know, how rude.

-We do not remember the first time that we met.  But did a lot of dating...around each other in high school.  That's right, he's kissed some of my old friends/acquaintances.  I have no problem with this because we weren't even involved at the time. But when I run into these girls in public places, I have to work hard to keep my mind from repeating, "You kissed my husband...you kissed my husband..."

-The conversation before our first kiss went something like this:

        Drew-  "Meg, I'm so terrified to kiss you."
        Me-  "Why is that?"
        Drew- "Because it's been two years and I'm out of practice and I've liked you since high school."
       Me- ...*Really lame and sheepish and nervous giggle*
       Drew- "But...what the hell, right?"

-That kiss happened on the first date to see Explosions in the Sky.  My very first first date kiss ever.  And last, I guess.

-He says that he's seen me as someone he could marry ever since he knew me.  I'm not sure if this is the truth or if he said it to make sure I stuck around.  Either way, it worked.  I'm still here.

-The day I decided I would marry him I was on a road trip to Las Vegas with some gal friends.  I don't generally enjoy Las Vegas, but we had to see Bright Eyes.  You understand.  Anyway, my car broke down in Kanosh.  Where even is Kanosh?  Drew showed up like a gallant knight in shining armor to save us damsels in distress.  Who could resist.  I also figured that his family must be pretty awesome considering that they lent us, a group of twenty-something girls, their car.  (And maybe this meant that they liked me a little and could possibly deem me worthy of their perfect son?  It was a long shot, but I was hopeful.)

-One time, while we were, uhh, courting? he had a dream that he shaved his beard, and woke up afraid I would break up with him.  I wouldn't have, I promise.  I only would have cried for a few hours.  Kidding.

-Drew is the first boy I've dated that my mother ever liked me with.  That's when I was sure something must have been different.  My mother is a tough critic.  Or maybe I just dated clowns.  It's probably a mixture of both.

-We basically fell in love in bowling shoes.

5 year plan.

Birthday sushi!

After Drew and I got married, we acquired a few house plants.  We decided that if we could keep ourselves alive while keeping these plants alive for at least six months, we'd consider getting a cat.

The eight month mark came along.  We're still alive.  We've gotten the hang of grocery shopping and panini-making and packing lunches and doing laundry.  (That is, when our apartment complex washing machines don't disappear out of nowhere for weeks at at time.) And the plants?  Still flourishing in their pots.  Needless to say, we're pretty proud of ourselves.

This was exciting as well because it meant that we could finally fulfill our wildest dreams and get a cat.  Really though, we love cats.  We planned on going to a bunch of different shelters to find the perfect kitty.  As it turned out, we ended up going to just one shelter.  And leaving with the first cat we saw.

Meet Boba.
My favorite thing?  Her pink nose.  

And if we can keep her alive for about four years, we'll maybe consider having actual children.  But no guarantees.

little pieces.

It just wouldn't be Christmas time without a few quality cram sessions on cello for the church program.  I'm kind of being sarcastic but kind of not.  It's always pretty awkward and I'm not good at being in front of everyone...doing things.  But there was one year I didn't do a musical number at church for Christmas.  It was odd.  Didn't feel right.

Just..falalalala, you know?

Cello is like the chocolate of the string instruments.  It's rich and dark and delicious.  I'm so glad my dad made me start playing, even when I whined.

We had a sink incident.  Our first one, isn't that so exciting!  At this moment, I had just gotten off the phone with our landlord and snapped at Drew cause I don't do well with listening to more than one person at once. Gives me the anxieties.  I felt pretty dumb for that, and saw how cute he was all manly-husbandish and stuff and had to snap a picture.

Just to make these real-life moments a bit more concrete.

To be fair, the sink didn't get fixed right then and there.  We had to get some help from Drew's dad who had prior experience and extra parts and then the sink got fixed.  Not sure what we'd do without our parents nearby.

We're such babies.

tree-decorating post.

Christmas cheer cannot exist without this album.

You're probably wondering if I have some irritated skin issue, causing a need for me to wear such baggy clothes.  No, I just look like that after work everyday.  Merry Christmas. 

It's our first Christmas as a married unit, and I've come to realize something:  I like this time of year exponentially more than I did before we were married.

Halloween is still better.

Our Little Dwelling

"If you feel discouraged, and there's a lack of color here, 

Please don't worry, lover; It's really bursting at the seems, 

absorbing everything - The spectrum's A-Z.." -Death Cab for Cutie

Drew and I are home bodies.  Which is fortunate, because our apartment is grand.  It's just the right size, and doesn't make you feel like you live in a cave.  The big windows let the light in all day long.

Occasionally, on a quiet day, you can hear the bells from a nearby church ringing.  It's kind of magical.  Not-quite-so-occasionally, and no matter how loud or quiet things may be, you can hear sirens blaring from the Police station, which is also nearby.

The alleyway on the side of our house provides for some good spying.  We suspect that our neighbor just might be having a scandalous affair with a married woman.  But you didn't hear that from me.  And it probably isn't true. 

Most people have some trouble finding the place.  Not because it's particularly difficult to find, quite the contrary.  But it just doesn't look like anyone lives here.

It's on a street with a post office, bar, convenience store, boutique, spa, and something else random that may be some type of payroll company or law firm or something boring like that.  The convenience store is my favorite part.  Diet Dew and chocolate are only ever a few hundred feet away. 

This is probably silly.  But one of the reasons I initially fell in love with this place were the arched doorways.  I mean, how charming is that?  I can't say I've ever loved straight lines.

There's just something about being home, don't you find?  Even though we won't live here forever, I find such joy in making this place more our own.  Making it feel as much like a home as we can while we're here.

And so I do funny girl things like hang twinkle lights and light candles daily and demand that Drew paints the mailbox and hangs up pictures and clocks.

We fill it up with good thoughts and good books and prayers and apologies and what good memories we've made thus far. Things, just little things, that say, we live here.  That this little space, is our little space.  The only little space in this world we can claim.

So why not love it?

Do you ever look around, notice a very, very attractive man coming your way....

 

Then come to the glorious realization that he's your husband?

I highly recommend it.