I married The Deputy, this is what our life looks like.
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
Let's run away from this place.
We made it through Thanksgiving successfully! Our very first married Thanksgiving and our very first hosted-at-our-house Thanksgiving, all rolled into one. I like to be efficient.
Anyways, I was mostly excited just to get Thanksgiving done with. Not because I was worried or stressed, but because to me Thanksgiving isn't an actual holiday. Sounds terrible? I know. But it's more like the giant meal you eat just to get enough energy to decorate the house for Christmas! I'm actually considering ditching the "Happy Thanksgiving!" all together and just teach my kids that it's really "Happy Put Up The Christmas Tree Day!". I can't help it. I have an unnatural love for all things Christmas. It's a sickness.
So needless to say, our Christmas tree is up. And I love it. Even if used the term "scraggly" behind it's back. It was meant as a term of endearment. The same way you call a dog "scruffy" or your nephew "Jack Jack". Everyone knows you mean it out of love.
I'm enjoying my first holidays as official Mr. & Mrs. and finding out how much fun husbands can be. I'm also discovering just how differently our minds work. And being married to a LEO means he doesn't have just a regular man-mind, he has a man-mind-extra strength.
For example: We were driving home the other night, listening to music, being quiet...when he turns to me and says, "Babe?" And I know he wants to talk about something serious. I know by now that he's not going to finish that sentence with, "Do you know what I love about being married to you?" or "Did you know that I've been thinking about running away with you and living inside a perfume commercial?" but what I don't expect is: "Do you know the quickest route to get out of your work, in case something bad happens?" I literally had no words. Just a blank stare and a momentary freak out in my brain while all the possible ways someone could kill me rushed through my imagination. (I'm a bit of a worrier sometimes)
Not to mention the dinner conversations about where to aim if you're trying to shoot someone in the chest. Or waking up to the washing machine running at 6 am, laying bed with a bad feeling he came home with blood on him...just praying it was someone else's, and at the same time hoping it's just on his clothes, not somehow in his mouth or eyes. Or trying to think of the perfect Christmas gift (along the lines of swanky cuff-links) only to have him send you the link to a law enforcement supply company. Shouldn't I have know to start there?!