Happily Ever After

Once upon a time there was a girl who was scandalously young, and a boy who was terribly new to the adult world. They met at a birthday party, fell madly in love, went through a tumultuous serious of dating breakups and get-togethers, got married, and have been facing the challenges of the world side-by-side for the past sixteen years. Doesn't exactly sound like a typical fairytale romance, does it?

Today marks the sixteenth anniversary of when my husband and I first met. I was 15 3/4 years old. He was 18. At the time, we thought we had the world by the tail. Now, I cannot believe what absolute infants we were, a fact made all the more frightening since our oldest daughter is only four years away from being the same age I was way back then. Wow. According to statistics and every predictor imaginable, we should not have survived as a couple. There have been several times when even we didn't think we were going to make it. Yet, here we are. Still together. Still in love. How can such a non-fairytale beginning have led to a happy, successful marriage? I'll tell you how - fairytales are lies.

In the fairy tale, the hero rides in and saves the damsel in distress, sweeps her into his arms, and they ride off into the sunset.You'll notice, the author never follows them and shows what life is like five, ten or sixteen years later. There are a couple of very good reasons why. First off, damsels in distress (who are unable to rescue themselves, or put themselves in stupid situations to begin with) rarely make good wives. While it's true that wives will often find themselves facing daunting challenges, married life requires them to be able to slay many of their own dragons, fight many of their own daily battles, and still have supper on the table by 6:00. A helpless wife = a hungry hubby, which is not a pretty picture.

Secondly, husbands in real life are no less the hero to their fair ladies than the men in fairy tales are, though their respective defining qualities couldn't be more very different. Heroes in fairy tales expect to fight one epic battle, and be adored as the strong, silent type for the rest of their lives. In the real world, it is their dogged pursuit of the daily grind, and a willingness (no matter how difficult) to open up and communicate those messy little things called 'feelings' that makes a man appealing. A one-hit-wonder, wordless hubby = a wrathful wife. Also, not a pretty picture.

Don't get me wrong, I know couples who have had the fairytale romance. Their every 'first' was magical. Their every look was adoring. Their every role and duty, perfectly fulfilled. From the outside, their life was enviable and beautiful. However, very few of these couples have marriages and homes that are still intact. Turns out, riding off into the sunset as a storybook hero and damsel can really burn you in the end.

But, don't be discouraged. Fairytales are not the only books on the shelf, and there is hope when it comes to love. Just look at us! You see, I come from a long line of romantic rebels. They are the pirates and pioneers, discoverers and dreamers, ruffians and rogues of the soulmate story. One set of grandparents met on a blind date, where my grandmother rode 30 miles on the running board of a car - holding on for dear life - to have supper with the towering hunk she would marry a short time later. (A wedding that took place, by the way, just one day after her 18th birthday and graduation from high school.) They lived on the ragged edge of poverty - gambling their last quarter in a pool hall for a couple loaves of bread and some meat for the stew pot - before becoming the ordinary, solid, ho-hum progenitors I know them as today.

My other set of grandparents only dated for three months, and went to a burlesque show on their honeymoon. My mom and dad were high school sweethearts who married way too young and still hold hands when they take strolls together. Other notoriously-mismatched couples with inauspicious beginnings that are near and dear to my heart include a woman who broke off an engagement in order to pursue a man she had just met, a couple who corresponded for months and ended up getting married after having only seen each other once, and a fifteen year old who never believed in love at first sight until it happened to her. That last one, by the way, was me.

I can't say that I recommend the path that we have traveled. I know it's extremely unlikely for us to still be going strong. I don't advocate for very young couples, very short engagements, or correspondence courtships. Then again, I don't advocate against them, either -at least in some cases - since love can grow from very strange beginnings, and not even the time-honored fairytale romance has the formula exactly right.

For us, things have worked because we are stubborn against the troubles of the world, and yielding to each other. We are uncompromising in our commitment to our marriage, and spend a lot of time compromising on everything else. We are fierce fighters, and frequent forgivers. We pray together and play together. We say, "I love you" often, and "I'm sorry" even more so.  And, we try to enjoy every moment that we get in each others' company, just like we did sixteen years ago. Here's to my real hero husband and a life-long romance that is nothing like a fairytale.

Movement

I've missed you!!! Have you missed me? I don't know how it happened that this blog dropped off the face of the universe for four months. (17 weeks, give or take. Seriously, what was I thinking?) Worse yet, anyone unlucky enough to have actually chanced a visit or two in that duration was greeted with my last post, which was about my daughter getting sick.

So, there you have it. In my irresponsibility I have gone and left my Musings covered in puke for the past one hundred and twenty-three days. (That, by the way, is why we can't have nice things around here.) I understand if you're upset. But, before you boycott the blog entirely and nickname your neighbor's messy, lazy dog "Andrea", the least you can do is listen to my excuse. Here goes:

I, like many people my age, have been struggling to find myself. Or, reinvent myself. Or, get in touch with myself. Or, whatever new-fangled thing people call it these days. I don't think it's a mid-life crisis per se, but our family has definitely been in the process of trying to figure out who we are, who we're supposed to be, and how to cover the distance between. One thing my husband and I have discovered - we're not kids anymore, no matter how much we may feel like it inside. I have waxed eloquent [whined] in the past about what a shock it is to discover that you have become (much to your consternation and bewilderment) a full-fledged grown up. On the best of days, it can feel like swimming in jello from the moment your feet hit the floor in the morning until you fall into bed in an exhausted heap at night. More often, though - when the going gets really tough - adulthood is downright immobilizing.

Let's face it - isn't movement one of the things we're most concerned with, after all? Am I making progress? Am I getting anywhere? Did I take the gifts and talents I was given and use them to inch closer to my goals today? Did I move my little bundle of self and the unique treasure I contain a little bit further down the road?   Really, they're all terribly important questions, but also terribly hard to  answer. My problem, all too often, is allowing myself to believe that associating  with the 'right' movement will move me in the right direction. Sound like double talk? Allow me to give you a couple of examples.

I've always wanted to be a part of The Urban Homestead Movement. According to an article from the 'Edible East Bay' e-zine, it's a movement that's come of age. How exciting! Sounds perfect for someone like me, who is also coming of age, so to speak. What draws me to this movement is their advocacy for local sustainability, wise use of the land, back-to-basics lifestyle choices, reinvention of traditional community values, and a dress code the typically includes bib overalls and floppy hats. These are people who are speaking my language - let's keep things simple! I did a bit of research and was almost convinced to sell everything I own except my canning jars and garden tools, and move to an old abandoned warehouse in downtown Chicago, when I smelled a rat.

You see, Urban Homesteading is becoming more and more popular. So popular, in fact, that people are now arguing (threatening lawsuits, if you can imagine) over who started the thing in the first place. And, since the two main contenders in this 'which came first' battle have slightly different approaches and ideals, their followers passionately and emphatically choose camps just as readily as they do. There are "Blumian" Urban Homesteaders, and "Dervaes" Urban Homesteaders, among many others. Seriously? How would I choose? What if I found myself (just like in a scene from Westside Story) facing down a gang of known Blumies, ready to steal my garden gloves and spill my seeds, just for being a Dervee? I mean, just think of the possible ramifications of wandering into the aquaculture building of a rival homesteader on accident on your way to a farmer's market. Do I really want to throw my lot in with people who think they can trademark and capitalize on back-to-basics and bib overalls? Hmmm....

Ok, so the Urban Homestead Movement is out, at least in its entirety. I can still follow the Organic Movement, the Slow Food Movement, the Homeschool Movement, the Unschool Movement, the Attachment Parenting Movement, or a million others that have tangents that interest me. Better yet, I can go to Wikipedia and get a list of over 100 other recognized social movements. Surely one of them will be the perfect fit - right?

Can you see why I haven't had time to blog? It seems that the act of seeking of the right and perfect movement to follow will ultimately leave you spinning your wheels. Now, I'm not saying there aren't good things to be found in each of these pursuits. And, I'm certainly not mocking the dedicated, sincere individuals who keep such important goals, traditions, and lifestyles alive. In fact, it is within these many movements that we can most often find the encouragement, support, fellowship, and inspiration to move our own lives further down the road each day. Plus, I will be eternally in debt to the Urban Homestead Movement (whoever may have started it) for making floppy hats fashionable again. Thank you.

Ultimately - and, here's the important part - the problem with joining any movement is that my path is not your path. And, I'm becoming more and more convinced that there ain't no way that we're all meant to herd together and roam around in packs our whole lives. We may have the opportunity to walk together for a while, or have a similar route or destination, but just as each of us has a unique and special treasure within, we also have a unique and special road to follow.

That, my friends, is really what our family has spent the past four months pondering. Thanks for your patience during that time. I don't know that I have answers to give or any real light to shed on the subject. All I can tell you is this - I appreciate the role each of you has played in our journey this far, and we'll keep you posted step-by-step as we learn more. I sure hope you'll do the same for us.