I wake slowly and easily, becoming self-aware several minutes before I open my eyes for the first time of the day. Morning light dimly spills through the stained glass windows and cast a soft glow around the room and across the bed. I slide one foot backwards and feel the cool emptiness on the other side of the king-sized bed; my Beloved is already up and about. Of course, I know that already. Floating up the stairwell is soft music, not quite classical, not quite jazz, fingered softly on a hollow-body jazz guitar. It echos upwards, resonating on the plaster walls and red-oak floors, finding its way from the first floor studio, down the dark hall, up the twisty old stair case, across the tiny landing and into our inner sanctum of rich blue walls, creamy comforters, filmy drapes, sensual candles, and sexy art.
There is no discernable melody line, just a continuous, harmonious jumble of notes and rhythm that I’ve come to call “noodling.”
I lay still and smile. I always smile when I hear this music.
After a few minutes enjoying the sound, luxuriating in the sheets while I listen to my favorite person engaged in his favorite pastime I start to roll around, stretch, and of course make the accompanying cooing noises that go with a good morning stretch.
The music stops. Soon I hear the quiet padding of feet on the creaky stairs and I know that my morning wake-up ritual is well underway. Depending on my mood or the deepness of my prior slumber I may wiggle in anticipation or sprawl languidly further across the bed. His dark form fills the doorway (without my glasses on I can only assume that it’s his dark form, but after ten years I’ve accepted the pattern) and he rejoins me in our bed.
Him: “Good morning [insert totally hokey pet name here]. “He eases into perfect position behind me and wraps an arm around my waist.
Me: “Good morning [insert companion-y, cutsey, adorable, embarrassing name here].” I squeeze his arm and press backwards.
From there the routine has options — slow snuggling, playful teasing, impatient playmate, or often more, ahem, robust activities. We may talk about our work, what he’s been reading in the blogosphere since 4:30 in the morning, practical issues of the day, or general nothingness. When he’s confident I’m up and at ’em, he returns downstairs. I wash my face, don my comfy morning attire, and head down the same creaky stairs to my awaiting cup of coffee.
That, ladies and gents, is my standard morning routine — brought to me by: my Beloved, AKA Mike. There are no harsh alarm buzzers blasting me out of bed, no annoying morning radio shock jocks screaming innanities in my gentle ears, not even some well-intentioned but apparently clueless “hubby” yelling at the bottom of the stairs “Hey honey, get your ass up! It’s 6:30 already!” Oh no. Not for me. My morning routine is a thing to be envied.
I’ve been asked what it’s like to be married to Mike and really, the first 15 minutes of every day pretty much sums it up. My life is made easy, almost perfect, by the guy I happened to marry.
Now before you start puking at the saccharine sweetness of the previous paragraphs there is also a clue hidden in there of the single biggest challenge (from my perspective at least) to our complete domestic bliss. But I’ll get to that later. For now…. let’s chat about Mike. And in a way…. me. (Oh yes, there is always plenty of me, me, me in my blog. Don’t act all surprised.)
You see, in addition to our morning together-time, Mike and I work together, from our home, in a small, mostly two-person company. Oh yes, folks, we truly are the 24/7 couple. Together. All day. All night. And all the time in between. I really don’t know many people who could do what we do. In fact, we shouldn’t be able to do what we do. But never-the-less, here we are.
Him: “Are you getting more coffee, sugar-plum?” He raises his empty cup in the air and shakes it.
Me: “Of course, sweetheart! Would you like me to get you some, too?” I grab the cup and head to the kitchen for a couple of refills.
After our morning wake up routine we generally go for a bike ride. We might have about 45 minutes apart if it’s one of my weight training days but after that it’s 45 minutes to an hour biking our local trail, more chatting and laughing.
For those of you not lucky enough to personally know Mike, the man is funny. But not in the brash, obnoxious “hey-look-at-me,-ain’t-I-funny?” kinda way. No, he’s a subtle guy, with a dry wit and a dryer delivery.
This morning on the trail, a woman walking a small dog on a leash and dragging an enormous (like, ten feet long) limb. As we rode past he deadpanned “If that woman expects her dog to fetch that stick, well, that’s just fucking cruel.” As I giggled past the woman he continued “Of course, if she can throw it maybe I’m underestimating the dog, too.”
After the bike ride it’s back to the house (or out to a yummy local restaurant) for breakfast then showers and off to work! A few steps later he is in his office and I’m in mine, about fifteen feet apart. Now for the most part, he and I don’t actually do the same things in our company but our success — financial, emotional, and otherwise — is completely dependent upon being able to work together, in a creative, academically rigorous, and technically challenging atmosphere. There is no safety net, no “day job,” no guarantee of income. If we don’t work together, and work fucking well together, then we don’t eat, pay the mortgage, put gas in the car, support the insurance companies, or any of the other things having a little scratch in your account is supposed to do.
Let’s just say, the workplace isn’t a “safety valve” for our relationship.
Him: “Two square feet, woman! Can you give me two square feet of space? Go stand over there! ” He points at the far corner of the room and as we’re both trying to feed something “important” into the fax machine.
Me: “But how can I smooch up on you if I’m all the way over there? No, no [insert pet name], that’s too far away. Besides, you might need me at any moment.” I hip check him out of the way and fax my much more important document first.
But our workplace is almost always pure bliss. Working with Mike is a joy as anyone who’s ever worked with him in the past can attest. He’s easy to get along with, self-motivated, creative, and damn good at what he does. He’s a steady-Eddie. He really should get a raise.
We also have almost complete control over our time so if we want to knock off at 2pm on a Tuesday and go see a movie, we do. If I need to grocery shop or he wants to work in the yard and the work is caught up no one says we can’t. Sometimes we want to take a break and have a little (ahem) more robust entertainment, so occasionally we do that too. Since we may be talking about marketing plans at 5:00 am and fielding calls from clients at 9:00 pm we don’t feel guilty about how we spend our time as long as everything is getting done. And really, that’s partly Mike’s doing (getting things done) and my contribution (not feeling guilty.)
So the day moves on and we move with it. We prefer to cook and eat at home and we both share the joy and responsiblity of cooking, though I’m pretty much the family’s shopper. We usually hang out in the kitchen together or on the deck while one or the other is cooking or manning the grill. A glass of wine, a bottle of beer and more chit chat and laughter. Dinner is most often served side-by-side at our low coffee table where we plop down in comfy cushions, toast each other and kiss prior to eating, and then proceed to enjoy delicious, lovingly prepared REAL food. More laughter and giggles ensue.
Me: “More vino!” I raise my glass high in the air and wait to be served.
Him: “Jeezus, you Scots really can put it away,” he obliges my wish and eyes the soon to be empty bottle.
Between supper and bedtime, Mike will usually return to his studio for some more noodling — or depending on his mood — window rattling, foundation-shaking, filling-loosening rock and roll. If you know what I mean when I say (with a British accent) “Yeah, but this one goes to eleven” you’ll know what I mean.
Me: “The Closer!”
Him: “Mad Men!”
Both: “TiVo!”
If we decide to watch a little TV Mike will almost always fall asleep on the couch, no matter what his interest level in the program is. (He denies this. Claims he just “dozing.” Ha!) The key here is that we’re almost always on the same couch, in our usual TV watching positions: me on the end, him with a pillow on my stomach and his body and head laid out between my legs, usually with him wrapping an arm around my thigh and holding it like a Teddy Bear. I love this particular position even when my hip joint is screaming and my leg is falling asleep. I won’t freakin’ move unless I’m about to wet my pants.
When it’s time to call it a day, we head back up the creaky stairs for a little pre-bedtime reading.
Me: “A couple of chapters and I’ll be out like a light!” I open my murder and mayhem mystery book (Montinari, Kellerman, Crais, Connelly, etc., etc., etc.,) and prepare to relish every word.
Him: “Yeah, me t….” Snore. A paragraph or two into Tom Robbins and the book falls to his chest.
When it’s time to sleep I turn off the lights and he magically comes to enough to ease into perfect position behind me and wrap an arm around my waist. I squeeze the arm and press backwards.
Me: “Good night [insert perfectly precious pet name here]. I love you more than I did this morning. You are my everything.”
Him: “Good night [insert sweetest, gentlest, most loving expression]. I love you. I can’t image my life without you.”
We giggle a little more. Often, depending on our mood, we may opt for a more, ahem, robust evening ending. And then off we drift to sleep.
Every. Single. Night.
So I mentioned back at the beginning of this tome something about a hint of a challenge: I have this perfection EVERY DAY. What kind of idiot would ever, EVER, find fault with this life?
Well, here’s the big reveal: Mike and I are complete opposites. He values security and responsibility which makes him an awesome if predictable husband. I value adventure and variety, which (apparently) makes me an interesting though challenging wife. Even perfection, if served up daily, is hard for me to appreciate in a way that most people think that I should. Our differences are not easy to overcome. For example:
He is a true introvert who recharges and re-energize by being alone. I am a true extrovert who recharges around people. I’m never more “up” than when I’m out and about, at a gathering or a party mixing it up with folks; he’s usually checking his watch and the door looking for the best time to make a respectable exit. That’s not to say he doesn’t enjoy himself. He does. But the experience of socializing leaves him fatigued. In an absence of social outlets, I am abjectly miserable.
He is a worker; I am a planner. Through our entire life together I’m almost always the one to come up with schemes ideas and he’s the one who makes them happen — starting our business, buying and renovating our house, hell, getting married in the first place (that’s another story for another time). But he gets it done; whatever “it” is, provided of course, that he wants to do it.
Him: “Why the hell do you have to want everything?”
Me: “Why the hell don’t you want anything?”
Both: “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
He is content with life, with me, and with all that we have and have achieved. I am not; instead always itching to know what’s next, what’s new, what can be changed, what should be improved. I am an explorer, an insatiable student of life, a craver of human experiences. I want “more” of whatever there is to be had. He, to his credit, is content with “enough” of what we already possess.
How do two people, so deeply in love as we, reconcile this difference for another 30 or 40 years? How do we continue to grow as individuals and as a couple? How do we fulfill our dreams without creating a nightmare for the other when even perfection is not enough?
Don’t know. Not a clue. But we continue to giggle and snuggle our way towards a more perfect union; twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. We talk, we laugh, and on rare, rare occasions, we fight. But mostly we each try every day to do what we do best for each other: I am his spark that brings more to his life than he ever imagined; he is my foundation upon which I am able to safely realize my dreams. What could be more perfect than that?
What a lovely beautiful inspiring thing to read. Just wonderful. Perfect, indeed.
Thanks Goose and I’m glad you enjoyed it. Compliments from you are a treasure. S
This is absolutely wonderful. My husband and I don’t own a business together, but the characteristics (need for change vs. stability) you named for each of you almost parallels exactly our personalities. That is amazing. We, too, find a way to balance it somehow. And, I also have no idea how we do it. 🙂 This is very inspiring. Thanks for sharing it.
Thanks for coming by Cristy! I was over at your blog and love the novel writing thing your doing. What a great and challenging idea! I missed the start of this one, but I’ll definitely do the next! 🙂 Best, Stasha
What a wonderful, yet interesting story about two people who actually love and care about one another even through there are differences to consider. These days it is hard to find couples who actually do try to get it right. I am very happy that you both love and really care enough about one another to find that one part of you that can complement the other. It is very rare and you two are very lucky to have found it. Keep the love alive.
Thanks Kay and I’m glad you enjoyed it. I do disagree with one point you make though: I think most people love and care about their partners and work hard to ensure their relationships are joyous. It’s easy to find these people as it’s pretty much everyone you see. The problem is that so many of us just don’t know how to get it right so our efforts are ham-handed at best and frustrating or futile at worst. Add in the obstacles and idiocies that life throws at us on a daily basis and it can put the kibosh on even the “luckiest” of people.
You are right though that Mike and I compliment each other (in fact, we say nice things every day! hehehe) but seriously, we really do. But even though we know our strengths as partners there are moments when I swear he feels more like an anchor holding me back than a foundation supporting me. And there are certainly days when I appear to him to be a lunatic trying to burn down the house than a spark of inspiration.
Our worst traits are our best traits taken a step or two too far.
BTW – this is such a long reply because I’ve gotten several private emails from folks who also have the impression that Mike and I are rare, or special, or in some way “different” than most folks so part of this response is for them. Thanks for giving me the opportunity to hopefully make this point.
Best,
Stasha
Stasha. So speechless. Thanks for sharing this sweet story.
And you know Mike! Always glad to see you here, sister! “Anything Fits a Naked Man” is a regular part of my reading repetiore now. Oh and the Holidays are upon us. Break out those fantastic Christmas sweaters!!! NO ONE pulls it off like you!
XO
Stasha
Stasha, it’s official:
You have The Best Morning Routine EVER.
Congratulations on a happy life, my dear!
Always great to see you here Kel. Thanks for the compliment. As Mike says, I am “ruined! Ruined, I tell you!!”
All the best and I’ll see you over at your blog soon. I gotta keep up on the action in Shreveport.
Best,
Stasha
Wow!!! You are blessed!!! Your writing is beautiful and inspiring. I love your blog.
Hi Carrie! Glad you came by. And you, m’dear, are a knitting fool! 🙂 Loved the socks! Who but the great knitting ledgend Carrie W. could produce a first time reducing gusset with such finesse? And the pics of the property in KY are beautiful. You’re right, the only thing you need to add (well, in addition to a house) is a herd of Alpaca’s and flock of chickens. And maybe a loom.
See ya soon!
S