This thing called marriage.

This thing called love marriage. It tough, yo.

You go through the honeymoon stage, the adjusting to married life stage, the adjusted good stage, the seven-year itch stage (which is really a good 2 years, the year leading up to 7 years and the 7th year) and the things are good again stage.

Then you hit the what the hell is going to happen next stage.

I’d describe this stage as one day it’s great, one day it sucks, one day it’s fine, one day it’s all of everything combined into one. And when you think you’re moving into a really good stage (you know, like when you’ve had 2 good days in a row), BAM! Gardening happens.

You’d think being married for nearly 12 years, and gardening for the majority of that time, would make Spring easier. But I nearly left the house about 5 minutes ago because of a darn labeling disagreement on our transplants I worked on the last 2 days during what Lucas likes to call a nap. (*I* call it a “quick little get Mommy excited that I might take a nap” piece of crap nap.)

Adam and I think very differently. Surprisingly, since we’re both analytically minded. (He’s a CPA and I’m a finance gal.) But he’s very black-and-white, reads exactly what’s written, says things without regard for the tone of his voice. Me? Um, I’m 50 shades of gray, very rarely not reading into everything, and I think tone says more than words.

So when I didn’t label the plants the way he understood and thought they should be labeled, it hit the fan. Because he didn’t like the way I did it, and I couldn’t understand why he just couldn’t let it be. It was so lame, really, looking back, but during the “argument” I couldn’t figure out how the hell we’ve stayed married this long. And how we’re supposed to be married the rest of our lives.

But that’s the thing about marriage. It’s for the rest of our lives. Crap and all. And while some days suck and some days are great and some days I don’t know what the hell is going to happen, I committed my life to Adam.

And I’m glad I did. While we may not agree on TONS of things and have completely different opinions on nearly everything, the man loves me. That I know. And *that* I’ll hold on to.

linking up with Just Write.

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