We are happy.
The plans are set. We will get married on the Staten Island Ferry next month.
No pomp and circumstance, because we have other things to do. We’ll head out to Rome in the evening and spend a week there. The tickets are booked. Sometime in May or thereabouts we’ll have family and friends gather for a sock hop at the diner with 50s music. No black ties, just smiles and eventually cheesecake. We hope everyone will come and spend a couple of days in New York.
A marriage isn’t about setting up one moment to be just right. We don’t want that at all.
It’s the daily slog and churn of events. Mundane things like groceries and gas in the car, dealing with the boys. And talking through the wee small hours because conversation is a comfort like nestling in to one another is a comfort. These are things we know, and know well from this past year.
We’ve both left jobs, changed jobs, have had to deal with significant changes from former spouses, and help our sons grow up. It’s been a busy few seasons.
We’ve driven thousands of miles, just because we wanted to see each other and a week was too long to let pass. Four hundred miles round trip, repeated as necessary until our driver licenses had the same address and state of issue. The four of us stood outside and watched Chris’s old car get towed away as a charitable donation. We don’t need two cars.
The little blue civic took us up to Maine and back. It brings us to the ferry and the boys to tutoring. Mom and Dad come by often as well. They understand that trips to visit family in Massachusetts can take four to eight hours to get home thanks to slow downs on highway. We go together to make the ride more enjoyable.
The nice challenge that children bring to relationships is a lack of layers. Helping the boys grow is not a one time task, it constantly evolves. And we navigate between being a couple and being parents. The boys tease us for being affectionate, but they are pleased.
So Ryan gets lifted up and carried off to bed with giggles. The cat follows behind the two of them. Thomas shares his plans for snowblowing in the morning with Grandpa Joe. They both come back in to talk for a few more minutes.
The lights go out. We wander from our conversation into sleep. For the two of us we feel like we are finally home. In some ways this year has been first time that either of us has experienced it.
