… on wedding planning …

I wasn’t one of those little girls who planned and acted out her future wedding. I was a hopeless romantic —  don’t get me wrong — I spent hours getting lost in stories about great love. I never wanted to be a princess, but I wanted a guy who realized he didn’t want to be without me.

B and I had a conversation about romance before we got engaged, and we realized that his perception of romance and mine were two different things. He ranted about girls who wanted romance because he saw these big romantic gestures that, to him, just seemed like such a lie. Some guy going out of his way to proclaim this big love just to make a girl swoon. My idea of romance is that his parents hold hands when we hang out together, or when B pokes my nose in the middle of a conversation, or that we talk about our future as we chop vegetables in the kitchen for dinner.

This the type of romance that I want people to see when we get married. We’re not there to put on a coordinated performance of beauty and this perfect love. That’s not what we have. What we have is nerdy and awkward sometimes and whimsical and quietly sweet. It’s bocce ball and cribbage. It’s being surrounded by the people who have made us who we are and who will be there to support us both in happy wedded bliss and in the trying times ahead. It’s not about an expensive designer gown. It’s not about seating charts and place cards. It’s not about a coordinated colour palate. It’s about Journey and lawn games. It’s about people being excited to be there and wearing clothes they’re comfortable and happy in. It’s about remembering all those “someday” plans and promises and officially becoming a family.

These are the things I have to remember when a vendor or potential marriage commissioner scoffs about our future plans.“But I’ve gotten so many compliments on my ceremony — why would you ever want to change it!? What do you mean you’re not going to have chair covers?” Just as in our everyday lives, the goal is to surround ourselves with people who are open and thoughtful and fun. We’re getting there.

{photo by Andrea}

Tags: love

Out with the old, in with the new (year)

2011 was good to me. I graduated with my masters, B and I moved out of the condo and into our cute little house in the best neighbourhood ever, we went on little weekend trips (the most exciting of which was San Francisco), and we celebrated four years together by getting engaged in beautiful Lake Louise. 2012 will be just as exciting; I watch my baby sister walk down the aisle in May, and we’ll party with all of our family and friends in September. I look forward to making our house more homey, and to planning elements of our wedding that truly reflect us. Already, I’m floored by the sheer number of family members who are planning to travel across the country to celebrate with us.

This week, we’ve been relaxing at the rink watching Canada excel at the World Junior’s hockey tournament. If this is any indication of what the coming year(s) will be like, I say bring it on.

Time has flown …

Time has flown by, and yet it feels like we’ve been engaged forever. We’re figuring out a venue and photographers and I’m dreaming of a day that feels something like how Laura’s looks. I’m excited to go home and see my family in a few weeks and I get giddy every time someone spots my ring for the first time. I look at it in the middle of typing an email at work and just think about how lucky I am — what a random course of events it was that brought me to this place, and this person, and these friends, and this life.

[Our first Christmas tree]

“I needed a day with 25 hours in it to tell you how much I love you.”

on adventure

Photo taken on my iPhone, right before landing in Victoria, BC.

Every flight I’m on always reminds me of the trip I made to move from my small town in Ontario to the wild wild Alberta west. I had never been to this part of the country before — not even for a visit — but with no apartment, no allies, and the promise of a writing test, I bought a one-way ticket and packed my life into the allowed two suitcases. Flights mean the promise of adventure, starting over, learning new things about myself.

I might enjoy flying more than vacation itself, partly because of the exhilaration of take off, the feeling I get while being above the clouds watching the sun come up, and the way my life flashes before my eyes as I brace myself for the bumps of landing.

Four years ago, I went on a first date with B, and when our relationship flashes through my mind there is not a single moment that I would change. Before B, I got bored quickly with every boy I dated; maybe it helps that we’re so different — the writer and the engineer. When I look back on our life together, it feels like we never really left the honeymoon stage. Our fights are few and show that we are passionate about both our beliefs and each other. We hold hands. We are constantly learning new things about each other, like our shared love of beets and our varying opinions on romance. We support each other’s interests. I genuinely like talking to B, and miss him when he’s gone. We have figured out how to communicate without pissing each other off or causing tears (the tears are all mine). We play games (of the board, video, and card variety). We grocery shop and make dinner together. My favourite nights are those we spend just hanging out together with a bottle (or two) of wine. We drink a lot of wine. We get along well with each other’s families. We talk about our days and dream about the future. I’ve learned that, just maybe, that’s what this whole love thing is all about.

Happy anniversary, love.

Four years ago yesterday

I gave him a black eye, and then I kissed him. I credit the contents of that red cup for giving me the ability to look past his awful facial hair.

Home is wherever I’m with you

Two months ago, we moved into our little house on the prairie. While we were unpacking, walking down the street to football games, and traveling to and from weddings and events across western Canada, the final months of summer breezed by. Our yard has lost a battle against an army of acorns, pine cones, and yellowed leaves. We finally found a way to put back the cupboard doors that we painted in the kitchen (oh the agony of finding parts for an older house), and the refrigerator now has all of its shelves intact. We walk around the neighbourhood and talk about our dream dog, share smiles and hellos with neighbours, and sip coffee on the patio at the nearby bookstore. Fall has me wanting to knit giant scarves or blankets for our living room (to complement the heat from our 43-year-old furnace), though the only yarn in my stash is sock-weight. Fall has me preparing to settle in for the long, cold, Alberta winters: I dream about paint, decor, and making our house feel like a cozy little home. I fear that winter will be here before I can accomplish everything I want to (like planting spring bulbs along the side of the house), so I’m trying to revel in fall activities, weather, and food (apple crisp and butternut squash soup) before that time comes.

What I’ve learned is not to change who you are, because eventually you’re going to run out of new things to become.

Taylor Swift

Rawr

Brad and I outside of the T.Rex Discovery Centre in Eastend, Saskatchewan.

Summer brings warm weather and farmers’ markets, but it also brought boxes, moving, weddings and other parties, and visits with family friends. While these things are enjoyable on their own, they add up to a stressful whirlwind of events and adventures. They mean missing nearly all of the football games we have season tickets for (we haven’t been to a game together this summer, yet). They bring stress over hinges that haven’t been made since the 1960s, a refrigerator missing (expensive) parts, and a dryer that literally tears clothes apart.

When life is constantly throwing expensive balls in the air for you to juggle and determine which ones to focus on and which ones to let fall, it’s hard to focus on the good. It was nice to take a weekend, even one with 14 hours worth of driving involved, to spend time together without the hectic demands of summer. We watched/listened to a lot of football, caught up on podcasts, picked blueberries by the side of the road, played cards, and visited a dinosaur museum with a disappointing lack of tyrannosaurus rexes on display. The weather this week is expected to be more reminiscent of summer than anything we’ve experienced thus far but, quite frankly, I’m ready for fall.

A new chapter

Our condo building, in the bright morning sun.

M.A. (in communications) has been added after my name, and B and I bought a house in Marshall McLuhan’s old ‘hood – a delightful coincidence. While thoughts of our cheery, new (to us) bungalow and the sweet apple tree in our backyard have me wishing for August, I’m also a bit sad about leaving the condo.

I remember the condo back when it was peach-toned, with photos of bears wrestling in cheap Walmart frames. I remember B making me weekend breakfast early on in our relationship, after I had started staying the night. I was so impressed with his omelette skills. We got to know each other by spending entire days in the living room playing Rock Band. We chat about our days as we make supper side-by-side in the kitchen. Our oven is my nemesis, but we’ve come to understand one another; it will patiently deal with batches of cupcakes, but heaven forbid I try baking cookies.

I remember the first time I realized just how much I cared for B, on a Sunday night during a snowstorm when I was stranded at his place. He braved the cold and the snow to try to dig his car out to get me home, but the car just wouldn’t budge. We cuddled on the old futon to warm up while I checked bus schedules, and he wrapped me in his arms at the bus stop while we waited for the number 10.

The condo has gone from being B’s place to being our place. The futon has long since disappeared, plants are taking over, and we painstakingly picked out shades and repainted nearly all of the rooms (the laundry room is the only reminder of B’s peach-hued bachelor days). We’ve hosted barbeques here with friends spilling out on the lawn , met one another’s families, and celebrated major milestones (most recently, B’s 30th birthday).

The condo will always be the first place we lived in together, but the bungalow will be our first place. We will make s’mores at the fire pit in the back yard, bake desserts using the apples from our tree, plant herbs and vegetables in our little garden. We will get to know our neighbours, be part of a community, and start the next chapter of our lives under this roof.

I’m excited about what the future holds; I may just shed a tear or two as I turn the page.