Recently, my wife and I celebrated 11 years of marriage, which as you no doubt know is the illustrious steel anniversary. And we partied like all parents of 3 young kids do . . . by having dinner together . . . after bedtime. . . drinking in moderation. We sat there, reflecting on the length of time that we’ve known each other. Married 11 years, dated 4.5 years before that, and friend zone for 6 months prior for a sum total of 16 years. Yup, you read that correctly, I escaped the dreaded friend zone, but it took a duplicitous scheme involving Crowded House, Valentine’s Day, the Vagina Monologues, a hot tub, and another girl to do so. Wow, that previous sentence sounds juicy. Perhaps a future post will tell the wooing of Emily Conover story in its entirety. Anyway, the point of us talking about our longevity as a couple, was the realization that we’re now old, have been together a long ass time, and that our lives are so intertwined that even childhood memories have now been distorted to include one another. In fact, I’m pretty sure I also played horse in her parents’ basement, and I don’t mean the basketball game, but actually pretended to be one . . . something they still did in high school. And so, in honor of this most holy of anniversaries, I’ve decided to go rogue and instead, present the top 5 reasons why she still “steels” my heart after so many, many, many, years.
Her command of the English language:
Having studied a couple of foreign languages, I totally get how difficult it is to communicate in your non-native tongue. And English, with our crazy spelling and homonyms, breaks all the rules. Except, in this case, she’s exclusively an English speaker. But I think it’s adorable now that Miles can spell that we can hold family spelling bee competitions between the two of them. My favorite though is how she handles idioms which instead of avoiding, she utters with such confidence that you just want to give her a hug. Consider these common idiomatic expressions and then Emily’s version:
|The actual idiom||Emily’s version|
|Hit the nail on the head||Kill two birds with one nail|
|Pot calling the kettle black||This suit is not black|
· Barking up the wrong tree
· Beat around the bush
|Barking up the wrong bush|
I don’t even know what to say on that last one.
Her disdain for watching sports:
I don’t think I’ve ever known someone with such a visceral loathing to sports. To be fair, Emily likes playing them and can tolerate a live sporting event, but when it comes to passive viewing, like DARE, her policy is just say no. And I mean active avoidance and shutdown like she would if I tried to discuss plans or her cell phone rang. I think I even asked her to read Fever Pitch at one point so she could understand fandom at any level, but to her it’s just plain dumb and doesn’t matter. And wow, fantasy football, I think that takes it to a new level for her on the who gives a shit meter. And I totally get it, I really do. Because obsessing over Jane the Virgin is the meaning of life.
She can interpret IKEA directions:
I understand that on a plane, there’s limited options when it comes to an evacuation route and thus why the directions are all in pictures. But when it comes to anything IKEA, would it hurt to provide more than just images for the spatially impaired? At this point in our relationship, when we’re dealing with constructing, hammering, hanging, leveling, and anything outside of just moving shit, I call in our resident Bob Villa. I do not however correct the boys when they refer to the drill as dada’s tool.
How foods can become dead to her:
Ah, good old Kale, I remember when that wonder food was laced into all of our dishes. Now, you are gone but will never be forgotten. Kashi, the memories will last a lifetime even if your time with us was very brief. Blueberries, I’m pouring one out for you homeys. And poor raspberries, I can already tell that you’re on borrowed time. And mind you, these aren’t for fad diets or cleanses. She just literally gets obsessed with foods. . . until she’s not.
What an excellent sharer she is:
It’s quite tricky when you’re trying to teach the concept of sharing to kids when routinely this isn’t being modeled on the home front. Admittedly, Emily has shared more than I have by playing host to 3 parasites, then nursing, cuddling, and just the general clinginess that comes with the mom territory. And maybe it’s that she’s just done with that shit now. But it never ceases to amaze me that given how we’re trained from birth to share our toys on the playground and that this sharing culture literally hits its apex at childbirth, how asking for a sip of water is a non-starter. And milk or dairy products, forget it. Just don’t even go there.
Obviously, it would be boring to talk about how I feel lucky every day that she’s in my life, and how fabulous a mom she is (which was the #1 reason the boys gave for why she’s the bomb), and how hot she still looks, so I’ll end with the following:
Happy anniversary, and here’s to spending the rest of our lives together picking up the slack in areas that the other sucks at. I love you!