Pom Poms and Microscopes

There are many things I love about my wife. I love her personality. I love her face. I love her mind. Frankly, there's a lot to love.

And I especially love that she's my biggest cheerleader. 

I don't mean that in the self-centered way you might be taking it. (It's not like I need someone watching my life and constantly telling me I'm doing a good job ... he said, hoping someone likes this blog post.) I mean it in the sense that she's always there for me, which is incredibly comforting. When I fail -- when I come home with my tail between my legs after a basketball game or after a day of work when I just didn't perform well -- she's there with a huge smile on her face and open arms. 

And really, it's a two-way street. I can't think of many things my wife does the wrong way. She's very smart, very pretty, and a very good cook -- at times. She looks great in those silly skinny jeans everyone wears and reads an iPad like no one's business. I support her in everything that she does. Sounds like we belong on a wholesome, 50s sitcom, doesn't it? Like cheesy messenger bag guy and blondie up there, right?  

Here's the thing, though. I think one of the secrets to a happy -- and long-lasting -- relationship is knowing when to put away the pom poms and bring out the microscope. 

Have salad dressing all over your face? Your partner should point it out. Are you being a jerk to your buddy? Your partner should tell you. Should you completely overhaul the presentation for work because it's boring and tedious? Yep, you guessed it. It's your partner's job to let you know.

Now, this is a delicate balance. There are times when you need to bite your tongue and times when you need to just shut up. (I've learned both these things already.) But this balance, I think, is an important step in creating a happy marriage full of trust and love.

So the next time you're sharing an opinion about your beloved one, stop and think for a second: Should I go with the pom poms or the microscope?

The Most Important Purchase We've Ever Made

It's a picture of nothing, right? Mike forgot to take his finger off the lens because he's old and he doesn't understand technology, right? Wrong.

This picture -- this ugly, ugly picture -- of a brown curtain may not mean much to you. But the curtain in the photo has changed my life in ways I could never have imagined.

As you may know, Bridget and I buy a decent amount of things. (We are, actually, quite conservative when it comes to cash, but that's a story for another time.) We took three honeymoons. (Not really, but that's what our friends like to say.) We like our iPads. (Bridget has a somewhat unnatural affinity for hers.) And our wonderful kitchen island has been well documented.

But above all these things, above all these wonderful items and memories, one purchase stands above the rest. Three words: Room darkening curtains. Cost: $60. Place of purchase: T.J.Maxx.

Until about two months ago, I had never heard of room darkening curtains. My guess is most guys haven't. We don't really think about those things. At all. Ever. We mostly think about sports and food and beer and video games and women -- not necessarily in that order. So when Bridget asked me if I thought we should get room darkening curtains, I looked at her like she'd asked if I prefer a shirt with vertical stripes or horizontal stripes. (Read: I didn't care one bit.) I believe my response was, "What the hell are those and how much are they?"

In classic, calm Bridget style, she explained that they were curtains that made a room darker and that they'd help us sleep better. "Sure," I said, "I like sleep. Go for it."

And from the moment they've gone up, it's been a whole new world. We get at least an extra hour of sleep every morning -- and sometimes more. (And really, is there anything more valuable than a good night's sleep?) The curtains do an amazing job of making it always seem like it's 3 AM even if it's 9. (Here's an awkward customer video if you want to see the curtains in action.) They fool Oscar, too, which is probably the most important thing. With little to no light shining in, he's content to just lay on the bed until we decide to wake up.

So, yes, the curtains are another example of my brilliant wife strutting her shopping stuff. But as I thought about this post, it quickly came to me that the curtains are just an example of something larger -- that it's important to marry someone who has a different perspective on money.

I was chatting with a financially conservative friend at a bar last night. We traded stories about stretching dollars and denying ourselves life's pleasures. And, sure, there's a time for that. It's nice to have savings. But it's also pretty nice to sleep well and, in the words of Tom Haverford: Treat. Yo. Self. Said a different way, I would never, ever have paid $60 for curtains. (I used to think curtains came with apartments. They don't.) But I'm really, really lucky to have such a smart wife.

The Trouble With Bedtime

The first disagreement Mike and I ever had was about bedtime. Mike took that position that going to bed at the same time was romantic. He said he liked everyone to be all tucked in and tuckered out at the same time (I'm clearly paraphrasing here. I don't believe he has ever used the phrase "tuckered out." Thank gawd.). At the time of this bold declaration, I was a devout night owl.  When no one is around to tell me to go to bed, I'll likely be found passed out on the couch, makeup smeared across my face, teeth unbrushed, with half a sandwich hanging out of my mouth. So I reacted badly to this idea of forced bedtime. Especially since Mike is an early-to-bed-early-to-rise-take-an-agressive-mid-afternoon-nap kinda guy. Mike is sensible. Mike always brushes his teeth before bed. Mike always goes to bed at a reasonable hour.

After much initial protest, I ultimately decided to try things Mike's way for a bit. And it turns out, it is actually really nice to get eight hours of sleep. I never knew I could feel so rested! So alive! I even liked turning in early and reading our Kindles together until we fell asleep (barf, I know).

But then something came along to ruin this domestic bliss. And that something is the iPad.

Lately, I'll more likely than not be found curled on the couch with my iPad, gleefully tapping away at its shiny screen until the wee hours. What am I doing, you (and Mike) may ask? Oh, you know, the usual. Going to various retailer websites and playing the, "I'm independently wealthy and can buy anything I want" game. (This game involves perusing said retailer's site for hours and putting all the things I would like into my shopping cart....with NO regard for price!! Shocking, I know. Let me be clear, I don't actually buy anything. That is not part of the game. Simply looking at my full cart with things I can't afford is somehow pleasure enough. I may have a problem. )

I can also be found perusing various blogs. Some about house tweaking, others about celebrities. I'll check all my bank and credit card accounts, mint.com and loans. Just to be sure they are all still there. I'll check the news. I'll check Facebook about a million times just in case someone posts something interesting (spoiler alert, no one does).  I'll also check email incessantly just in case I get some good spam. Then I'll move to sites like RueLaLa.com, Gilt.com, and OneKingsLane.com to look at all the things I really shouldn't buy.

But the majority of my time is spent reading magazines. I subscribe to this wondrous and magical thing called Next Issue. Next Issue is an app that allows me to read virtually every magazine worth reading (and many that are not - I'm looking at you, Wood magazine) for one monthly fee. Something like 60+ magazines. All at my fingertips. It almost makes my head explode. I've died and gone to magazine heaven.

Long story short, I spend a lot of time on my iPad. And it is getting harder and harder to turn in early when I still have 55 magazines left to read. This makes Mike sad, not only because he likes us falling asleep together, but more importantly, when he goes to bed before me there is no one there to catch his Kindle when he falls asleep with it against his face. This is my designated job (seriously, I have to do it. I wrote it into my vows.)

But after too many nights with my iPad and with Oscar distraught because he can't handle when the two of us are in separate rooms, I start to miss my husband. Because that time before bed when we disconnect from the world and read together is that kind of elusive quality time that you don't appreciate until you start to miss it. And I miss it. So tonight, I'm putting away the iPad.

The Birthday Evolution

I turn 32 this week. It's not significant in any way. There's nothing I'll be able to do on Wednesday that I can't do on Tuesday. No new shots at a bar, no significant discounts on rental cars in a lot. Nothing. Heck, it's not even a nice, round number like 25 or 30.

My 32nd birthday is important, though, because I think it may be one of the last that comes with an expensive gift from my wife.

Is this because she's cheap? My wife may be many things (addicted to magazines, a watcher of bad television, and stubborn on occasion, for example), but she is not cheap. One of her first blog posts sums this up. It may be the last time I get an expensive gift because of the birthday evolution I'm fairly certain every married couple goes through.

Let me explain.

When couples that end up marrying first start dating (for Bridget and I, this was June of 2010), birthdays are a big deal. Depending on how long you've been together, you ponder what would be appropriate. And you ask everyone you know. "Do I buy her jewelry? If I do, what is that saying?" Or, "Should I buy him that really nice camera or just get him a shirt? I don't want to come on too strong!" Ah, memories. Simply put, you aren't afraid to spend a lot because you're thinking this is THE one.

Then, as the dating goes on, the birthday train rolls on. Electronics here, trips there. And somewhere along the way, you realize that the person is definitely THE one. That realization puts even more pressure on birthday gifts as you want to make sure your offering appropriately symbolizes how you really feel. This led, in our case, to things like iPads and diamonds. Those are expensive.

Then you get married and, for many people, start thinking about money in terms of "us" instead of "me" and "you." (Bridget and I are in this phase now.) That's when things really start to change on the birthday front. You start thinking about buying houses, having kids, and taking family vacations. Instead of iPads and expensive cameras, I suspect, we'll put most of our money toward things for the house or non-stop (and much more convenient) flights for the family to somewhere. Birthdays, of course, will still be important, but a drawing of a dog from your 4-year-old kid will be worth far more than the priciest shirt from some boutique I've never even heard of.

This year, Bridget got me a really nice pair of headphones and is taking me out for an expensive dinner in San Francisco. She's very generous and I'm really thankful for both of them. But as we were driving home from a nice birthday dinner with my family last night, Bridget looked at me and said, "You know, we really don't need anything." She's right, I thought. Although the wonderful and expensive gifts have been nice, it's the other stuff -- thinking about the future and our lives together -- that is important.

And it made me realize I'm really happy to be turning 32.

Eating Together -- At The Table?

Marriage instantly makes you a family. Granted, it's a small family, but it's still a family. You are now husband and wife. Breadwinner and bread eater. Emergency contact and, well, emergency contact.

Simply put, things change. And of all the places that change happens, none may be more significant than the dinner table. Or, as we used to call it, that white, flat thing in our dining room that holds the mail, Oscar's leash, and our latest dying plant.

But now, it is for chow. Because we don't want to turn into these folks:

Bridget and I do our best to eat together as much as possible. The summer makes that tough. She has a girls' night. I have basketball and kickball. Happy hours happen. But, during most work weeks, we eat in the same apartment at least a couple times. And at least one of those times, we've promised, it will be together at the dinner table. 

Older folks (read: older than 35) might read this and say, "Hey, you should always eat at the dinner table together! What's wrong with you? You damn kids and your MTV! Eat at the table!" Well, we don't. And in today's entertainment- and technology-filled world, I'd be willing to wager many couples and families don't.

There are TV shows to watch, iPads to play with, and Kindles to read. Frankly, it's much easier to turn on classic episodes of Seinfeld (like the Kenny Rodgers chicken one), exploits of Homer Simpson (like this one), and even the occasional Two and a Half Men (like this classic) when things really get stale. (Really, Mike? Two and a Half Men? I'm kidding, of course. That's the worse show ever. You should be ashamed of yourself if you watch it.)

But in all seriousness, we've turned off the TV, stored the iPad and the Kindle, and have started to just talk at the table. And you know? It's been great. We talk about work. We talk about when we want to have kids. We talk about food, vacations, and Syracuse basketball. (Well, not really, but I'd like to.)

Eating together at the table is quality time that we didn't have when our eyes were glazed over watching Jerry dump a girl for eating her peas one at a time. And, it creates a good habit for when we have more than just two (and a dog) in our family.

How often do you eat at the table with your significant other or family?