My husband and I were college sweethearts, then dated long distance across the Atlantic for a year, and finally moved in together and dated for a few more years. By the time our marriage rolled around, I thought we had everything figured out and there was nothing left to discuss.
Kids? Yes, two. (Three automatically if twins first.)
Pets: a dog, but not until we have a backyard.
What else is there?
We were so compatible we couldn’t think of anything we disagreed about and didn’t worry too much about figuring out any problems in the future. But, as we sat with Rabbi Lynn (his choice of religion, my choice of requiring a woman to officiate, check, check), she threw us a curveball.
“Here’s your homework,” she said. “I want you to think of five reasons you love your partner.”
In the coming week, I was shocked by this simple request. We decided that we wouldn’t discuss the answers, but that we’d write them down and share them with each other (and the rabbi) the following week.
My answer: Only if I really had to!
I came across this article from the New York Times real estate section, profiling several married couples living in New York…with roommates.
Anywhere else in the country and you’d find it a little strange. The first few years of marriages are for Sunday mornings spent in bed, binge watching TV on the couch, walking around in your underwear, and general stewing in the marital soup of each other before you become too comfortable with each other or children appear, whichever comes first. It’s not, stereotypically speaking, an extension of your college/post-college experience, roommates and all.
But in New York, it makes sense, and it’s possibly the smartest decision. It seems like a huge reach for a married couple to afford rent on their own AND save for the future. Perhaps the only way to save for a house is to live with others, if you want to live in NYC of course, which I don’t blame you.
I live in LA and have a pretty sweet set up with my boyfriend. It’s a two bedroom, two bathroom spacious place in a rent stabilized building. We won’t be moving until we buy a house. I haven’t had a roommate since I was 23 years old, and I can’t imagine doing it again, especially if I was married, even if I lived in NYC.
Like many other mid-twenties bachelorettes with a summer birthday and a few post-college years under her belt, I have recently begun to experience the phenomenon that is Wedding Instagram Overload. As in, my friends and/or distant acquaintances are popping the questions and the marriage cherries (maraschino, soaked in fine bourbon and used as a garnish, perhaps?) all over the Internet. It happened for the first time, last year, on my 24th birthday: my worst frenemy from high school took my birthday and turned it into her goddamn wedding anniversary.
And that was when I realized that the next ten years of my life, minimum, and by extension, birthday (parties), are about to be overshadowed and under-appreciated because SUMMER IS WEDDING SEASON AND SOMEONE IS GOING TO BE GETTING MARRIED ON MY BIRTHDAY EVERY YEAR, AND THAT’S WAY MORE IMPORTANT THAN MY STUPID NON-MILESTONE OF A BIRTHDAY. To make things worse, I wasn’t invited.
Sure enough, it happened again this year. An old friend turned acquaintance–you know how these things go, people drift apart when they don’t have frat parties at which to run into each other and casually high five a few times per month!–got married this time, and I was much happier to let him have my birthday as a wedding anniversary. Again, I was not invited. There must have been some mistake! We ate vegetarian food together at that restaurant one time! Cue: FOMO.
I decided I had to find a way to deal with this, and have since compiled the following list of coping mechanisms, because desperate times call for desperate measures, and also I am a writer, so.
Cadillacs. Elvis. Meatloaf. Could you live like it was the 1950s? What if it was to save your marriage?
That’s what one couple is doing. Gary and Mandy Jones from Tamworth, Staffordshire, claim that living like a 1950s husband and housewife is the key to a happy marriage. Mandy told the Daily Mail, “It may seem strange and we get the odd nasty comment, but this way of life works for us and has saved our marriage. We love everything about the 1950s, from the clothes to the way of life. Since we started living like this I’ve been a better wife and Gary and I are closer than ever. We should all take advice from our grandparents and start living the Fifties way.”
Whether you’re already married or hope to one day walk down the aisle, chances are good that you’ve thought about whether or not to change your last name. There are a lot of things to consider in this decision — including how a name change will affect your digital identity. Check out this article at The Atlantic to learn about maintaining (or changing) your online presence as a newlywed. (And read Becky’s take on the matter here!)
Every couple probably has their own definition of “happy,” but over at Psychology Today they’ve assembled a list of 10 habits of happy couples. Take a look and see if you agree or disagree.
So, you finally met the love of your life, got engaged in the most romantic way possible, and the two of you toasted your love in the biggest party you’ve ever thrown (which is a now a day you count among the happiest of your entire life). But after all that fun and excitement, you’re finding yourself feeling a little down.
“Post-wedding blues are very normal,” says Dr. Ramani Durvasula, a licensed clinical psychologist in Los Angeles. “It’s as though the circus packed up and left town, and so too has the event that has motivated the bride’s every thought for months, if not years!” If your wedding excitement has turned into wedding-woe-is-me, then here are five great ways to channel your newlywed bliss.
As both a Millennial and the only single girl in my group of friends, I was interested in this article over at The Atlantic in which author Hugo Schwyzer discusses the importance of cross-sex friendships, even if one person in the friendship is married. Take a look and discuss.
One day, shortly after moving in with a boyfriend for the first time I woke up alone in bed in a panic. I thought to myself, “Oh my god, I have to finish the dishes from last night, take out the trash and still catch the train to my internship on time.” I showered up and ran downstairs. When I got there, I looked around in amazement, where had the dishes gone and why was the trash empty? My boyfriend had left an hour earlier and later confirmed bemusedly that of course he’d done it before he left and why?
I was in shock and still remember standing frozen in that little West Philly row house kitchen not knowing whether to laugh or cry. I wanted to laugh at my good fortune – I wasn’t going to “do it all” and be a female housemaid and career women all in one – and cry because how had I even let myself think for one moment that I would submit so meekly into that old-fashioned wife role. It was one of the most important “eureka” moments of my life – I was acting out a previous generation’s husband and wife model without realizing it.
Fast-forward to matronly, preggers me staying last weekend at my friend’s parents’ house in Palm Springs. Coincidentally (or not, we’re the same age) my friend was also pregnant and had a little one to boot. The comments and looks from her father-in-law were enough to make me shiver. He represented the old, totalitarian regime, his wife grumbled, but still brought him chocolate-covered strawberries from the pantry fridge whenever he had a hankering. When my husband walked in with an appetizing sandwich, the ole gaffer demanded to know where his was and she coyly pointed out that he had made it, “himself”, like it was a novel idea.
“Go for it!” he said. “Flirting is fun. It feels great.”
We were talking about how I have felt vaguely awkward around other men since being in a committed relationship (um, years now). My problems, as described to said husband, were as follows:
I didn’t want to lead anyone on. I’m no femme fatale, but I’d learned to be a pretty effective flirt after some trial and error. (For me, this generally meant making a well-placed Star Wars reference. Know your audience!)
It was a Friday night and my eyes were so tired that I felt that they were shriveling up and about to roll out of my head. I was starving and in a knee-jerk reaction called my mom on my way home from work. “Mom, I’m so, so tired, I’m so hungry and I haven’t seen Gabe in a week. I wish he would just come home and make me dinner.” My mom wasn’t empathetic in the slightest, she had four kids and for 25 years juggled homework, brown-bagged lunches, dinners, housework, track schedules while concurrently graduating first with a Master’s degree and then with a Ph.D. Super Dr. Mom. Here I was, 10 weeks into being pregnant and I was falling apart.
As I steadily move into the twilight (ugh, maybe sunset but I won’t admit it yet) of my twenties, an increasing number of friends and random people on my social media radar are getting hitched. Even though I am still shocked every time I hear of another person my age biting the bullet (because in my mind I am still sixteen years old), I am so happy for them. My shock and awe has nothing to do with bitterness, jealousy, or any other catty bitch feelings. It’s always from a genuine place of, “But we’re still so young!!”
“Girl,” I have to remind myself. “You ain’t that young any more.”
datingandhookup.com is a website that explores modern romance in the Millennial era – which, let’s be honest, looks nothing like we were taught to expect. We feature essays, advice and social commentary with humor, compassion and brains, and we vow never, ever to publish a piece called “The 10 Best Ways to Satisfy Your Man in Bed”. Do click to submit your work to us. We love you.
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