Today is a special day for me—it’s the 2-year anniversary of my marriage to my best friend.
So, today I’m not talking about food or exercise at all. I’m telling the story of US. It’s not about being Paleo or primal, it’s not about being skinny or fit. There’s more to life than just what you put in your mouth. This is a story about living life to its fullest, about love, about laughing and having fun. This is OUR story.
Steve and I met back in high school. Steve knew who I was in grade nine, and friends of mine kept pointing him out to me, as in “that’s the guy with the huge crush on you” and I’d walk on by him, pretending I didn’t notice him, like I didn’t have a clue who he was because we hadn’t actually been introduced and what do you say to the “guy with the huge crush??”
But in grade 10, we actually ended up in a few classes together. I eventually spoke to him, and we became best friends that year. We started hanging out together so frequently that all of our friends began to push us to get together as more than just friends. I wasn’t so sure. I was a party girl, in way over my head and hanging out with all the wrong people. I thought I was all grown up and tough and into the whole drinking and smoking scene, and Steve was a good guy, never in any trouble, just wanted to be wherever the fun was, just wanting to be part of something. He saw a side of me that I didn’t see at all.
|Steve & I on the left, and by the way, the one in the middle was our wedding witness...|
Steve became a single parent when their daughter was 3. He raised her on his own. The army transferred him onto a “compassionate” placement that meant he would no longer go overseas as the sole surviving parent.
Months went by as I raged about the divorce. Then one day, in yet another angry fit, I heard myself say it out loud, “I should have married my best friend!” No truer words could be said. My first husband and I were many things, but we were never friends. Romance comes and goes, people age and people change. But when all else fades away, a best friend is still a best friend. And even though Steve and I had grown up and changed, and we were not the people we once were in high school, we now found we liked the new people that we had become—and we could still make anything fun. Heck, he helped me renovate my post-divorce house before ever living in it, and one day, exhausted, I cut us up a couple of apples and stuffed some peanut butter into them, and standing in the bedroom beside the bathroom where we’d been working all day, the peanut butter fell out of his apple and onto the bedroom carpet. Embarrassed at his mistake, he tried to clean it up, madly wiping at it before I really noticed what was happening and I stopped him and asked in my deadpan monotone “Are you smearing peanut butter into my bedroom carpet?” We laughed about it so hard that I was seeing stars. He’d somehow made crawling around all day in a tiny, dirty bathroom fun. We’ve survived renovating 2 houses together now. And the weirdest part is that when we paint together, we have better, more intimate conversations than any other time we’ve ever tried to talk about anything.
|Apparently Alec missed that joke....|
|It doesn't matter what we're doing, as long as its together.|
I paused, and spit out “I don’t like soccer. I don’t play soccer!”
We played soccer for the first time last night. He’s right. It’s a lot more fun with him.