Six years

AKA, this might get cheesy and sappy. Forgive me.
Six years ago today, Brad and I were in Jamaica exchanging vows.
We have ahem slightly crazy families, mine more so than his. So we decided that we would get married as far away as possible. Jamaica seemed like a good location.

Brad and I are not traditional people. We [obviously] saw each other the day of the wedding. My dress was off white. Brad did not wear a suit. (But he did wear a $60 tie that I bought him, despite his objections.) I wore a tiara instead of a veil. 

Look how young we look!

Our ceremony was set for early afternoon. We had a late breakfast and then I went to the salon to get my hair done. Brad stayed in the room. He got ready and they were supposed to bring a van around for him and take him down an hour or so before me. 

This is Jamaica, they are in no hurry down there. The catch phrase for this trip was "No problem mon!" Brad gave up and walked because I threw him out of the room. (It wasn't a far walk.) The van did eventually come, I told them he was gone. 

Originally, I wanted to do my own hair. The wedding coordinator there was opposed to this. She made a deal with me that if I used their salon do to my hair, she would help me into my dress. 

She was also late. 

No problem indeed.

I kept running out of our room and staring down strangers walking by wondering if they would point and laugh at the girl in a giant petticoat slip or if they would help out. Eventually, the woman showed up. We threw the dress over my head and hauled butt to the other side of the resort. 

It's not like they could have started without me. But still. 

The ceremony was pretty. Mostly because it took place in a lush setting. I enjoyed it. And I managed not to cry. Or at least that's how I remember it. Brad did not make any jokes like claiming to take me only if I promise to do laundry or something like that. I remember that it was the pastors birthday. (So, happy birthday, where ever you are!)

It was a great day. Afterward we celebrated by getting matching sunburns. (I had previously been hiding in the shade to avoid looking like a lobster in my big day.) I wore the tiara all day. I pretended it was because it had become one with my hair via a shit-ton of bobby pins, but really, I wanted to feel special. 

Later that night we saw another wedding party, they were surrounded by friends and family. The bride was dancing in her dress. Brad and I were walking by to go to a show. And while their giant party made me a bit forlorn, I was still happy with our decision. 

I was recently reminded of the delicate nature of marriage. The way I look at it, it's me and Brad against the world. We've been together now for ten years, and I couldn't have a better partner in crime. 

Posing at Dunn's River Falls

Five years ago

Five years ago (Sunday), Brad and I got married. If you've read my blog for even a short period of time, you know that my family can be a bit crazy. So Brad and I opted to get married abroad. It was a brief but beautiful ceremony and it just happened to be the preachers birthday. I don't know why, but it seemed fitting. 

We did the 'Weddingmoon' at Sandals in Ocho Rios, Jamaica. It was perfect. 

We only left the resort a couple of times. Once was to hike up a nearby waterfall, Dunns River Falls. 

And yes, you read that right, you hike UP a waterfall. 

It was a lot of fun and really scenic. Everything there was simply beautiful and lush. 

All the sidewalks were lined with gorgeous flowers. I of course want to assume it's like that year-round. 

There were pools hidden all over the place. This was the largest one on the main resort. 

This one was at the Dunns River Resort, just a few miles away. 

It's a couples only resort, and while you would run into people and exchange photo ops, there were definitely more than our fair share of 'hold the camera out and try to awkwardly take our own photo' moments. 

And of course, you can't forget the beautiful sunset photo. 

 Here's to wishing I was still there. 

Trophy Wife

A few nights ago, Brad and I were having a discussion about what each of us brings to our marriage.  Naturally, I bring the gift of delicious foods.  Whether in the form of from-scratch pasta sauce or some chocolate-dipped dessert concoction, my meals are almost always can't miss.
Brad pointed out that he does the laundry.  (I sometimes start the washer, but never remember to put it in the dryer.  And if by chance I get the clothes in the dryer, they stay there until I realize I'm out of undies.)
He also does the dishes.  (I tend to run a fair amount of water into a dish once I place it in the sink.)
He also dusts. (I gave up long ago after hearing, 'You're doing it wrong.' no less than one million times)
Brad also takes it upon himself to sweep and mop the great room floor (Again, I do it 'wrong.')
I like to pledge the table.  I also tend to pay the bills.  This does not mean Brad doesn't, I just usually do it first.  And, I am organized.  To a ridiculous level.  So while he is busy scrubbing the shower and windexing the windows, I am sorting, stacking, filing and putting things where they belong.
This imbalance in chores came about while I was working on my MBA.  I would work all day, sometimes in the evenings, and at night, I was either in class or studying for the next nights class.  I was never home.  Brad HAD to do the cleaning.  I would rush in and whip up dinner, we would eat and crash. Repeat the next day.
But, I finished school in 2006.  And somehow, it just stayed that way.
So as we were talking, Brad realized he was getting the shaft.  And demanded it be fixed.  Faced with a lifetime of dusting, polishing and dishwashing scared me.
It was time to pull out the big guns.
"Well," I began, hands triumphantly placed on hips, "I may be passive about my cleaning habits, but there's something else I'm passive with too."
Intrigued, he looked at me, "And what would that be?"
Smugly I reply, "My TV watching.  I don't make you watch girly movies or Sex and the City or any other girly show, and I can't even name any more because I don't know what they are!"
See, if there's one thing you haven't figured out about my husband is that the TV is his life.  A news story reported that the average American watches 31 hours of TV a week.  Brad declared he is pulling up that average. 
He paused for a second, thinking, trying to make what I just said not nearly as awesome as he knows it is. "Dammit, you're right!"
And just like that.  No more dusting for Kelli.