Game plan

Even before we got married, we talked timelines. I’m a planner. If I knew Excel better, I’d use it more.  Not necessarily for budgets but for lists and schedules and lots of other things Excel isn’t really meant for.  I like to wake up and talk about the day’s plan. I also like to talk life plans before falling asleep. (Scott enjoys neither of these things.)

I like plans.

Our timeline went something like this: get married, move to England, get good jobs, buy a home, move to the US after two years, pay off loans and student debt, and after five years, have a baby.

The five-year mark was a big one. It was the number in my head that sounded the best. To be married five years, to be debt-free by our fifth anniversary, to think about having a kid after five years. Five. It just sounded good.

But now that the big five is here, I need a new plan.

On our anniversary, we went out to a very nice restaurant. We ordered a bottle of wine after enjoying a bottle of champagne before dinner. We laughed and drank and ate and laughed some more. We talked about where we thought we’d be, where we are right now. We talked about our changing timeline.  We talked about moving, about staying put. We talked seriously, seriously about Big Life Decisions.

I didn’t want the night to end.

And then I noticed it. Scott was starting to slump in his chair. His eyelids were heavy. After five years, I know the signs well. He had crossed the fine line of joyful tipsy to sleepy drunk. There was no coming back from this.

The conversation, no matter how hard I tried to salvage it, was over. The making of plans, the goal setting…it was all over. There was no way to bring him back.

And so I put myself in a bad mood and we spent the remaining half hour in silence. Scott, not at all sure what happened but just wanting to go to bed, looked confused and was excessively blinking against the dim light in the restaurant.

“This isn’t how I thought it would be.” I pouted.

Baffled, Scott said, “I’m lost here. I thought we had a brilliant night. I’m tired and we’ve been drinking. Nothing’s happened.”

And then I said it. “It’s just not how I planned it in my head.”

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I knew how silly they sounded. We had had a brilliant night. It had gone mostly to plan.

And that was the problem. Plans.

“It’s fun planning with you,” I said. “I just didn’t want the night to end.”

“Ok, but we don’t have to make all our plans tonight.”

I think he actually quoted John Lennon when he was going on about life happening while I’m busy making plans. I should have retaliated with that saying about the value of planning ahead and how it wasn’t raining when Noah built the ark, blah blah. But I had had my fair share of wine too.

I pouted a little more and declined dessert in a pointless act of stubbornness. I really wanted dessert.

On the way home, I apologized and told him he was right. We don’t have to make all our plans tonight or tomorrow or this year. We’re still on the same page, heading the same direction, even if we don’t know how and when we’ll hit all the stops. We don’t need Excel to tell us that.

I think next year we’ll celebrate our anniversary without meat and now without booze.

Oh. I’m doing that planning thing again, aren’t I?

5

Five years.

Where did they go?

Insert photos of all the trips we took. Insert Christmas cards. Insert bank statements, a mortgage. Insert new cars, new jobs, new haircuts, new houses, new passports. New outlooks. New friends. Old friends. Same families. Insert more photos. More memories. More. More. More.

Mention the rocky bits. Highlight overcoming them. Add in all the laughter, all the fun. Mix it with trust and comfort. Underline happiness. Underline it a few times. Sprinkle it all with exclamation points! Leave a few question marks. Italicize together. And always. And hope. Or faith. Both. Everything.

What’s next?

If I were Kate Middleton

Tomorrow’s royal wedding is getting a lot of press coverage in England but not nearly as much as it is in the US. Being an American, I’m not surprised. I know how much we like to speculate endlessly and how fascinated we can be when it comes to the royal family. I wouldn’t even be in England, and now a British citizen, if it weren’t for Prince William. (I hope this post comes up on his Google alerts and he starts following me on Pinterest.)

While it’s been in the papers and on TV a lot over here, the coverage doesn’t rival the coverage in the US. I admit I do feel a bit smug when speaking to Americans about the whole thing. Oh, you’re interested in our royal wedding? Yes, I suppose I will be watching it on TV. I do have the day off, you know. They made it a public holiday, you know. I get paid to watch the wedding and drink champagne at 11 am, you know. I’m so reserved and English now, don’t you know?!

I’ve thought about her dress and how she’ll wear her hair. I wondered what their hen and stag parties were like and if she ever had cold feet. I even asked Scott if they canceled their wedding, would we all have to go to work tomorrow? He went on about how they were definitely given a big talking to before committing to getting married and even if they got cold feet, they’d be going through with it. This is England goddamnit. Keep calm and carry on.

Because I spent much of my pre-teen years dreaming about being in Kate Middleton’s shoes one day, I started to think about how she must be feeling on the eve of her big day. How does she feel? What is she doing tonight? Royal ties aside, what was the lead up to the wedding like for the bride-to-be? Was it anything like it was for me? Does she feel anything like I did? 

Is she hoping all the groomsmen show up in proper suits fitted perfectly? Or did Wills get them to measure themselves after a few cheeky pints one night? And did the tailor wrinkle his nose at the odd measurements and then ask if one of the groomsmen has freakishly long arms?

Did her sister make her a phallic-shaped cake for her hen night? Did she get too nervous to go on stage at a drag club when they called all the brides-to-be up there? Did she make her friend pretend to be her while she hung back, knocking back another weird blue cocktail? Did she dance into the night with her best friends and spend an insane amount of time taking photos of each other in the funky elevators at the hotel?

Is she scared to walk down the aisle? Is she nervous to see all the people looking at her? Does she worry about the best man’s speech? Does she worry about what William really got up to on the stag do? Does she make a mental note to ask more probing questions next time she sees him? Does she forget about all that the next time she sees his smiling face?

Did they argue after William seemed less than thrilled about looking at flower arrangements and table seating plans? Did they make up after he offered to taste-test the cakes again and give her a foot rub?

Did William get carried away with the barcode scanner while they were creating their wedding gift registry? Did Kate have to go online and remove the dozen packages of chocolate chip cookies and alphabet-shaped fridge magnets from their list?

On a quiet Saturday night in, what did William say when, for the trillionth time, Kate asked him, “What are you thinking?” Did his shoulder shrug and return to the rerun of Family Guy drive her to let it all out, right there, right then. Did she do the ugly cry while explaining that she’s just afraid of losing herself, of just becoming an extension of him? Did he hear her? Did he say he had worries too? Did they agree their worries together were nothing compared to what their worries would be if they were apart?

Did William make Kate promise to at least try to get rid of some of her shoes and handbags so he could have a bit more closet space?

Will she be seeing William tonight? Are they in a private bar somewhere, sharing a few drinks with friends? Is she wearing a “Future Mrs. Whatevertheirlastnameis” T-shirt? Will William walk her back to the hotel room she is sharing with her sister? Will they have a hushed conversation outside the hotel room about what tomorrow brings? Will her sister, Pippa, sneak out of the hotel room and snap a few pics of them canoodling in the hallway?

Will Kate giddily burst into the hotel room and jump into bed with her sister for one last night together Before It All Changes? Will they lay there, laughing and whispering, every once in awhile telling each other they really should get some sleep?

Will Kate wake up with Doritos crumbs in her hair?

Is Kate going to stand in front of the mirror and wonder aloud if she really needs to wear Spanx? Will a bridesmaid point out that the wedding night might be awkward if she is wearing Spanx?

Could someone text William to remind him to tip the DJ?

Is this it? Is she absolutely certain? Is she bursting with happiness? Is she full of nerves? Is she just fine being a mix of all of the above?

Does she feel like the luckiest girl in the world?

I hope so. I would. I did.

Oh, and Kate? Don’t forget to pack the “Just Married” flip flops.

I’m with Oprah

Work has been incredibly busy over the last two weeks for both of us. We both had team away-days this week and Scott was telling me about his. His whole team took part in Myers-Briggs personality type testing. Scott is an ENTP which we both found as a surprise because we always think of him as quite introverted. (But I’m totally not surprised about how informed he likes to be ALL THE TIME.)

I have never taken the proper test with a facilitator but I have taken versions online. Scott was telling me how he was thinking of me during the test and he suspects I am an ENFJ.

“I’m whatever type Oprah is,” I tell him.

Rolling his eyes, Scott starts typing away on his laptop.

I continue, “No, seriously. When I took the test last year, they said Oprah was an example of my type.”

“You are definitely not the same type as Oprah. She’s an introvert.”

“But Oprah must be an extrovert. She loves talking to people!”

“How do you know?” Scott asked. “It’s her job to talk to people. She’s an introvert. She said she likes to spend time at home. You know, she has a friggin’ bookclub!”

I refused to believe she was an introvert. Scott thought I was taking the test online but I was actually trying to find evidence that Oprah was really an extrovert. After doing some furious Googling and coming up short on evidence, I said, “I cant believe Adam Sandler and Oprah are both introverts. Maybe I am an introvert too then.”

Exasperated, Scott said, “But I know you. You don’t know them! Forget them.”

So I took the test again. And Scott knows me well. I am, indeed, an ENFJ. I’m 95% feeling, 5% thinking. Scott is 95% thinking, 5% feeling. I like listening and planning. He likes figuring things out and being very knowledgeable.  I’m a Teacher. He’s an Inventor.

I finally found a website that says Oprah is a Teacher too so I feel better.

(There I go again, feeling my way through.)

In the end, Scott said, “Oprah has probably never taken the Myers-Briggs test so we don’t know exactly what her type is. She may be an extrovert. I’m sure websites just make assumptions about the personality types of famous people.”

(And there he goes again, thinking things through.)

While the cat’s away

Scott has been living it up in Lithuania since Thursday, in celebration of his friend’s upcoming nuptials. This is what they do on stag weekends. They go to Eastern Europe where the beer is cheaper, the paintballing and shooting ranges barely regulated,  and the tourism bureaus welcoming to large groups of drunken British males.

I’ve talked to him today. Everyone is ok. Unlike Scott’s stag weekend where his friend (and groomsman) tripped and hurt his arm. The guys forced him to continue playing the drinking game. The drinking game which required him to drink only with his hurt arm. His BROKEN arm, it turns out after a trip to the doctor’s when he got back to England.

Or Scott’s other friend’s stag weekend where they paid for the stag to be “kidnapped” by crooked “cops” in Poland, complete with a bag over the head and handcuffs. They drove him around in the back of a van for two hours before dropping him back off with his friends at the next bar.

Don’t you wish you were there?

Needless to say, I’m not looking forward to the state he’ll be in when he gets home. Luckily he has Monday off to recover. And I still have today and tomorrow to catch up on Australia’s Next Top Model and eat all the things he dislikes (pineapple pizza and corn and chocolate ice cream) and get through my list of Things I Must Stop Putting Off  or Things I Must Stop Talking About And Just Do.

So far, I have done none of the things on my list. But I haven’t eaten corn or pizza or chocolate ice cream either so make of that what you will.

However, I have picked off all my nail polish*, watched an episode of Britain’s Next Top Model, decided I no longer like the throw pillows in the living room, cried at the last 20 minutes of Father of the Bride II, and ordered flowers for a friend. One point for me.

All this just to say that there is something about my blog on the List. Something about actually writing a meaningful post. It’s about #27 on the List though.

*I would have removed the nail polish with remover and cotton balls but “Buy cotton balls” is on the List too.

Bleeding Red, White and Blue

On Sunday morning, I suggested we “do something different” and go pick raspberries. Scott was all for picking raspberries on a sunny day but not an overcast Sunday when he’d rather sleep in. I told him he had to think of something on his own then.

I didn’t really care about picking raspberries. I just wanted to get out and explore a bit and maybe take some photos.

When Scott realized I would be holding his breakfast hostage, he said, “Ok, how about we go to a lavender field that isn’t too far from here?”

I passed him his eggs and called it a deal.

(Turns out his mother mentioned the Hitchin Lavender on the phone the other day so Scott didn’t come up with the idea entirely on his own but we’ll let it slide.)

The lavender field was very pretty. They also had a sunflower patch. But I have to stop you before you imagine us both frolicking through the fields, plucking wild flowers and singing in unison.

I’d like to say we both picked lavender and sunflowers but there were lots of bugs and the bees were huge and furry and I am mildly allergic. And by mildly, I mean that only my limbs swell up, not my whole body. But I don’t want to know what happens if I were to get stung in the face.

So Scott picked lavender and cut some sunflowers for me. I stood back and took photos. (Photos coming soon. Ok, I’ll show you one now.)

We got home around 2pm, feeling very proud of ourselves for getting up early, doing something new, and also getting the weekly grocery shopping done. Scott was so proud of himself that he set out to make his famous salsa. (His famous salsa is my mom’s recipe, minus tomatoes, plus cucumbers, plus a whole lot of chili. Not so famous but I’m not about to discourage a man from perfecting his kitchen skills.)

But sadly those kitchen skills need more honing.

Because Scott couldn’t be bothered to chop all the ingredients himself, he decided to use the food processor. The shiny new food processor he bought me six months ago. I tried to use it but couldn’t get it to work and then told myself one day I would read the damn instructions and figure it out. Scott decided that day was Sunday…but reading instructions? Ha.

It really was “ha” because we discovered I didn’t put this one little piece, the motor part thing that makes the blade turn thingamajig (that’s the technical term), on and that’s why the blade wasn’t turning. Scott reached in to take the blade out…you see where this is going.

As he was handling the blade, it slipped and cut his finger. And the blood! The pain! The pure agony! Did you ever see so much blood!? THE BLOOD!!! It’s all over the place!

That’s what it was like, according to Scott. No joke.

I put on my best nurse voice and said, calmly, “Ok, it’s ok. Run it under water and then hold this on the cut with direct, firm pressure.”

Scott said, writhing in pain, “This is bad. This is really bad.”

“Ok, um…put your arm above your heart. Yeah, like that. Keep it up. It’s supposed to be above your heart. Ok, it doesn’t have to be that high.”

I think I read that somewhere.

Scott was still in a great deal of pain. And that sucker was bleeding pretty bad. But not enough for stitches. I have actually had cuts bad enough to warrant stitches…I know these things. Scott was not pleased that I was unconvinced of him needing emergency medical attention.

“I know you’re in a lot of pain but I just don’t think going to A&E is going to help. I really don’t think they can do anything for you.”

The truth is I hate going to A&E. I mean, I know…who does like going to A&E?! But last time we went I thought Scott was dying from some scary virus he picked up in Africa. Also I was in pajamas.

“What am I supposed to do if it doesn’t stop bleeding? Look, it just keeps bleeeeeding!”

I wanted to say, listen here, buddy, you think that’s a lot of blood. When I was 8 years old, I fell on rocks and cut my knee so deep, they could stick a Q-tip down there.

I took a deep breath and said, “I’ll Google it.”

Turns out applying direct, firm pressure for 20-30 minutes did the job. I’m sure holding his arm above his heart helped too.

And nothing heals a wound like a stars and stripes band-aid.

He only got teased a little for showing up to work with this. I’ve assured him it would be worse to have to say he got hurt picking lavender.

What a nightmare

The other night I had a disturbing dream about a black bird flying in the bedroom. The bird landed on a picture frame above my head and then just died. I watched as the bird fell in slow motion. I was able to pull the sheet over my head before the dead bird landed on me. I woke up feeling unsettled, to say the least.

Then I Googled the meaning of a black bird dying in a dream and it is not good. It basically means I need to prepare for unhappy events to happen in the near future. Why couldn’t it be like the other dream about babies which meant I just needed to cut back on carbs?

The fact I am even dreaming about dead birds and dead babies is disturbing enough but I’m saving that for therapy. This prediction of bad things happening in my life stuck with me all day and even though I talked it through with a few friends, my sisters and Scott, I still didn’t feel completely at ease. Scott told me I needed to stop watching so many television shows about relationships/babies/death/families/tragic love stories. I told him that would be impossible – what else could I watch? He suggested The Simpsons.

As we were leaving the flat this morning, Scott said he didn’t sleep well at all. I asked why he thought that was. He answered, “I had a really bad dream.”

I stopped where I was and asked what the dream was about. OMFG are we both dreaming of dead birds? What does this mean? Are we going to get squashed to death in the lift?

And then he said, very gravely, “I had a dream I was stuck in a really messy apartment.“

Can you feel the love?

If you’ve ever been to the UK, you will know space is limited and it seems developers have no idea about building closets. The free standing wardrobes are all the rage here. Ikea has some pretty impressive ones, that’s for sure. We have one built in closet in our flat that Scott has graciously given to me. His clothes hang in a sorry excuse for a wardrobe in the guestroom. *

(*Don’t be fooled by this “guestroom”…yes, our guests sleep in here on a futon but it is also Scott’s closet/laundry room and occasionally where I do freelance work using the ironing board as a desk. I lead a glamourous life.)

So, in summary, we don’t have a lot of space. I know, you’ve heard it all before. But come visit! You’ll see.

Let me switch gears for a minute. Are you familiar with The Five Love Languages? Well, we discussed this book in our pre-marital counseling and learned about the importance of “speaking” to each other in the appropriate love languages.

Scott’s love language is Acts of Service. This means he feels the most loved when I make dinner for him and clean the house and offer him a backrub.

How convenient!

He is also one of those people who cannot go on vacation and leave a messy house. We are going on vacation next week. Our house was a mess.

Guess what we did this weekend?

Yep, I tried to speak his love language. Our place has never looked so clean. Even I feel more relaxed.

One of the things we tackled together was finding a solution for all my accessories.  In my dream house, I have a Mariah Carey style dressing room with jewelry on display in pull out shelves and cubbies for all my handbags.

In my real house, we had no choice but to do this:

And thanks to the odd design of the room, my accessories corner is mostly hidden by the door.

Next weekend we speak in my love language, Words of Affirmation.

At some point, we’ll learn to speak both languages fluently and simultaneously. Imagine me folding the laundry and loading the dishwasher while Scott tells me how amazing I am and how pretty I look wearing oven mitts.

Sky’s the limit

I’ve mentioned a few times on here about my love for Sky+.  I don’t watch that much television during the week (except the usual music videos I have playing in the background while I stand in the hallway doing my hair. Damn you UK builders for not putting electrical outlets in bathrooms. Safety schmafety. )

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, my love for the UK equivalent of TiVo. We had Sky for ages and Scott kept saying he was going to tell them we wanted out of the contract so that they would offer us a free upgrade to Sky+ to keep us as customers. I just wanted to pay the extra money and get it immediately. Let’s not play these games. Then our satellite dish was taken down by the property management company and we were suddenly stuck paying for Sky and actually only getting the five basic channels. It was like we were suddenly transported to Scott’s grandmother’s living room in Huddersfield circa…well, circa now.

When we bought our flat, we upgraded to Sky+ and after a few days, I declared it almost up there with my top three life-changing items (ghd, Parlux 3200 compact and Seche Vite topcoat). My favorite channels are in the 200s…the lifestyle channels, if you will.  It takes the best of  tv – Other People’s Breast Milk, Real Housewives of Atlanta, Split Ends, Dr. 90210, 17 Kids and Counting (we are a little behind over here) - and makes them all available on demand. My favorite channel is Diva TV. Scott’s is Discovery Turbo. So you see we’ve got a problem. He wants to watch Seconds from Disaster and I want to watch How to Look Good Naked.*

(*He’s caught on that this show isn’t really what it sounds like to most men.)

So the good people at Sky invented Sky+ and the divorce rate went down. True story.

But what they didn’t think about was all the fighting that would be started with the planner. The planner! You see, you can keep recording all your favorite shows and there’s no time limit on when you need to watch them but you’re only allocated so much memory. Scott tends to freak out if we get close to the 50% mark. I suppose he’s worried about stumbling upon an Air Crash Investigation marathon Monday – in HD no less – and not having enough space to handle it. ( This has never happened but he lives in hope.)

Our latest argument was over this:

And this:

And about four other pages of The Oprah Winfrey Show taking up 73% of the memory.73%!!! He didn’t seem to care that Scarface is taking up about 20% of that. And I know that’s not a cosmetic surgery reality show so it’s not all my fault.

Needless to say I’m home tonight, wading though it all. Luckily I was able to eliminate a few episodes on hormone replacement therapy (not there yet) and money saving tips  (don’t have any) so it’s been manageable.

Surviving the distance

I got an email from someone who asked me how Scott and I managed to last after being apart for so long. She had always heard that long distance relationships didn’t work.  What was our secret?

I thought about it for a couple of days before writing back – mainly because I don’t have any secrets.  I don’t know if I even have any great advice on the subject because – even after all that I will say here – I would tell you to try to avoid long distance relationships in the first place.  They are so difficult. They suck.

But I figured that I couldn’t just tell this woman that long distance relationships suck.  I needed to be more eloquent, for one. I also needed to do my relationship justice.

So, here’s my advice. May you never need it.

Go on a date.

If you were together, you’d make time for one another. Even though you can’t physically go out for a meal or see a film, you should still schedule each other in.

There is nothing more irritating than being on the phone with someone while they are trying to do something else. If you’ve planned to speak at 7pm, consider it a date and don’t back out.

I like to think of advice I got before a phone interview I had back in college.  Turn off the computer and TV. Remove all distractions. Have a list of a few things you’d like to talk about. Look in a mirror from time to time so you can watch yourself speaking. Smile a lot. You will seem more friendly and engaged.

Ok, maybe you don’t need the mirror but you get the idea.

Hang up the phone.

I’m not a big phone talker. Scott isn’t really either. This wasn’t a great combination.

We decided talking every day wasn’t going to work for us. We’d rather talk every other day or every two days. I wanted quality over quantity. Figure out what works for you.

But remember it’s natural to have an “off” day.  It’s ok to not have anything to say.  Some days we just didn’t want to talk. Those would have been the days when we would have appreciated just being together the most, not having to verbalize our feelings. Just being.

The problem is that usually you’re not both feeling “off” on the same day so when one of you doesn’t feel like talking, the other person gets upset and there isn’t anything you can say to make the situation better.

For us, this was a surefire way to start an argument. Which is exactly what you don’t want when one of you has already said they don’t even feel like talking about good stuff.

Please, I’m begging you. Hang up the phone. Agree to email later. For the love of God, get off the phone. Only bad things will happen if you continue to cling to a conversation that is already over.

Cherish the butterflies.

While I wouldn’t really want to go back to having a long distance relationship, I can admit that it was a lot more exciting.  I know I will never have that sort of excitement again. What I wouldn’t give to have another handwritten love letter!

I will never count down until we see each other next. I will never panic at the thought that the feelings might not be there anymore. (Ok, so this isn’t a great feeling but man, it just adds to the rush.) I will never have the butterflies again as I see him exit the doors at International Arrivals.  I’ll never have that “first” kiss again.

Remember them. Be glad for them. Don’t wish them away too soon.

Use your time wisely.

I won’t lie. I was a mess when we would say goodbye. I was sad for days until my mind made me shut off that part of my life until the next visit.

In the meantime, we focused on ourselves. I was always thinking that one day we would be together but for now? Now have fun. Go out with your friends. Focus on your job or your dreams or both. Have a life of your own. Make sure there are no regrets.

There is plenty of time to be an extension of someone else. And if you’re anything like me, you’ll hate it when you are.

I think this mentality has really stood us in good stead. We both still really enjoy being with our own friends and think it is important to have our own lives. I wouldn’t want it any other way.

Have a plan to be together.

Trust me – it will never work if you can’t work towards something. Maybe you can’t be certain you’ll move by the end of the year. Maybe you’re not sure exactly when and how you’ll be together, but start talking about it.

If you’re moving for a job and you want to stay in your relationship, make a deal to only be apart for a set amount of time. Work to be together – whether that means you agree to see each other once a month or move in together at the end of your contract, you need a plan.

They say it will never work.

Just because they didn’t have what it takes to make their relationship last doesn’t mean you won’t either. Also, remember that it has nothing to do with the distance and everything to do with the relationship. If it’s not going to last, it doesn’t matter how far apart you are.

Every cloud…

It’s not all tears and heartache. There are some benefits to a long distance relationship.

Because all you have is a phone call or a letter, you start talking about things you might not have otherwise discussed. Simply put, you run out of things to talk about. So you move on to the more serious topics like religion, kids, past relationships, money, etc. You get to these topics a lot sooner than if you were together and didn’t have to talk all the time.

Being apart also allows you to really think about where things are going and where you want to be six months from now. You get to take time to make some pretty big decisions and that’s something to be grateful for.

Besides the obvious perk of being able to travel to each other and get to know a different city or country, you also don’t have to shave your legs as much.

Go ahead and write that one down under “Pros.”
———–

I know many of you are in, or have been in, successful long distance relationships so I hope you’ll share your advice too.