Getting Lost

"Can I follow you home?," I asked him.

"I'm not completely sure where I'm going," he replied.

"That's okay, we'll just get lost together," I laughed.

This conversation pretty much sums up my entire relationship with the love of my life, my husband of 13 years.  

This conversation actually happened this past weekend after our oldest son's football game.  Tim in our red minivan, me in our silver minivan talking about following each other home.  That's right we are a two minivan family.  It may not be as edgy as me drunkenly propositioning him in a smoky, dark bar 20 years ago when we were thinner, cooler and better looking, but to me it's where it's at.  I hold onto the poetry and romance in the ordinary moments because why not? I mean really, why not, it's good stuff.

Our romance has been full of big love, loud fights, lots of hope and making the best of bad decisions, always holding onto our sense of humor and continually getting lost together.  

But sometimes it doesn't feel romantic at all.  It is more like "god damn, when are we going to figure this shit out." This shit being life, money, and money and money (we are really, really bad at that part) and jobs and parenting and being everywhere for everybody and how to not piss people off but still set boundaries and to not read Facebook posts and feel like you want to scream or cry or yell at God because people are so dumb or mean or heartless.  What's poetic and romantic about that?  

What good is being in love and poetry and romance when you can't figure shit out?

Here's my advice about what a poetic, sensitive person should not do to feel better: don't apply to be seasonal help at JoAnn Fabrics.  Especially if said sensitive person has only been freelancing and staying at home mothering for the past decade.  Or if said person is struggling with any sort of identity issues like "who am I after a miscarriage?" or  "13 years ago, I was really an up-and-comer in the nonprofit world, but not sure what to do with that now?"  

First of all, who knew you had to have a cover letter and a resume for a seasonal position in retail sales. I mean that's cool, I'm just surprised.  I sat down at the computer and typed up my resume feeling like a loser.  Resumes and applications bring back all the demoralizing anxiety of standardized tests that didn't have an essay portion when I was a kid.  "Once a loser always a loser," I told myself.  See we sensitive, poetic types can get dark pretty fast. Waaaaa.

Just to confirm my "I'm an idiot" feeling, I got tripped up by the online application too.  Missing required fields and embarrassingly not know how much minimum wage is and having to Google it.  All while Wade was emptying every cabinet in the kitchen to get my attention.  

My attempt to bring in a little extra money (and do my part to help the whole we never have enough money issue) at a place where I could maybe get a discount on nerdy craft supplies that I love put me in a funk.  A totally unpoetical, unromantic, this-shit-is-all-stupid funk.

Then Tim sent me a text.  A mushy, we'll get through whatever we have to kind of text.  It was the poetry and romance of the ordinary moment that I love, that I need.  A reminder that even though we don't have any answers and life is full of stupid funks and that our happily ever after looks different than other people's and we will never be good with money (we would be those assholes that screw up winning the MegaMillions jackpot) and JoAnn Fabrics may never hire me, we're together and we're in love.  We will ride off into the sunset in our minivan with no clue where we are going and get lost together.

P.S. I am well aware that love and poetry and romance don't pay the bills, but they sure do help make it all better. Don't you think so?

This John Prine song is pretty awesome (and a little raunchy).

Oh, oh wait, this is another pretty awesome song for our (or anyone's) love story.  Annnnd as a bonus, it's Mayim Bialik's ahhhmazing performance in Beaches which is special because my mom used to tell me I looked just like her. Yup.  I wish I sounded like her too when I was a kid or ever.