No One At The Kmart Knows About My Bologna

From my first days of knowing my husband, I also knew about his love for nonsensical phrases. He loves to incessantly repeat odd, meaningless things that he hears on films or commercials or on the side of the road. I’ve never watched Back to the Future or The Goonies from start to finish, but I can quote the crap out of both of them.


So as we were binge-watching Shameless last week, and a stoned college student on a bad trip uttered the words, “No one at the Kmart knows about my bologna.”, I immediately knew this would be a new token phrase. Not only because Robby was nearly crying he was laughing so hard, but because it sounded just like him. I felt honored to be privy to a strange catchphrase in the making.

Robby and I are soon to celebrate seven years of marriage and an anniversary trip is in the works. Both of these things make me giddy.

In these seven years we’ve shared many things. Anger, but more joy. Fights, but more laughter. Eye rolls, but more weird dances around the house. Baby poop, but more group family cuddles. Okay, let’s be real, probably more baby poop. Babies poop a lot.


 There’s a big learning curve when it comes to marriage, and I love that we’ve always found ways to learn and curve together. I was especially young when we said “I do”, and Robby has been unwaveringly patient and kind every step and misstep of the way. There are things I couldn’t have known at twenty that I know about myself now. That, as much as I value us, I also need space to breathe, to travel and to live outside of my marriage. That, as much as I cherish my family, I also value my independence and higher education and exploring the world. Not only that, I sincerely believe that having this time to myself makes me both a better wife and mother overall. This isn’t something that everyone understands, and that’s okay. Because he does. Robby has always wholeheartedly encouraged me to chase my dreams and to figure out what makes me feel happy and fulfilled. He is my person, and to have spent the past seven years crafting inside jokes and our own bizarre lingo makes me feel like I’m a part of the best private club. Ours.

I married young, but I married right.

His sweet laughter about secret bologna only reiterates that knowledge.


The Craziest, Most Foolish, Best Decision I’ve Ever Made

This year has been a big one for me and my husband. In January, we traveled to Italy and experienced a week so magical, I couldn’t have possibly dreamed it up any better. In April, we said our first hellos to our beautiful baby girl. Now we’re in the works of planning a trip in celebration of our upcoming five year wedding anniversary. Five years! Say what?!

This past weekend was a quieter one, spent with Robby’s parents in New Ulm, Texas. Saturday night, Robby and I ventured to the nearby town of Brenham, Texas for a date night. Over shrimp and a beer-rita at a seafood shack followed by a chocolate torte at a two-story-house-turned-Italian-restaurant, I found myself giddy and grateful for yet another adventure with my main squeeze. Over six years together and nearly five years of marriage, and he still manages to make me swoon on a regular basis.


As many of you know, I was a young’un when I met Robby. I had technically been a single adult for only a little over a year when I met him. Just a month previous I had told someone, a community college friend who asked me what I was wanting from ‘this’ after an innocent kissing session, that I only wanted friendship. And that was the truth, though I could understand the mixed signals. When the eager gentleman before this one told me he couldn’t believe how much he liked me already, on our first date, I ran. Fast. This was partly due to the fact that I was simultaneously managing to have my heart completely broken by someone who was never actually my boyfriend, but instead a friendship escalated out of control. A relationship wasn’t exactly the first thing on my mind the night I met my future husband. Distractions were. But I think I knew even then that if I let my jaded self walk away from someone like Robby, I’d probably regret it. Was I ready? Maybe not. Probably not. But who is ever ready? For love or life or big, scary, maybe terrible, maybe wonderful changes? The most we can ever do is put ourselves out there and hope for the best. So I did.


Still, in staying with Robby, I had so much growing to do on my own. I was a naive, silly, confused teenager when we met, and no amount of love was going to fix that. Tying that knot did not keep me from making my own mistakes, or accomplishing my own goals. I’ve noticed that marriage has this dangerous potential of guarding someone from becoming their own complete person if used as a shield against the world. But I’ve never been a big fan of barriers. If anything, I feel I came into my own even sooner than I would have as a young single girl, because there was no one to impress or put on faces for. With Robby, for better or worse, I simply am who I am. And I was who I was. At first I was the crazy, emotional, angry, stereotypical teenager who thought she knew everything and actually knew very little at all. Then I was the typical poor college student, nannying on the side, keeping my measly funds in my own bank account. Eventually, I graduated college. I realized what I was passionate about and went after those things. I became an event blogger and started my first post-college career. I gained friends and I lost them. I traveled with Robby, and I traveled with friends and even alone. I adventured and started jogging and filmed a commercial; I hurt and laughed and learned and cried over things that had nothing to do with my husband in the slightest. Robby has been there for me every step of the way, while always giving me space to breathe and respecting my need for freedom within a relationship. I always understood that he couldn’t help me fix my own issues or fulfill my personal dreams. I wouldn’t have wanted him to. 


What I want from him is something different entirely. I want him because his smile is the purest, most joy-filled smile I’ve ever seen. Because we laugh so much. We laugh so hard that he has tears and my sides hurt. Because he listens to every strange, ridiculous, rambling thought on my mind. Because we could be trapped in a cardboard box together and still have fun. Because he has been through so much more than I have, and he is still so kind, and open and not even slightly cynical. I love him because we have our own language, a dialogue so full of inside jokes and odd remarks that we’d be sure to get odd looks speaking it in public. Because I am still a little taken aback by the the love he gives to me with his eyes, his words, his actions. Because while I have taught him to be more politically and grammatically correct, he has taught me to slow down and savor even the tiniest of moments. Because he loves openly, affectionately and without hesitation. Because he is such a patient, doting and loving father to our redheaded, blue-eyed baby girl. Because I grew up with him, and because I hope to grow old with him.

Looking back, I am incredibly thankful to not have had the good sense to realize that twenty is not usually the best age to get married. I might have walked away from a world of happiness with someone who is not just good to me, but for me. I might have missed out on the adventure of a lifetime, an adventure that I hope will last me the rest of my lifetime. I chose to turn a blind eye to the statistics and societal norms and follow my stubborn, ignorant little heart. And that was the craziest, most foolish, best decision I’ve ever made.

Our Timeline.

In light of Robby and I’s four month wedding anniversary being today (I know, how can we even stand each other after so damn long?!) ,because our story is so unconventional it’s kind of funny, and mostly because I feel like writing a timeline, Here it is, approximate dating and all:

Day 1–  First week of May 2008. I go to house party with friends. Single friend and single me are pissed off that everyone at the party is either ugly or taken so we take an unholy amount of jello shots.  I am also broken-hearted at this time so I take the liberty of drinking even more than usual. I am quite drunk by the time the dude walks in. I also find myself quite excited that SOMEBODY isn’t gross looking so I proceed to stare at him for the next 5 minutes. (he stared back but now tells me that I was eye f***king him.) I ask friend if he’s cute or if it’s just my drunkenness and she gives me the okay. We flirt, juice a cantaloupe, talk of religion and country music, take pictures,and instantly hit it off because we’re obviously both crazies.

He asks for my number and leaves but comes back wanting ‘beer for the road.’ (BAD.) I follow him to the garage and for some reason decide this would be a good time to lip-attack. We make out for five minutes and then he asks with that huge southern drawl and huge smile, “Will you go on a date with me?”  I say yes.

Day 4– We go on our first date. He takes me to Olive Garden. I don’t want any silence or awkward moments so over calamari, I accidentally let out something along the lines of  “Oh this food is so good,by the way,I’m a virgin.” (hopefully that’s not really how I said it,but it did slip out) WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME!? Boy is genuinely shocked. I am genuinely stupid.  Somebody just shoot me. Oh,wait. What’s that you say? We’re going to shoot guns now? Oh good. Okay. I don’t really want somebody to shoot me. So we go shoot guns. The girl above is obviously not really me (hurrah for google images!) , as I did not look like I had any idea what the heck I was doing. BUT.  I had one hell of a time. Props to the boy for unique first date idea. Definitely a great steam-blower-offer too. He takes me home and neither one of us have the balls to hug/kiss, though we made out on the first date.  Our gate is closed so I jump over it. He laughs at me and I give him the finger. For the next few days, I over-analyze why he didn’t hug me while he is over-analyzing why I gave him the finger.

Day 7– A date or two more and the boy hasn’t called in a couple of days. This could be because of my constant word-vomiting or perhaps because while on the phone with him, I half blacked out and started screaming loudly as I dropped to the floor. He told me to use nose drops (I was sick) and turns out it counts as a medicine. I already had too much medicine that day. Oops.  My friend tells me to call him. I say no, that’s the boys job. Eventually, I end up calling him (I later find out he was playing games and waiting for me to call. Psh.) and we go to my friends to spend the night. We make out in laundry room. I later proceed, without realizing, to drunkenly hump his leg as I make out with him the rest of the night. Proof of my innocence, he later claims.  He leaves at 5am for work but comes back just to give me a kiss goodbye. My heart pitter-patters a little.

Day 8– My daddy is getting pissed off that I’m with this boy so much and he hasn’t met him yet. Considering I have totally screwed up my relationship with my dad because of the last dude I was with, I want to try and start things off right.  Asking a boy to meet your parents after barely a week of knowing him is…um..weird. And a bad idea. Perfect. That’s what I’m looking for. I told myself I’m not doing this heart-break shit again, and I’m in no mood to play anymore games. If this boy is serious, we’ll find out right now. In the car. Something like this. “Hey…my dad wants to meet you.” “Oh. .Really? Wow.” “You don’t have to.” “No. No,I will. I’m just nervous.”  Well,alrighty then. Let’s do this.

Day 9– He meets my dad. He plays basketball with us and sucks pretty bad. My brother and his friend make fun of him behind his back.  (Later, Robby and brother develop a bromance. My brother is much like me in guy form.) My dad gives him a hard time all day. This is good. Time for another test. I think it will be a good idea to make out with boy in laundry room. I have a thing for laundry rooms. Mother catches us and sing songs it across the house, I’m sure.  Oops. Poor boy is 25 and going through this shit for a barely nineteen year old?! Definite points. Later that night, dad tells me not to screw it up. Perfect. He loves him. More points for the boy. Lots more points.

Day 10– Surprisingly, after nose drops and leg-grinding and parent meeting, I haven’t scared him off yet. This guy might be a keeper. After a night of friends, drinks, and lots of kisses we’re laying in bed. He tells me with that huge accent of his, “I think we should start dating.” I, wanting to hear him say it, play stupid. “What does that mean?”….“Like, boyfriend-girlfriend.” I say okay and later call up all of my friends like a giddy schoolgirl. This is my first real boyfriend, after all.

Day 14- Party at friend’s house. Robby and I drink a lot and kiss a lot and say a lot of sweet things. We’ve been together about two weeks. He tells me he loves me and that I’m “The one.” I ask him how he knows that already. He says he just knows. You’re gagging,aren’t you? Usually I would too. The last dude who tried to tell me he loved me for the first time, I yelled at him for thirty minutes. But for some reason, I’m only a little freaked out. Mostly, I’m all bubbly and lightheaded. I tell him I love him back, though I didn’t mean it yet and I knew it. Blame it on the booze and my need to keep feelings in tact.

Day 16- We’re listening to his songs on the computer. He knows I’m really into lyrics at this point and I know he’s more into the beat.  Fade into you- Mazzy Star comes on. I’ve never heard it. He sits me in his lap and tells me it makes him think of me.I listen. I realize I’m kind of falling for this boy a tiny little bit.

Day 17–  Brother, Brother’s girlfriend, Cousin, Robby and I are going to Fiesta Texas. Yee-haw.  My brother decides he approves of  my boyfriend on the car ride there when he refuses to let me listen to the music I want to and in general gives  me a hard time. Goodie, they can relate to making Christina furious all of the time! Secretly makes me happy that they’re hitting it off.  Fun and very hot day. Alas, I promise to get brother home at certain time and I’m more than a few hours late. Dad is ‘Tired of my shit’ and kicks me out. I know he’s just pissed off (him and I are so much alike) and will get over it but hey, I’m all for a sleepover at my boyfriend’s house for a few nights!A little over two weeks of knowing eachother and this sleepover ends up being a permanent one.  Oh, poor boyfriend.

Day 17-Day 28-ish–  We’ve been sleeping in the same bed for a week and a half and dating for close to a month. The dude still isn’t getting any. Poor poor poor poor boyfriend. He’s being so good too. Said he’ll wait as long as he has to. He loves me and all that stuff. Took me to Ikea and we picked out a few things to make my move-in easier and more organized. I’m a bitch and tease him a lot. “You wanna ….. me soooo bad but youuu caaannnn’t” I tell him one night. His mouth drops. This is fun.

Day 29-ish– God. I’m falling in love.

Day 30-ish– I give in.

Day 31-130 ish– We discover a lot about each-other, really fast. As the apartment is shared amongst five people, we are crammed in one room with all of our problems, all of the time. My temper, His lack of being able to deal with things. My need for attention, his need for alone time. (funny enough, this would later reverse.)  We make a lot of love. We fight a lot. Things get thrown a lot (by me). We fake break up a lot. I cry a lot. I get kicked out or thrown out or I leave and go on thirty minute drives often. Neither one of us were prepared for this or expected it to be so hard. There is an incredible amount of passion though and through all of his shit (and mine) it’s worth it. We grow up together and that love word keeps growing bigger too.

Day 140 ish– We move into an apartment without any roomates. It’s ours. His parents (who love me at this point) don’t know we’ve been living together (or so they say). They,along with my brother, help us move into this apartment. Everything now, is better. Everything is so so so much better. We have our space, our own place, and we by now know the other like the back of our hands. It’s a good feeling and everything is right.

Day 200-ish– He proposes. In the laundry room. I told you I have a thing for laundry rooms. I say yes.

1 year,5 months, 3days– We say the big “I do.”

Currently– Well, last night my boy (I still call him my boy) had really dry hands so I put lotion on his fingers. We watched American Idol and cuddled and talked.  We’re like an old married couple that has really hot sex. He treats me so good and I think I visibly shine whenever I talk about him.  He still makes me incredibly giddy and I still have my crazy moments, but he loves that. We still fight a little but we laugh a lot more. We still go to parties and have jello shots but I don’t let him get a beer for the road anymore. I can’t imagine falling asleep without him.  I’m his wife. He’s my husband.  I still have a thing for laundry rooms.

What this marriage thing means.

Going on only my third month of marriage, I’m still constantly learning more about what it means after you say the words “I do.”  I hear and have seen so many horror stories, and then I see an old married couple holding hands or my married friends who have been together for 10 years still have that sparkle…and It’s like I see both sides of  the whole for better, for worse deal.  I’m not sure which one we’ll be 50 years from now, but I can’t imagine ever not being happy with the dude, for whatever that’s worth. I don’t know much  about marriage, obviously. I’m twenty and a newlywed.  But I’ve definitely been taking notes lately. Last night, we had a few friends over.A fun night intermingling friends, mostly my friends.  But it kind of dawned on me, they’re not just my friends anymore. Not just his friends either.  I think part of this marriage deal is they become our friends.

Let me show you:

Last night got me really thinking about this blog. Having friends over, different groups  and all.  We had a really fun night last night.  A little too much fun.  Alcohol is such a great indicator of real feelings isn’t it? I especially seem to find more about who really reads my blog too. Last night Kati was mentioning it and then Bing (husband’s friend) even mentioned reading occasionally. I know I make my blogs super public but it surprises me a little  every time someone mentions reading. Also, I love listening to guy talk. I even got an 8 out of 10 in coolness level via Bing and the husband.  Ha. Apparently it’s impossible for a girl to get a 10 and a  girl only good for sex can only get up to a six (men..)… so I’m doing pretty well for myself, eh?

Back to what I’m getting at here. Every moment, memory, laugh, cry,…it’s ours now. I have this independent streak so this is slowly sinking in and I’m slowly accepting it. What’s mine is his, His is mine. Is that where so many relationships go wrong? They can share the good but not the bad? The chuckles and not the tears, the nice old grandma but not the smelly uncle? The past but not the parts you don’t want to hear about? The living space but not the bank accounts? It’s true, as hard as I try, can’t bring myself to share some things, and it’s caused a few tiffs.  But when you marry, you’re not just marrying the dude/chick you married.  You’re marrying a hell of a lot more than that. You’re marrying their weird habits, the funny way they talk, the sailor mouth a girl probably shouldn’t have.  You’re marrying their mistakes, zombie games, hurts, likes, dislikes, their ego, their wallet, their middle school crush reminiscences , their enemies, their tv-shows. You’re marrying their family, the whole family, even creepy uncle Tom. (Neither of us actually have a creepy uncle Tom, if you’re wondering) You’re marrying their wants, dreams, the fact that they can never ever get out of the door on time. You’re marrying the friend, or a few friends, who get a little too crazy one night. You’re marrying present scars, future wrinkles, today’s stinky feet.  You’re marrying tons of yelling and screaming and annoyances and eye rolls. You’re marrying millions of laughs and tears, and double the moments that take your breath away. You’re marrying the fact that I’m by nature a little too flirty, or that he can never shut up when I’m listening to a song in the car.  You’re marrying their grudges, their shortcomings, their hates, loves, their past, the good, the bad, and the ugly.  When you commit to this marriage thing you’re committing to not just the person but who they are, who they were, who they will be, and every little detail in between. There’s not really any other way around it.  And yes, it’s hard sometimes. But for the most part, I love sharing everything with him. I hate sharing. This must mean something.

Remember when I said we had a little too much fun? This picture is pretty priceless. Kat and Bing ended up staying the night, even sharing a couch at one point. Talk about sharing friends. Ha.