Tuesday, April 14, 2009

Live, Laugh, Love

I always day dreamed about being married when I was younger. When I was younger, I was a guilty believer in the "happily-ever-after" view of love and marriage. I thought my hardwork would be over once I fell in love and received that bright and sparkly wedding ring. That has certainly not been the case. You have to really work at being married...REALLY work! I love Paul (my husband) more than anyone else in the world...but there is nobody else in the world who can make me so incredibly insane with anger like he does.

We met in the third grade at a Vacation Bible School program in the summer of 1994. I still remember the way he scowled at me from across the room, pouting because the last place he wanted to be during a sunny July afternoon was stuck inside a church basement drawing crosses and memorizing scripture passages. It was love at first glare. I was instantly spellbound by him, but he could not have cared less about me. Every instance I attempted to strike up a conversation with him or even sit next to him during snacktime was thwarted by his silly belief that this shy, slightly awkward 8-year-old girl would give him an incurable case of the cooties! Needless to say, the summer passed us by and I failed to establish a friendship with my newfound love.

Three years later, my parents decided to enroll me in a new private school that had opened the year before. There were only 8 other students in my sixth grade class and one of them was that cute boy I had fallen in love with a few short years ago. Thinking that perhaps he had grown up during the three years we had been apart, I attempted once more to establish a friendship with him. Paul, however, was more interested in teasing me, pulling my hair and poking my spine with pens and rulers. We had a temporary breakthrough one day when, after completing an oral examination, he told me: "You're really smart." Shortly afterwards, I smashed his ego by defeating him in a game of HORSE and the silent treatment began again. By the end of the school year, my Dad announced that he had accepted a new position and we would be moving across the country. A short 2 months later, we had sold our home, packed our boxes, and were driving off into the distance. As we drove away, I wrote in my diary (which I religiously updated daily) that I hoped to see Paul again one day.

Fast forward to August 2004: I was a freshman strolling across the campus of the University of Notre Dame, excited to join the ranks of the "Fighting Irish" and begin pursuing my degree in Biology. One of my friends from high school was also joining me at Notre Dame and I was on my way to visit him in his new dorm room. As I walked down the hallway of Alumni Hall, studying the room numbers written on the doors, I noticed a familiar name on one of the doors. Could this be the same Paul that I had been in love with all those years ago? I had to find out. I knocked on the door, and a handsome, familiar face opened it. Although 6 years older than the last time I saw him, I recognized him instantly. I told him who I was, and he remembered. We became good friends after that...slowly becoming reacquainted with one another through late night study sessions, long walks around campus, coffee breaks at Starbucks, and prayer at mass. Six months later, I became his girlfriend. Three and a half years after that, I became his wife.

Here we are today: Happily married for a young 9 months and living/working in Pennsylvania. I am beginning this blog to chronicle our new life together and to share recipes/cooking adventures with others.

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