This blog functions mainly as a way keep all of our loved ones informed about our travels and experiences in Europe.
It is also a journal about a newlywed couple -who happen to live in a small 67 square meter apartment in central Helsinki. It is about their new lives as they navigate the unfamiliar waters of newlywed life -with its battles of toilet seats and unfolded clothes- alongside the quirks of Finnish culture and the promise of adventure.
So as I sit here on this gloomy Sunday evening -listening to the frantic tapping of Jimmy’s xbox controller, tucking in to my vanilla tea and large macaroon and a half that Jimmy was supposed to split with me (but now refuses, and, what kind of girl would I be if I let a perfectly good macaroon go stale??), I am reflecting on this last weekend. I realize how important it is to convey some of the realities of being newlyweds.
Who live in a European city, with no car, few friends, and only 67 square meters between them.
Guess what, guys. We argue. More than we ever have before. And it is really hard to storm out when you really have no where to go.
He leaves the toilet seat up and I put the toilet paper on the roll the wrong way and he leaves used Q-tips on the counter and I leave clothes on the floor and he doesn’t listen and I am a hot head.
I follow a fair number of bloggers -mainly lifestyle and fashion -and I am really tired of how ideal their lives are. How ideal they make them seem.
Bloggers have the ability to curate their lives for the masses to ogle and drool over, for girls to read and not understand why they aren’t that perfect and why their careers aren’t as dreamy and their clothes as expensive, their hair as shiny, and husbands as willing photographers.
These people are about as real as celebrities. They make a living appearing perfect. Do you think they would be sponsored by this brand or that if they were obvious hot messes?? I promise they fight and fall and mess up. Their closets still -or at least once- include that one sweater on triple clearance that still made them guilty for days and terrified to wash.
So here’s the deal. We are not perfect.
We get along famously a good majority of the time.
But, damnit, he could not have done more to get on my nerves this weekend.
He was so indecisive about everything. And non conversational (babe, you are 95% of my daily human interaction give me a break!). And the thing that really got to me? Oh just you wait.
He didn’t like what I picked out for his sister’s high school graduation present.
Jimmy, when was the last time you were an 18 year old girl heading off to college?
Um, I am pretty sure I remember when I was, so I think I’ve got this. Back off. I really don’t care if you like it, you just have to buy it. She has to like it.
I mean, why did he not understand how important this is to me? This is my big sister-in-law moment. This is half the point of being a sister-in-law: to make sure she never gets a crappy boy gift again!
Its my time to shine, lay off me!
I left and said “I am going to go do something with my day! Feel free to wash the dishes.” and proceeded to lock myself in the bathroom (secretly hoping he desperately needed to use it). I took a 45 minute shower, without even shaving my legs or washing my hair. Just making a point.
And then I gave myself a little pedicure with my new pumice stone and foot cream.
And then I tried some new hairstyles. And plucked my eyebrows.
And then I did my full “going out” make up.
(By the way, our bathroom has no vent, so it was ridiculously hot and humid in there and my hair was curling in all sorts of ways but I was resilient and I did NOT open up that door. He would have to ask me to come in. Naturally, I would say no.)
Yes, it is true.
Sometimes after getting married, you have no idea who the hell you are.
Why, why did that set me off?
Who are you? What happened, when did you become so irrational? Also…who did you marry?
After my shower time, Jimmy was sitting at the computer (having not washed the dishes) looking at what I had picked out. I didn’t give him the satisfaction of noting what he was doing. I gave him to option of coming out with me if he was showered by the time I was dressed. I wanted to leave while he was in there. But I was beginning to come back to earth. We silently left the apartment, I reluctantly held his hand down the street, and eventually we forgot ourselves and were laughing at some thing or another.
Oh and by the way ladies…all those “points” we are trying to make with extending showers and crusty pots in the sink…they don’t get them. They just don’t speak that language.
The day ended with us shopping around at all the stuff we want for our house when we get back to the states, picking out some great food for a big dinner at home, and watching a comedy on the couch.
We haven’t settled what we will be giving Katrina (don’t worry girl, I will hold out!) and fortunately we have time for that.
But when you are stuck with some one for “ever after,” it is always worth letting the small stuff wash off in an inordinately long shower and melt away with a reluctant hand hold.
Especially for us. We really cannot be angry long, or we would both get either very lonely or this little apartment would burn to the ground. 67 square meters is not much fuming space.
Anyone out there have some ridiculous argument stories? Please share in the comments! There is solidarity in shared insanity!