Smooching underneath wild mistletoe in Reims, Champagne
When we first arrived in Paris, “anniversary” referred to how long it had been since leaving our homeland and setting up shop here: two weeks since we had left, one month since our departure and, most recently, one-quarter of a year. But more monumental, and somewhat swept under the rug (or, in our case, faux wood flooring stuck to concrete), was the duration of our marriage. And so, today, which marks half-a year of marriage for Monsieur and Madame Benz, I thought I would enlighten you with a little reflection on just how we operate.
Matt: the gentle soul, inward-looking dishwasher. Yes, my husband LIKES to wash the dishes. Perhaps it is more that he enjoys staring out of our kitchen window to the courtyard filled with trashcans, but regardless of his motive, I adore him for this. Additionally (and, yes, you will think I am lying as I launch into this next part), he likes doing the laundry as well. I never minded the laundry -- when the machines were in our apartment and I could simultaneously watch “Keeping Up with the Kardashians” or bake cupcakes. However, to be sharing the laundromat bench with a madame who could use a little spin cycle herself, is just not quite as alluring. So it is with much enthusiasm and admiration that I let him indulge in the lugging our Target laundry bin teeming with our soiled duds to the facility next door. Now that I have listed the most important reasons why our marriage works, I will move on to the more emotional component.
Matt is my cheerleader, par excellance. Don’t worry, he has not changed teams over here (and for that, our marriage is thankful), but he has continued with incessant praise -- a necessity, I believe, for any successful relationship. And although I know I am fantastic, it is nice to hear him verbally pat me on the back (and physically; another plus for my hubby). I struggle with not working over here and therefore contributing to our pot, and instead of making me feel inadequate, Matt makes me feel like I am moving mountains. From Gala Girl to Gangsta Benz, he consistently builds me up and allows me to really just be myself. There are few people that are so lucky as to be true to themselves, and Matt allows me just that.
I know at this point you are wiping the vomit off of your computer screen, as my above words are just too much. Don’t worry, we have a few areas to work on as well. I get inappropriately frustrated when Matt can’t regurgitate verbatim a story that I have told him three weeks prior. He has some nerve, not remembering everything I say to him. But then again, he has some nerve interrupting me when I am in the middle of some fantastically Parisian story, like what my lunch was, or why my feet hurt. So, we aren’t without some marital issues. However, I don’t doubt that we won’t be able to work these out (or at least be okay with yelling at one another when they happen) because we communicate. Sorry, back to my gooey feelings.
Yesterday Matt came with me to proctor the Paris Spelling Bee. He and I were the two pronouncers for the 3rd-5th grade participants. As we were rehashing the preliminaries at a meeting following, one of the proctors in our room made the following observation: “Matt and Ashley were a really good team.” I don’t think I could have said it better myself. And that, my friends, is where we are at month six as “Mashley.”
Park de Sceaux, site of our afternoon pique-nique:
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