If We Make It Through December

It has been two straight weeks of birthdays, which equates to planning, phone calls, hemorrhaging cash, running around on my lunch breaks and more running once I get home. Then the whole thing starts all over approximately ten hours later. Maybe six hours if I stay up to watch Steven Colbert.

These are the times when I flash back to "for better or for worse" and remember his mom tearfully signing our marriage license as a witness. I suspect her tears of joy weren't only because she knew that we'd have our ups and downs, but probably because someone else would have to deal with him. Okay, okay. That last comment was spiteful; but at times like this, I just wish I could dump him on her doorstep and say "Um...he's broken. You made him...so, uh... he's under warranty, right? Why don't I just come back to pick him up once you get him straightened out?"

But that's the thing about marriage: you're a grown up, which means that you figure this kind of crapola out for yourselves without momma's intervention. And you cleave to each other. In other words: you make it fit. You pound it in place like a stubborn kid pounds an errant piece in a jigsaw puzzle.

So I'll keep pounding. We both will. Both of us know that this isn't the end of our marriage; it's just that arguments are just such a rarity for us. I hate 'em; and you can quote me on that.

Bottom line is that we'll make it through December...

..and a bunch of Decembers to come -- especially when you consider that we don't have it half as bad as ol' Merle does.

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