I have been married for one full month.
Married.
Let's just let that sink in for a moment, shall we?
It seems impossible to me, on some days, that I've actually found someone who willingly puts up with the unadulterated chaos that is my life.
I have three tweenagers running amok upstairs as I type this, at least two of whom will not answer when I call because they have fallen into their technology and buried themselves between two headphones for the foreseeable future. It is absolutely certain that at least two of them will be fighting within the next 15 minutes, one will refuse to eat her dinner, and all three will be preventing us from getting an entire conversation in at a single go.
I am messy.
And unorganized.
And often late.
(which seems to be, by all accounts, the absolute bane of existence for a pilot).
I hate cleaning the bathrooms.
I often leave laundry IN the dryer for a day or so until it has to be folded and distributed.
I often think a bowl of cereal is an acceptable dinner item.
I am not an easy person to love.
Somehow. Someway. He does it anyway.
Don't mistake me - The Captain isn't always a peach to live with either.
No one is.
But we're here anyway.
One full month in to this whole married thing - which if we're being truthful - I didn't think I'd ever willingly walk back into.
I guess I'm just saying that I've lucked out.
Even on the days when we're both cranky, and work is hard, and one of us is stuck in a crappy hotel half a continent away for work...
I've lucked out.
