You Got Married… What’s Next? 

Alright, so. Obviously I’m moving, and if you follow me on any of my social media, you can plainly see I’m excited. Also nervous and terrified, but excited is a good overall feeling. 

Also, obviously, I got married a little over 6 months ago. 

Now, I get that with marriage and moving and life, people want to know “what’s next?!” LOL at you, because if I knew, I probably wouldn’t be so moody 24/7. And the question of children is a normal one. But let’s discuss where I stand on that. 

1) I don’t want kids right now. Why? 
Because I’m not even 20, I’ve been married for six months and I haven’t even spent a quarter of that actually with my husband. So first off, having a child would be a little difficult without him, if you catch my drift. Second, I want to enjoy newlywed life for just a minute. I want Saturday mornings to start when I wake up, not when the infant in the next room decides Saturday should start. 

2) “You’ll change your mind!” 

Okay? So? Maybe I will. Maybe in 6 years I decide that I do want a child, and I want four of them. But guess what? Right now, I have no desire for that lifestyle, and the possibility that I might change my mind later doesn’t invalidate my opinions or thoughts that I’m having presently. 

3) I’m not a good wife if I don’t have kids. 

Wow. Okay, thanks, pals. First off, if you’re not married to me, what kind of opinion do you get on my wife skills? (The answer: you don’t.) Also, if my husband decided that he just absolutely, positively needed a baby, we’d talk about it. Marriage=partnership. You talk about things and you compromise. Like I said, I might change my mind in 6 months or 6 years. But just because I say, “I don’t really want children,” doesn’t mean you get to tell me what kind of wife I am. You’re not married to me. Step off. 

4) “Oh, you’ll get bored and have a few.” 

This comment really bothers me. Like, who gets bored and decides to create a human being? That’s a person. They will develop their own thoughts and emotions and could maybe be a genius. You shouldn’t treat life and the creation of it as a pastime to engage in when you get bored. 

5) The common idea that I don’t know what love is until I have a child. 

First off, again, you’re rude if you say this to anyone. You’re basically minimizing the love they feel for their spouse. And if you don’t know what love is before having kids, why is anyone getting married? You must not love each other. Does anyone else agree with how ignorant this sounds, or am I just salty? I do know that the love a parent feels for their child is a completely different love than what they feel for their spouse. But I also know that I love my husband. He makes me laugh, I like to annoy him, we watch Game of Thrones, cuddling with the dog is one of our favorite things, and sometimes we argue. I know what love is. Just because I don’t know the love of a parent to a child doesn’t mean I don’t know what love is. Don’t try to diminish the love I do know with love I have no intention of presently discovering. It’s ignorant sounding and rude. 

Now, don’t get me wrong. I enjoy babies, and toddlers, and young kids. I love the way babies smell and I don’t mind babysitting. But just because I like those things doesn’t also mean I don’t like handing them back to their parents and going home to my baby-cry empty house. 

So, what’s next? Well, right now, I’m focused on getting my husband home, turning off our phones, and ignoring that question until we’re ready for it. What’s next is maybe another dog, because the one we have is our child. Really, I’m not kidding. And he’s cute. So win win. What’s next is finally getting to enjoy married life for more than a week at a time together and in our own home.  What’s next is Saturday mornings that start at 11 and weekends spent at Disneyland or rockclimbing just because we can. What’s next is: our business, because we’re the married ones. Ask away, that’s fine, but don’t criticize my answers, and tell me how I should be living my life, or planing for what’s next. 

What’s next: I don’t know. But hey, I’m cool with finding out. 




Thank You for Leaving

People come into your life to teach you lessons, I’ve come to believe. Some stay, and some go. 

To the people who have come into my life and stayed: thank you. Without you, I don’t know who I’d be. I love you. 

To the people who have come into my life and left: thank you. You taught me lessons, and no hard feelings. I’m a big girl, now. 

As a child of divorce, I struggled with self worth, for a lot longer than some would imagine. Just recently have I realized and decided that although my parents made me, their marriage and it’s lack of success doesn’t define me, or my worth as their child. Just because their marriage failed, doesn’t mean that I was or am a failure. 

I remember struggling with who I was for a long time. I’d go through phases of rebellion and pure nastiness just because I didn’t know. My mom would ask me what the point of it all was, why I was doing what I was doing, and I didn’t have an answer. And I still don’t, really. Maybe I thought any attention was good attention, even if it was negative. Maybe I thought I was getting back at someone for some imagined wrong. 

People say that the friends you walk into high school with won’t be the ones you walk out with. And that’s true. When I walked into high school my freshman year, I don’t really remember who my friends were, now, 5 years later. I remember thinking my junior year that the girl I called my best friend would always be my best friend. She was fun, she remembered my birthday, she and I drove around town and spent hours in Hobby Lobby just because we could. And then we had a falling out because I thought I was doing the right thing, and oh, how it hurt. 

Why does no one talk about friendship breakups? They’re worse than relationship breakups. She was the person I cried to, the person I escaped with for a little while, the person whose family welcomed me in like their own. And in the blink of an eye, I lost that. I thought I was helping her, and maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t. But all I know is that I lost that friendship, and I think that’s something that will always stick with me. 

Thank you, though, best friend of junior year. We may not speak all that often, and we may have lost what we had, but you are still one of my favorite people. I see your posts and my heart hurts. But thank you, for showing me that sometimes you have to follow your morals, even though others will disagree with you. Thank you for showing me what friendship was at a hard time in my life. Thank you for showing me what best friendship was, and how to nurture it. I’ll always cherish the memories we made. 

Thank you for leaving, to the guy who taught me how to fish and roller skate: I thought you and my mom were going to get married. You treated me like I was your own, and you pitched for my softball team, and you picked me and Natalie up from school. When that relationship ended, I was sad. It was like divorce all over again, almost. 

Thank you, though, for still coming around for a little while after that. Even after you and mom split up, you still got me birthday cards and you still sent me a text when I graduated high school. You taught me that even though some relationships don’t work out, there’s no need to be nasty afterward. You and mom may not have worked out, but you never let me see the hard feelings between you two. Thank you for leaving, because now she’s found the person she’s deserved all along, and he fixes my headlights on my car and helps me move. Thank you for leaving and bringing him into my life. 

Thank you for leaving, to my husband: two years ago, I thought being without you for three months would kill me. Because I was 16, and I have a tendency to be dramatic, and you’re the other half of me. And right now, this sucks. I’m sitting on the couch with the dog next to me and I’m missing you something terrible. I miss everything, even arguing. I miss not being lonely. But thank you for doing this. Thank you for teaching me that I can sort of, kind of, almost, maybe orchestrate a cross country move, without you. Thank you for teaching me that I am capable of sleeping alone, even though it’s hard. Thank you for teaching me that I can be my own hero, when you’re not around. 

Just an FYI, though: when you get back, you’re required to go back to hero-ing. Sorry not sorry. 

To the people who have come into my life and stayed: thank you, most of all. You showed me that love is unconditional, and that sometimes, love is a choice. Thank you for choosing to love me, just as I have chosen to love you. 

A special thanks to my Gra, my best friend. You held my hand when I cried, even though tears make you uncomfortable. You have gone on adventures with me and are an inspiration to others, and I am blessed to know you. You stood beside me on my wedding day, and promised to fall down if I tripped down the aisle. You’ve never said to me to suck it up. You’ve never done anything but support me, and that’s a huge thing when all I do is whine. Thank you for telling me to “cry on the inside”, so I won’t ruin my mascara. Thank you for being able to sit in silence with me. I hope Europe  is shaping up to be all you planned on it being. I love you, and my home will always be yours. Thank you for coming into my life and staying. 

Thank you to everyone who has taught me anything. Which would be everyone. 



Where is Home?

Started on emptying my storage unit today… And when I got home, I sat on the couch and looked around. The place that’s been my home for 14 years is about to be someplace I come back to for the holidays. The bedroom my mama redecorated for my 13th birthday won’t be mine anymore. The backyard hasn’t seen a swing set or trampoline in YEARS, but it’s where I had mine. That fireplace has been cold more often than its been warm, but I remember when a fire was lit in it. This is the home where we argued, laughed, loved, lost, and wondered if we were gonna make it. People have walked in and out of that front door, and some have made a lasting impact on who I am. 

This house has seen me cry, seen me figure out what love really was, seen me slam doors and think I knew better than my mama, seen me argue for the sake of arguing. This house became my home when I thought I had lost my home. 

In a few weeks, I’m striking out to make a new house a home. A little earlier than I wanted, and if I said I wasn’t scared I’d be lying. I’m terrified. I don’t know the first thing about living alone, and I’m about to do it for 3 months. 

How do I make it a place full of laughter and inappropriate dinner conversation without my mama and my sister? How do I make it a place full of love without my Nana and my Poppy? How do I decide to arrange the furniture without my mother saying, “Not that way”, in my ear, and then doing it herself anyway? How do I do anything without my family right down the road? My inlaws, my dad and stepmom, my sisters and brother, all the people who have always helped me? 

I don’t know. But I do know that this is what people do. They grow up and get married and move into their own houses and they make their own homes. 

This house has seen me learn all sorts of lessons. But it taught me the most important one: 

Home is not a place. It is not a house, or a state, or a small town. 

Home is people. Home is your mom saying, “mmm, tasty”, after the first bite of almost every meal. Home is going to the gym and doing crafty things with your mother in law. Home is your father in law stepping up and saying, “don’t worry about it. We’re going to figure it out,” when he doesn’t have to. Home is spending time with your dad and stepmom and your siblings. Home is making fun of the way your mom cleans the house with your sister. Home is knowing I can call my Nana everyday, and I know she’ll answer, and we can talk about everything and nothing all at the same time. Home is having people around you to help you up when you’ve fallen down. Home is laughing when you want to cry because they’re telling awful jokes. 

And that’s not going to change, even though I’m moving 1,500 miles away. Because my home, home? He’s in the desert somewhere, and when he gets back… I’m going to be whole again. And there will be less sleepless nights, and more arguments, and I will probably end up hating to cook dinner. But home is where the heart is. And I’m not entirely sure where mine’s at right now, but when he’s back… We’re going to have a place for home to grow. 

To my mama, my D.A.D., my dad, my MIL&FIL, my stepmom, my Natalie, Lance, Haleigh, and Preslie, my Nana and my Poppy…and to all the people who I couldn’t possibly list due to the crazy length this post would be…


You all have taught me different things, all have helped when I needed it, all have called and asked how I was, all have been no more than a call away, or sometimes a hallway away. Thank you. 

This is a new chapter in life, and I’m not the one writing it. I’m in for the ride just like y’all. 

Home is where the heart is, and a piece of mine will always be here in the Lonestar State. 



Here’s To You, Lonely. 

Maybe they warned you. Maybe they said “this is going to be hard.” Maybe someone somewhere along the way cautioned you against this kind of life, this kind of marriage or relationship. 

And you did it anyway. Call it stubbornness, call it determination, call it love. Call it what you will, you dove headfirst or tiptoed carefully into or perhaps tripped ungracefully into this life. 

So, here’s to you, lonely. 

Here’s to the sleepless nights. You read about them, you prepared yourself as best as you could. And it still wasn’t enough on that very first night alone, was it? You cried miserably until you gave yourself a headache just like the rest of us. Here’s to making it through the sleepless nights, one night at a time. 

Here’s to making friends with women you’ve met on Facebook, or in the airport. I get it. When Ricky went to bootcamp, all the girls whose men were in India had a Facebook group. And that’s how I met the people who I call when the sleepless nights get to be too much. The day Ricky deployed, I met a woman in the airport who was flying in to visit her Marine for Valentine’s Day. And she made a point to text me and see how I was doing months into this deployment, when everyone around me had seemed to stop caring. Here’s to best friends, no matter where you made them. 

Here’s to sucking it up. Ouch. Just this phrase sets my teeth on edge and puts me in a mood. Don’t tell me to suck it up. But honestly, if you tell YOURSELF to suck it up, it’s okay. It’s hard. Don’t ever deny that this life is hard, because it is. Don’t diminish this trial by acting as though it’s easy. But you find the strength to get through the days and countdown to homecomings and keep on going. Here’s to never giving up, and always keeping on. 

Here’s to falling in love with yourself. What? What I mean is: when you’re with your SO 24/7, you see all the things about that person to love. When you’re alone, you have to look at yourself. And some wives get into a rut and see all the things they hate about themselves. But why? Deployment can make you sad. But it can also make you fall in love with yourself. You learn that sometimes your hair doesn’t cooperate, and it looks okay that way. You learn that sometimes, you run out of makeup and hey. I don’t look half bad. You learn that you are stronger than you thought, and if you’re like me, the phrase “I AM AWESOME. I AM KICKING DEPLOYMENT’S BUTT,” is what gets you out of bed sometimes. Here’s to loving who you are, when you’re all alone. 

Here’s to being lonely. Oh, it sucks. You miss things like coffee in the morning, or watching TV together. You miss reading your favorite book while he plays games on his phone in bed. You miss the little things, the big things, and all the normal things in between. But, hey. Look at you. You’re doing just fine, and you’re going to get through it. One day closer. 

You’re a kind of superwoman, you know. So good for you, darling. 

Here’s to you, Lonely.

Keep kicking deployment’s butt. 



I Miss What Now?!

I’m a little more than halfway through deployment. (Today makes 4 months, for those who are interested in knowing.) and it’s 0045, and I’m re-binge watching The Walking Dead because I’ve seen basically everything else. 

And laying here on the couch, wondering how much longer I can go without crying, I’m struck dumb by the things I miss. I didn’t even know it was possible to miss these things about a person. 

1.) 3 AM you. I miss rolling over and having intense conversations we hardly remember in the morning. 3 AM you wants to know my thoughts and dreams and make plans with me. And I miss that, when 3 AM rolls around, and I roll over, and there’s no one there. 

2.) Knowing where you are. That’s silly, and sounds kind of creepy, I know. But when I only have a generalization, a country, not a location…I worry. I am a professional worrier. And I miss not worrying. 

3.) The way you think Whataburger is fine to eat 3 times a day. It’s not. When you’re home, by the time you leave, I can’t stand in a Whataburger without being nauseous. I can’t believe I miss this. 

4.) Not feeling alone. I know there’s people. They say “call me”. They offer to hang out. But it’s different. I miss knowing that I’ve got you for everything. Every bump on this roller coaster, every twist in the road… I miss not feeling like I’m doing everything alone. 

5.) Laughter. No one, no one, can make me laugh like you can. And I feel like it’s been such a long time since I’ve had a good laugh. I miss your jokes. I miss the cheesy pickup lines you tell me at night before I go to sleep. (As if you don’t already have me.) 

I thought I knew what missing someone felt like. I thought I knew what sleeping alone was like. I thought, I thought, I thought… And now I know. It’s waking up at 3 AM and wanting to make plans you won’t follow through, but having no one to make plans with. It’s staying up all night hoping to hear from you. It’s driving past Whataburger and remembering all those mornings eating breakfast in the parking lot. It’s knowing you have someone to talk to when you leave work, for a certainty, and not hoping you’re gonna catch them before the time change means one of you is asleep. It’s telling cheesy jokes and stupid pick up lines and laughing and being happy. It’s being asleep at 0045 next to each other, and complaining about getting up for work. 

I thought I knew what missing you felt like, 7 months ago when all we had were Skype dates and phone calls. 

But now I know, because now we have less than that. I miss you with a deep, dull ache that resonates all the way to my bones. I miss your voice most of all. But I miss everything about you all the time.