Yesterday I suggested to The Cheerleader I’m Married To that we build a living room blanket fort and eat macaroni and cheese with weiners in it, while we watch TV. Instead of scoffing, or looking at me with a raised eyebrow, he jumped up and said, “I’ll get the air mattress!” and ran off toward the attic. I took this as a sign that I had definitely married the right person.

On my commute this morning, I was thinking about how yesterday a friend of mine asked me, “so, how’s married life?” before remembering that I had actually been married once before. But the two marriages are so completely different, and my two lives are so completely different, that I barely even recognize who I was when I was a wife the first time. So, how do I know for sure that I got it right this time? Well…

I laugh every day. Every single day I totally, completely, full-out belly laugh at least once due to something he’s either said or done. He’s as much of a dork as I am, and our senses of humour coexist so well. We completely enable each other’s idiocy, and it makes for a very happy home life.

When I say things like,  “Oh god, I’m so fat. I look like a horse!” The Cheerleader I’m Married To will respond with things like, “Yeah, you’re certainly not as skinny as you were”, or, “your body is definitely different then it was a couple years ago, yes”. He figured out long ago that panicking and hurtling compliments at me in response is just not the way to go with me. He’s honest with me, and as a result he motivates me to change.

The Cheerleader I’m Married To knows when I need him to step in and support me, or when I rather he flee to the Man Cave and play XBox until the dust settles. Sure he’ll poke his head out every once in a while to check that I’m still breathing, but he’s not going to walk into the middle of the fire and try to put it out with kindness. He lets me work through things, and he makes sure that the house is well-stocked with chocolate and bubble bath. And Prosecco. Lots of Prosecco.

When I went through my divorce, it was hell. Obviously The Cheerleader I’m Married To wasn’t around then, so I needed another friend to help me get through the nights. So, I bought myself a stuffed bunny rabbit and I slept with it every night. In fact, and I’ll admit this to you all now, I still sleep with that stuffed bunny rabbit. The Cheerleader I’m Married To doesn’t mind at all, and when I come home from work each day, he has usually made the bed, and put Bunny into some funny position to make me smile.

You wanna’ know when I fell in love with The Cheerleader I’m Married To? It was probably a week or two after we started dating, and I came home from some crappy event (probably a pap smear, or something equally distressing like a funeral) and he had run a bath for me, and said, “I’m going to take the dogs for a walk to go buy a bottle of Prosecco. Just relax, and I’ll be back in a bit, ok? Oh yeah, this month’s copy of Vanity Fair is on the edge of the tub for you”  (*swoon*)

The first time we had a disagreement about something (whatever it was), The Cheerleader I’m Married To said, “Listen, I’m not exactly sure how I feel about this right now, so I’m not going to say anything. I’m going to give myself some time to think, and when I’m ready to talk about it, I’ll find you”. I calmly replied, “ok, that sounds good”, but inside I was yelling, “are you freaking kidding me!? What guy does that!? This is AWESOME!” That’s when I knew I’d be with him for the rest of my life.

We have this journal that sits on our coffee table at home, and each night we write in it one reason why we love each other that day. It’s never, ever hard to think of a reason why I think he’s super rad. Maybe he left me a dorky little love note. Maybe he made coffee and pre-set the timer for the morning for me. Maybe he changed the oil in the car, or humanely dispatched a spider, or started a load of laundry, or bathed the dog, or mowed the lawn. Maybe he got emotional when he learned that he shares a name with his new nephew, or maybe he just walked into the living room in his underwear and socks, and did the stupidest dance I have ever seen, just because he loves to hear me snort when I laugh. Maybe he bought us concert tickets, or made a reservation at a new restaurant, or built a gate for the back deck, or violently killed a mosquito and screamed “TAKE THAT, MOTHERFUCKER!”. Whatever it was, he’ll do something equally awesome tomorrow, too. And the day after and the day after, and the day after…

So, how do I know that I married the right guy this time? Because I’ve never had to ask myself that before.

Happy Monday, all.