Why I am not afraid

~ Christi

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Fear doesn’t scare me. It did, for a long time, when I was younger. My mom lived in fear of nearly everything. It grew progressively worse throughout her life to the point of paralysis. She harbored her fears until they usurped her life.

Me, I tried to talk her out of her fears, but I had already learned that you cannot make other people change. Better to change yourself, resisting others’ examples, or adopting them, but more often I’ve found myself in opposition.

Now fear is like an old friend, with her friendly warnings. Sometimes she’s my guardian angel, sometimes she can be a pest. But I always hear her out and take her thoughts into consideration.

An old Mustang

~ Christi

I want to take a drive in an old Mustang. Its paint is chipped, fenders dented. It has rust in the wheel wells, and the left side mirror is cracked. It is confident in its imperfection.

I’ll sit in the bucket seat, leather upholstery worn down, and relax with you at the wheel. I will smell that moldy old car smell with a mix of nostalgia and anticipation.

We’ll drive in silence, even our thoughts drowned out by the thundering engine. We’ll take the back roads like we used to, too fast, losing our stomachs just for the joy of it.

Maybe we’ll even break down along the way. As we wait for a tow, we will sit on the grass alongside the road and admire the view.

You Complete Me

~ Geoff

I am strategy, logic, reason. I am literal, focused, strong. I am stubborn, unwavering. I am success, ambition, determination. I am visual. I am music. I am yours.

You are psychology, literature, art, beauty, passion, fun. You are positivity, inspiration, creativity. You are dedication, devotion, strength, comfort, and undying passion. You are a thousand piece jigsaw puzzle that only I can assemble.

You are smart, insightful, and beautiful. Without you, I would leave but a geoff upon this world. Without me, you are wonderful, yet incomplete. With you, we are the world, complete.

 

How you are nearly perfect

~ Geoff

I love your proportions.  I used to like taller girls, it’s true.  At least, I thought I did.  Perhaps I’ve changed.  Or perhaps I grew up with the wrong role model.  I didn’t used to like coffee.  I used to find beer an acquired taste.  Yet now I start every day off with a cup of joe and frequently cap a dinner off with a strong, dark beer.  And now, I love standing behind you and reaching my arms around you, resting my chin on your shoulder, kissing your neck.  Or curling up behind you in bed, and finding our bodies perfectly matched.

I love your hair.  I love how it flows.  If it was longer, I would make you put it up, just to be able to see and kiss your neck, to imagine what it would be like if you cut it.

I love your skin.  It’s soft.  It’s smooth.  I look at pictures of you 10 years ago and I see the same beautiful face I see now.  A face with beautiful eyes, luscious lips, and a fantastic smile.

I love your body, your ass, your thighs, your B-cup breasts. I love how you are not some thin stick of a model, but a beautiful, curvaceous MILF.

You carried our children.  Grew them.  Bore them.  Nursed them.  Your pregnant body was sexy to me.  Not just sexy, but hot, erotic.  Your dedication to lose the few remaining pounds of baby weight inspires me.  Watching you do it excites me.  Yoga pants have never been sexier on anyone.

For a time I resented you not wanting me to have fun on my own.  Then I accepted it, and grew closer to you.  Now you want to push me back out onto the world.  I love you about that.

You like weird, sometimes long and boring movies. You insist we watch them, then promptly fall asleep.  I stay up to watch so I can tell you about them.  So I can try to understand what you see in them.  So I can try to truly understand you.

I love your energy, enthusiasm, optimism.

I know your turn-on’s.  Well, most of them.  When we’re in bed, I love being able to bring you pleasure, to feel as though our minds are joined like our bodies, all without saying a word.

You don’t let me finish my thoughts when talking.  If forces me to practice patience, to try to juggle ideas in my head and not lose them.  At work, I’ve been told don’t let others finish their thoughts.  I’ve tried to be better about it, and the practice is good for me.

You push me, challenge me, support me.  You agree to all sorts of things I would never have imagined.

When you get angry you get self-righteous.  You used to clam up and refuse to talk to me, too.  I bet you don’t remember those days very well.  And even though you get self-righteous, I know you always come back around.  And I’m OK with that.

You are changing the game on me.  For better, and for worse.  I hope mostly for better.

My husband is hot

~ Christi

He looks like Matt Damon. His sister said it once, so I know it’s true. My friends all think he’s cute.

He should always keep his hair short. It sets off his face.

He looks smart in glasses. And hot in sunglasses.

He’s getting these little smile lines around his mouth. And his lips. I could look at his lips all day long.

He’s strong, and his arms and legs are so long and graceful.

His eyes are piercing blue, and sometimes I feel like he can just see inside me without even trying.

He has no idea how good-looking he is. He doesn’t care a whole lot, either.

I think that he should work out more. Not for me. But so when he catches a glimpse of himself in a reflection, sees other women besides me admire him, he will know that he’s hot. Without a doubt. I want that for him.

He knows me. He understands what I like him to do, he knows how my body works.

He is so loving. He will do anything for me.

That’s sexy.

Why I’m not perfect

~ Christi

I’m short. You like tall girls. At least you used to.

I cut my hair. You liked it better long even though you never mentioned it.

My skin used to be really bad. It’s better now, but not perfect.

Three times you had to watch me, ever so slowly, lose the baby weight and get back into shape. That’s just not sexy.

For a long time I didn’t want you to have fun without me because I was scared that you wouldn’t need me anymore.

I like weird, sometimes long and boring movies. I make you watch them with me and then sometimes I fall asleep.

I don’t let you finish your thoughts when we’re talking.

I push you to be better at things even though you are already fulfilled at them.

When I get angry I am very self-righteous.

I am changing the game on you.

Why I will never move to Hawaii

~ Christi ~ 2 Comments

Hawaii makes me believe in God. Something intangible about those islands, their coarse black lava juxtaposed against glorious green grass, towering palm trees, and the ever moving ocean, makes me feel free. There, I feel beautiful. I see that Geoff is truly perfect, and so are my kids. Everything I want, Hawaii provides.

A few years ago, we had the chance to move there. We did not take it. We did want to, and part of me will always regret not doing it. But in the end, I needed to keep Hawaii special. When I go there, I always want to see it with fresh eyes. I never want to get used to the feel of the breeze against my skin. I never want to stop being able to smell its sweet, earthy scent. I always want to feel the strain and the challenges its terrain presents. In those elements, the islands renew me, fuel me, help me grow.

When we return home, I can take up the daily tasks of living again, knowing that I have not left my perfect self behind, but given it air and water and all the elements that keep it whole. I have preserved it within my everyday self. At home, I can do what life calls on me to do, I can witness Geoff doing the same, push my kids to learn, struggle, and grow, without a doubt of why it is worthwhile. Our lives always remain rooted in imperfection, with the promise of an occasional green flash.