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Home » Funny

On One Year of Marriage: Part 1 {jay}

Last Updated: May 2021 by Lindsay This post may contain affiliate links to products I use and enjoy. 1 Comment

Being married one year isn’t bad at all.  I’m actually surprised at how some people say, “The first year of marriage was really tough.”  I guess those people didn’t marry Lindsay Howerton(-Hastings).  I mean, I guess half the population couldn’t marry her based on gender alone (which is Fing stupid), but somehow, due to dumb luck and clean living, I landed her.  I can honestly say I’m better a person today than I was a year ago.  So much has changed, while staying relatively the same.  We’ve been to Hawaii together.  We’ve laughed…a lot together.  We’ve fought together.  We’ve kayaked together.  We’ve been to NYC together.  We’ve cooked together.  We’ve watched movies together.  I seriously think we have something here.

We got married on August 10th, 2013.  It was really all a blur.  I’m not even talking about the effects of the scotch and pot, but just the whirlwind tornado pace that is your own wedding season.  I think the first great hurdle in a marriage is writing thank you cards.  No one wants to write them, unless you’re weird.  We knocked that out of the park.  Next, was Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Jesus’ birthday.  That went by as stressful as always.  It wasn’t any different than when we were living in sin.  That will never change.  Ever.  Father time will never erode the stressfulness of the Almighty Family Gathering.

If Lindsay and I are a team, then she is the Head Coach and I am a bench player with a lot of heart and few natural, god given skills.  She is a great manager.  She has a vision of what our team can accomplish.  Without Lindsay we never make it to the game.  There would be no orange slices or snow cones after the game if it weren’t for her.  I mean that literally.  She packs my lunch almost every day.  I am scatterbrained and lazy.  I somehow have procured a job that helps us maintain a roof over our heads and provides health insurance, but Lindsay turns it all into a Life.  If I didn’t have that beautiful blonde woman by my side, I would be lost.  I’d also be homeless because I have no idea how we pay our mortgage, insurance or school loans.  I imagine it involves the internet but I don’t have a clue or a password.

We all have a choice of who we spend our lives with.  I sometimes forget that fact.  For all that Lindsay does, I sometimes forget to thank her.  You can take for granted someone’s natural ability to care for you.  It just comes natural to Lindsay and the only thing that comes natural to me is acting like a 12 year old at camp.  Opposites do attract and Lindsay and I complement each other very well.   She pushes me towards adulthood, I pull her back towards childhood.  Balance is the most important thing in marriage.  It’s knowing when to let Lindsay pull me her way, and it’s knowing when not to pull her my way.  It’s learning to accept things that make her happy, and it’s knowing when to share the things that make me happy.

Marriage is a scary thing if you’re in it with the wrong person, but it’s pretty damn good when you find the right, amazing, smart, sexy, determined woman.  Lindsay and I are still at the starting line of marriage, but the road ahead is very promising. Educations are coming to an end, careers are blossoming, and the possibilities are endless.  Actually, the possibilities are probably BABIES.

 

 

~Lindsay: omgbabies!  Jay paints me in a much nicer picture than real life actually indicates.  Manager = bossy most of the time.  My thoughts coming later.~

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  1. Scott Warren says

    August 11, 2014 at 11:08 am

    love it. Nice work.

    Reply
Image of Lindsay Howerton-Hastings smiling sitting on dark gray couch wearing chambray blue shirt.

Hi! I'm Lindsay. I'm a maternal mental health therapist, a recipe developer, food writer, and taker of all kinds of pictures. Thank you so much for being here! This blog is about how to take care of yourself and your people without taking anything too seriously.

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