All the Adulting

As I write this, I am sitting in my parents' basement, at my grandfather's big antique desk and my dog snoring audibly in the background. You read that right, I live in my parents' basement.
Though this may seem an unlikely setting for me to write anything about adulting, I am in fact going to dive right in.

Adulting Point One: Marriage

A and I recently got married in February, or perhaps not that recently, as we somehow are coming up on our 6 month anniversary! It was an unusually warm day, reaching 80 degrees, and sweet A was soaked clear through his tweed suit which he looked so dapper and drop-dead handsome in. I had flowers woven into my hair, and it was cliche in all the best ways a joyful event should be. We stood there, in front of 250 of our dearest people, and said our vows. We promised all the things you should and all the things you hope you will do upon sharing forever with someone. It was, indeed, the best day of my life, and something I will always want to rewind back to.

I have never experienced so much love and support than on the night of our rehearsal dinner, and day of our wedding. And, even after everyone left, and our house was a big mess of gift bags, towels, leftover food, and a closet full of Trader Joe's liquor, we could still feel all the words, hugs, and silent blessings that people had woven into us that weekend. Words that will forever strengthen who we are as a couple, and that have taught us how to love others as best as we possibly can.

Adulting Point Two: Being MARRIED

The weirdest question we get a lot is, "How is married life?" A always looks befuddled by this question, as do I, because we are never sure what answer we are supposed to supply. "The same?" "Awful?" "Interesting?" "Hilarious?" Because the truth is, married life rocks. Being married to A has truly been the best season of life for me. And, while day to day things are similar, like him lighting a match in the bathroom for a courtesy smell-neutralizer, I will admit that there is a level of safety and trust that is palpable. For me, it was hard to trust anyone one hundred percent, and truly believe things would work out, until our wedding day. Something shifted on that day, and more than just our car from being weighted down with bunt cakes. We became a family that day, and it still delights me to hear him say, "Our family," when talks about us, and I of course look at him and respond, "Me?!" He just smiles, because for him, he trusts with every fiber in his 6'4" skeletal system, and he is that perfect kind of patient that is now enjoying me finally catching up.

Another great thing about being married is that people all of a sudden take you seriously. My best example is Home Depot. Usually when I go in, four to seven workers flock to me like I'm a little chick with wet feathers, and ask me if I need help. While it's true that usually I do need help in Home Depot (if I'm there for anything other than the gardening section), it always feels a tinge humiliating with a dollop of misogyny. As a single woman, apparently, I had no business being there unescorted, much like a Victiorian ball in a Jane Austen novel, I should not have been somewhere I clearly did not belong. After all, my tool kit is, embarrassingly, pink. But, now that I am married, with my sparkly little Sapphire, they think I am capable of looking at paint swatches without calling in the National Guard. While the single girl still simmering in my veins is angry and wants to try and prove myself by saying, "Hey! I am great at hammering nails into the wall!" I just walk quietly over to the paint samples, and look for Sea Salt among the five thousand shades of blue.

Adulting Point Three: Pack your bags!

A mere three months after getting married, A and I decided to pack up our little house on 38th Street, sweep up the hundreds of cockroach carcasses, say goodbye to a life we loved, and load the truck for Colorado. A very disgruntled Amelia, and Aaron's lovely parents, helped us get to Denver in a day and a half. We then loaded our UHaul into a storage unit and closed the door, knowing that the next time we opened it, would be our last move for what we hope will be a very long time. So far, my favorite part of the mountains is the weather. In Austin, it is absolutely insufferable and unyielding in the summer. The temperature never cools off, and you are in a perpetual state of wiping your sweaty forehead, binge watching Netflix in your house with the AC cranked, and wondering how people possibly go for 3pm runs in 103 degree (plus humidity) weather. Today, the temperature is 71.....at 2:13 in the afternoon. While this is not a normal Denver summer-type-day, it is indeed something that is POSSIBLE, which is all I need.

It is different moving this time. My big move eight years ago to Austin, I was 22, had no job, and packed everything into my 2004 Blue Mazda. I didn't know anyone, and had only been to Austin once. This time, my family lives here, I went to college here, and I have at least three whole friends that know me. That being said, starting over is hard, especially moving from somewhere like Austin. I am trying not to look at things in Denver and say, "That is so Austin," but instead take them in as isolated outdoor patios with white lights...that happen to be similar to Easy Tiger. We gave up so many people we loved and sacred restaurants that made our bellies swell, that it will take time to love this new place as much. A and I are excited for the outdoors, perhaps the number two reason for moving here (after my family). We cant' wait to camp, see the leaves change, climb a 14er, check out new breweries, and see Amelia frolic in the snow. We know that this new life will be a different one, with lots of new changes, and more of a quiet life. I suppose that is part of adulting though, having one beer at a brewery instead of five at a noisy concert.

Adulting Point Four: Goodbye My Darling

Being apart blows. I honestly have no idea how military women are strong enough to handle it, but if possible, I am even more in awe of them. A and I are living apart for three months as he finishes his last coding class in Austin. You really start to miss the nighttime giggles, when you are sleep-deprived and poking each other's faces, and the morning yawns where you reach across the bed and find comfort that your partner is there next to you, even with a thundrous snore erupting from his nasal passageway. And yet, you also remember that you can get by alone. I mean geez, I did things on my own more or less for 29 years....but sometimes marriage lets you get lazy, and you find yourself saying, "I would change the oil, but you are SO good at it!" then BAM, just like that, you cripple that independent, sassy women inside of you who is perpetually wearing a really cool bomber leather jacket that you can't pull off in real life. Then, you drive to Jiffy Lube, pull out a book, and remember that you can take care of yourself, damnit!

We are currently on week three.....of twelve....so we have a long way to go. I have to remind myself that there is so much strength to be gained by this time, so much to remind me about what I have and what to not take for granted. But, at night in the basement, when Amelia's back leg is kicking into my ribs in the queen bed, I miss him a lot. A lot a lot.

Adulting Point Five: The Name Change

Yesterday, I officially became Kristen Maretta Hines. I have no formal card or ID yet, but I do have a print out from social security with my new name on it. I know that as a woman, changing our name has become something that a lot of people have varying viewpoints about. I am of the mindset of doing what makes you feel most true to yourself. I absolutely understand that your name is such a big chunk of your identity. As a matter of fact, as a teacher, I am only known as 'Adams' to my co-workers and 'Ms. Adams' to my students. My first name is down-right superfluous. So changing my last name feels almost as much of a shift as me changing my first name to, I don't know, Barbera. I still remember the first time A tried to broach the subject of changing my name to his. I could tell he was nervous, because I am one of those feminists, who could either stand her ground until death or go into the kitchen and bake cookies.....a very precarious mix for a man. I knew that he was worried I wouldn't change my name, but he also made sure to add that he understood if I didn't want to. I loved him so much for that. For letting my CHOOSE to change MY name, instead of feeling like something was being taken from me. I feel like it has been an honor to know A, to marry him, love him, live with him, and now have the same common name. Yesterday, when I told him, the first thing he said was thank you, followed by how grateful he was that I had gone through that long, very arduous and archaic process.

The last bit of adulting that we just recently jumped into, I will leave untold, as it is not our time to share quite yet, but we are very excited.

I suppose after 29 years of loving every second being a kid, I now am starting to crossover a little. I see my friends growing up, getting better jobs, buying houses, having children and multiple bank accounts, and at times feeling like it is all just too much. I mean, I am currently living in my parent's basement, not working (well, because it's summer and I'm a teacher), with my mom still wanting to feed me like when I was a child. A is also at his parents' house, enjoying a full belly that only mothers can provide. So, I suppose we may not be "winning" this adulting game, but we definitely are starting to enter in to it. The stress of bills, society, work, having to learn how to do your hair, or God forbid, makeup.

I wonder, though, if perhaps we sometimes need to just separate ourselves from all the things, and try and give ourselves as many moments as possible without phones, computers, buildings, and let the kids buried deep beneath our skin poke out for but a moment.

So, for anyone reading who things adulting is just too much, remember these wise and wistful words:

"In every real man a child is hidden that wants to play."  ~Friedrich Nietzsche