Are you laughing with me?

Maverick and I celebrated our anniversary this weekend. After 11 years of marriage, 14 years of cohabitation and a history that began almost 20 years ago, I love how amazingly well Maverick really gets me. He understands me in a way no one else does. And when he doesn’t understand me, he laughs at me. I love that too. It’s just one of the many reasons that makes “us” work.

For example, about three years into our relationship, while in the car, I decided to entertain him with my Karaoke Queen singing. Reincarnated in the form of my Rock Band avatar, Bunni, with surfer-girl dreadlocks, Daisy Dukes, knee-hi socks and Chuck Taylors, I curled my hand into a microphone, thrashed my hair all over the passenger seat, shredded my air guitar and belted out every chorus of some Soundgarden tune with ear-curdling off-key half-correct lyrics. I may have truly sucked, but I owned my performance! Thank you for coming out tonight! I love you!

Maverick watched my entire music video with a semi-smirk lurking from behind his hands, resting on the steering wheel. When the song was over, he politely remarked: “You really think you’re good, don't you, Tracy?”

I was mortified—I couldn’t believe he thought I took myself seriously. I’m a jokester, a clown. I make funny faces, sometimes unintentionally, and I laugh at myself. Of all the things I’ve ever thought about myself, being a good singer was as far at the bottom of that list as becoming the smoking-hot, 6-foot-1, Hollywood-supermodel-starlet Mrs. John Travolta, I wanted to be when I was seven.

“What?” I screeched at Maverick in my high-pitched tone. “Good? Are you kidding? I was completely just trying to be funny!” I pleaded and begged him to believe me. I needed him to believe me. I stupidly thought I was amusing him being thy goofy self.

Red-faced, I turned my body towards my car door and sulked. Honestly, I’m pretty clear on which side of the recording contract I sit on. Of all my delusions, my singing well wasn’t one of them. I felt foolish. It’s one thing to be laughed with; quite another to be laughed at.

Maverick laughed anyhow and he laughed for a while. Then he slowly allowed the smile to fade and placated me with: “Okay. If that’s what you say.”

We sat in bloated silence. I peeked at him through the corner of my eye, arms still crossed stubbornly, and saw he was looking directly at me. He was smiling, holding in another burst of laughter. I recognized how hard he was trying to contain himself, muffling the sound that desperately wanted to come out.

I realized how much Maverick really loved me then and my anger faded. I saw the situation for what it was: He sat by quietly, day after day, song after song, and let me sing on the top of my lungs, acting out my silliness, because he knew I loved it. And even if he thought my singing stunk, which it absolutely does except to some neighborhood dogs, he was never going to tell me otherwise. He loved me enough to tolerate my lunacy.

I turned up the radio and belted out another song. We laughed for a long time about that one. And here I am eleven years later still laughing about it. Thanks Maverick, for all the laughs we’ve shared. Even if most of them are deservedly directed at me.

Unconditional love

This weekend, I fell in love at first sight. I saw him at once upon entering the room after quickly noting the other boys. Our eyes locked into a death grip and you could feel the laser-beam energy emulating from them. The rest of our surroundings melted away and all that existed in that moment was he and I. I crossed the room to him and he ran to me. I raised my arms and reached for him and we intertwined in a hug that felt like a lifetime coming. I knew right then and there that he was the one for me. I had waited so long to meet him and once I was there with him, everything in the world felt right. Next, he brought his face up to mine…

…and licked me. Yes, this weekend I brought home my new puppy, Casey. And yes, it was love at first sight, I’m not exaggerating. From the car ride to the airport, from the plane back to the car, in those first few hours we made our connection and formed a permanent bond. Me to him and him to me. I’m in love with his puppy breath, his oversized paws, his tiny, sharp teeth and his fuzzy fur. He looks like a golden marshmallow and has a personality to match. I’m in heaven.

Of course, my almost-seven-year-old had something to say about this new love. She commented that I’m paying so much attention to him and treating him like a baby. I replied that he is in fact a baby, only 8 weeks old. She corrected herself that I treat him like a human baby.

Obviously, a little jealous, but if you think kids grow up fast, try raising a puppy. By the time you turn around, they’re full grown. And cute of course, but surely not like a puppy. I can’t get enough of the puppy phase of watching him crash into walls, uncontrolled spinouts and slides on the tile floor, endless curiosity regarding every nook and cranny of my home, chasing his tail, trying to catch a lizard, attempting to navigate up the stairs, and even watching his sheer joy as he chases five kids in the backyard.

And the thing about a dog is he gives you unconditional love. Where else do you find that? Surely not from your children who swear to disown you when you embarrass them. Or from your husband who gets pissed when you don’t do things exactly as he would. Every human relationship has conditions that must be met to receive love. With a dog, just feed him, play with him, love him, and take good care of him and his heart is yours forever. It’s a beautiful thing.

So maybe I’m choosing to overlook the three am walks and the poop on the floor because I didn’t get him out soon enough. I know I’m overlooking the chewing and vet bills and all the other responsibilities that goes along with having a dog. To be home to walk him and make sure he’s looked after when I go on vacation. Cleaning his teeth, his ears, his coat. Vacuuming up the tumbleweeds of fur. Training him to be an upstanding dog who listens to commands, sits when asked and doesn’t hump the guests. It’s just like taking care of another baby, which I swore I never would. At least the human kind.

Alas, it’s just one more task I’ve added to my daily to-do list, but it’s worth it. If you’re still not convinced, stop on over and to meet my new boy. He’s already warmed over some of the neighborhood chickens who ran from dogs before. In fact, they’re going to be our newest pet sitters next time we go away. Feel free to get in line...I know we'll need it.

Kiss your man

The other day I was astounded to learn that many of my friends didn’t kiss their husbands anymore. I’m not talking the polite-on-the-cheek kind of passing kiss. I’m talking the deep, passionate, tongue-mashing-tongue French kiss kind of kiss. The kind of kiss that probably draws each couple together in the initial “oh yeah!” of courtship. The kind of kiss girls all dream of sharing when we were still young enough to fantasize about what that kiss would feel like but not old enough to try it. Or if we did try it, it was sloppy and awkward with teeth scraping and confused tongues lashing about trying to connect at a unison speed.

I love kissing. Short kisses, long kisses. Fast kisses, slow kisses. Kisses on my neck and behind my ear. Kisses on my lips. Teasing kisses. Long, luxurious, leisurely kisses. Fast, passionate, desperate kisses. I like to kiss a lot. Maybe that’s just my nature but as surprised as my friends were to learn that I kiss Maverick that way after work still was in the same vein for me to learn that they did not.

It got me thinking about how does that make your man feel? And what else have you given up along the way. I know when months stretch into years in a relationship, it’s easy to let those things go. Careers, kids and responsibilities get in the way and we make time for more pressing needs. But if you think back to what brought you two together in the first place, wasn’t passion a major component of your connection?

Sure, we all looked for the boy from a good family with a good upbringing and a secure future that could provide for a family. Someone who took notice of our hopes and dreams, with whom we shared interests in common and a made us giggle like school girls. But wasn’t chemistry and passion and sex and kissing a part of it too? And if so, why do we let that integral part of that connection go so easily?

We’re great at finding all his flaws and pointing out and bitching about what’s he’s not doing for us, or how he doesn’t do what he used to do. But what about what we stopped doing for him? Let’s face it—as much as we still need to hear we’re beautiful and desired after all these years, he still needs to feel handsome and sexy too. Our men don’t just go to strip clubs to look at the girls, they go for the feeling they get when they’re slathered with the female’s attention too. And truthfully, he’d rather get it from you, I’d bet.

So go brush your teeth, gargle with Scope and lay a wet one on him. Now. For no reason. You may be pleasantly reminded just how damn good it makes you feel, too.