What's in a Name?

It's been just over a year since I married the man of my dreams. He's loving, caring, smart, hot beyond all reason, and a great listener. It has been, by far, the most fulfilling and rewarding year of my life.

(every married person is laughing right now, noticing I didn't say easiest)

His family is wonderful too. From a remarkably young age I had vivid nightmares of my future panning out similarly to the first half of "Monster-In-Law." The nightmares started before the movie was even released. That's how vivid my pictures of my groom's mother trying to sabotage my wedding was.

I could not have been more wrong!

My MIL is a home-cooking, Renee-loving, saint with a great sense of humor. I heart her.

She warned me, when Mr. Awesome and I were engaged, that I would be spelling my new last name for the rest of my life. Apparently it's one of those names that no one can get right. I laughed. My maiden name was the exact same way. I've literally heard dozens of variations of my name. Possibly hundreds. I am not intimidated simply because I have to spell my name. I was excited to take his name.

Today I was thinking what an beautiful tradition it is for a woman to take her husband's name. I know it's been an entire year that I've been signing credit card slips and typing it on emails, but sometimes it still hits me that I have a completely new identity.

And I really like it. I feel like a part of his identity is always with me.

I know there are some women out there that feel like this tradition is antiquated and counter-productive to gender equality. I'm not even going to discuss the latter point here, because that is an entirely different rant. (brief excerpt of said rant: I don't want to be equal to a man, I aspire to be a pretty great woman. There's an amazing book I once read called Fight Like a Girl, written by a wonderfully strong lady I know. She tackles this issue very well. If you want to be excited about femininity, read it! Please forgive the plug and the digression.)

I don't feel like this tradition is something that should be stricken from the record of modern society. It's beautiful and symbolic. Sorry if you think it's antiquated. (Hello, it is a tradition, please explain to me where traditions are supposed to be progressive?)

For me it was a tangible way to separate from my family and establish my own household with my new husband. It made me feel like I was a part of him. It was one of many small things that bound our hearts together as husband and wife.

It also is a vulnerable gesture, when a man offers his name to his bride. That means, not only is he trusting her with his heart, but he's trusting her with his lineage. He's offering that you join with his past, and step into his future as his partner. I don't think we make a big enough deal about lineage now-a-days. Modern society would do well to remember the generations that have gone before them, and honor them. Names like Anderson, Johnson and Williamson all come from people identifying themselves as from the family of Anders, John or William. That kind of honor has all but disappeared in our culture.

So why can't he take your name? Why can't you offer that he join your family heritage? Hate to pull the Jesus-Card, but marriage is still a representation of Christ and the Church. And Jesus, sure as heck, isn't taking my name. His is better anyways.

I'm not saying it's wrong to hyphenate. I'm not saying it's wrong to keep your last name. I'm just saying it's an incredible honor to have someone give you their family name. When women look at it as a form of bondage or as a loss of their identity, it makes me sad. It's not a loss. It's an incredible step into intimacy.

Why I'm not as thin as I'd like to be part 3

I discovered these this weekend. Oh. My. Chocolaty. Goodness.

I was hesitant at first because I'm not a dark chocolate kind of girl. If I'm going to indulge in chocolate it will be creamy and contain a cavity-inducing level of sweetness. Not bitter and crumbly. Also, typically fruit in my chocolate bores me. I feel as though candy marketers think this: if your chocolate is so mediocre that it can't stand alone, throw fruit in it! No one will notice the difference.

So I tried this to appease my mother.

THANK YOU MOM!

Don't like dark chocolate?

You will.

Don't like fruit in your chocolate?

You'll beg for more.

Promise.

Why I'm Not as Thin as I want to be Part 2 (iLike: food)

I like food.

I know this is a problem for almost everyone here in America. Except my mom. I'm convinced her taste buds don't work quite right, because she ALWAYS eats healthy. In my estimation, cardboard tastes better than some things she passes off as crackers or cereal. I do aspire to be like her. I would love to be so dedicated to my pursuit of health. But until they stop making mozzarella sticks, cheeseburgers and Fat Tire, I will eat because I love it.

I want to learn to cook better. I make a mean pot roast and some pretty fair chicken teriyaki, but I want to be really good. Like Epicurious.com good. I always feel so ashamed when I go to that sight because every third recipe calls for fennel. I don't even know what fennel looks like, no less where to find it in the store. *Deep shame and self-loathing*

I'm not sure how Mr. Awesome would respond though. Bless his meat-and-taters heart, he's one of the pickiest eaters I've ever met. Moms with 5 year olds that only eat chicken nuggets and Honey Nut Cheerios's, imagine him being 31. I'm worried that this is what would unfold if I got experimental with my evening menus:

This was for my birthday when we were dating. Maybe we were engaged, I don't remember, the significant thing to remember is: we weren't married yet. He had to try harder back then.

He took me to a great sushi place in Denver. I adore sushi. It's a luxury for me. I never make it for myself, so in my mind it is associated with special events.

He ordered steak.

So I begged him to try some of my sushi. Since, as I mentioned before, we hadn't tied the knot yet, he had to try. It's boyfriend law.

And THAT, my friends, is why I will be eating food with that special bar-food way of frying or grilling everything and fighting to take those calories off for the rest of my life.

Why I'm Not as Thin as I Want to be (Part one: The Gym)

I want to be thinner. I think every woman does. But I realized I have a few things standing in my way.

#1. The Gym.

I understand the gym should be the primary way by which the goal of being super-hot is achieved. But I have several issues with this.

First, the gym is filled with tons of skinny, toned and generally in-shape people. This is fine for people that are not me. Sometimes, seeing others like that can even be considered motivation. I, however, am dabilitatingly competitive. I see people like that and I want to be skinnier, more toned and generally more attractive than all of them, so I get frustrated if I haven't been there in 6 months, and some girl next to me is running a mini-marathon on her tradmill.

Seriously. It's a sickness. I'm working on it.

Second, I work 40 hours a week. I know this excuse sounds as feeble as my arms are at the moment, but hear me out. I'm a homebody by nature. If I don't have time doing laundry, putzing around in the kitchen, or simply sitting on the couch watching Mythbusters re-runs, I feel out of sorts, and typically rather cranky. What this means for my relationship with the gym is that it cuts into my already too-short time at home during the work week.

If I get home from work around 5:30, eat a light something, go to the gym at 6:30, do a little eliptical action, a few free weights, get changed and come home a little after 8. Dinner at 8? Ick.

Ok, so let's get creative. I hit the gym after dinner. That means I get there around 8, hop on the treadmill, do a couple dozen sit ups, and roll out at 9:30-9:45. Ugh, no matter how I dice the situation up, I end up feeling cheated out of my time at-home time, and I get cranky.

I know what is going through your head right now. "If you hate it so much at night, why don't you go in the morning before work?"

...Seriously?

We must be strangers.

My husband is one of those beautiful people you see walking around the gym. He's the male version of the people that make me feel competitive and like dirt simultaneously. He is sculpted so becuase he LOVES the gym. He says it helps him feel good, helps him focus, helps him relax. No, I don't know what planet he's from.

So I understand that I am entirely responsible for my jeans getting tighter. But those are the reasons I don't frequent the gym.

All those and, I just don't like it.