Easily Excitable

Marriage has a way of revealing things about your partner that you simply cannot learn while dating. One of the revelations is just how different two people can be. 

Maybe, those two parties fold shirts differently. 

It might be one party is a Keeper™, and one is a Purger™. 

Hypothetically, one person could be a lot better at washing dishes than the other because he believes in details, while the other believes in efficiency.

Conceivably, one person might not be able to relax on a Friday evening with dirty counters, while the other doesn’t even see clutter.

(His clutter-blindness is both a blessing and a curse. He thinks the house is always clean, while I feel anxiety looking at an unvacuumed floor.)

All those things are small potatoes. Differences make life a lot more interesting, right??

Something I learned in marriage, though? 

There are TWO situations in which those differences are the most visible. 

The first? Sickness. 

Sickness? In our first two weeks of marriage? During the latter portion of our ‘mini-honeymoon’? During which we had our first married fight? 

Fun! 

Trey got a stomach bug while we were in Blue Ridge, and I was so caring for the about a day and a half. By the time we got to Cochran? 

I was done. 

I’m an English major, okay? I can describe illness all day long with manifold figurative language, but actually be useful during infirmity? 

Just not in my wheelhouse. 

This all came to a head when I had to call the doctor to make Trey an appointment. 

During this call, I said his name was Frederick Christopher, rather than Christopher Frederick; I forgot his birthday; and I couldn’t remember his phone number. 

The phone number seemed to be the last straw: when I asked Trey for his phone number, he responded from his sickbed with a kind, “It’s like you don’t even know me at all.”

And that pretty much summed it all up because you really don’t know your spouse until he’s sick. 

The other revealing situation in marriage? Travel. 

See, I didn’t grow up traveling, really. We’d roadtrip a bit to the usual suspects: different parts of Georgia, Florida, and occasionally North Carolina. 

I didn’t get on a plane until I was 18 years old and headed to a senior trip to Jamaica. 

Trey is pretty much the opposite- total 180. 

These differences in raising are now obvious in our approaches. 

We like to think we’re very similar people. And you know what? After traveling many times together? 

We’re not. 

As we have a lot of fall travel on the horizon, I thought it would be fun to explain my observations of the specimen that is Trey Kotara, Travel Edition.

1. He hustles. 

When packing. When driving. When in the airport. When walking. 

It’s a pity there’s not a relay race wherein competitors could run and pass off suitcases, rather than batons. If so, I’d be married to a world champion.

What’s more, he’s easygoing until you put him behind the wheel of a car. All of a sudden, he channels the late, great Dale Earnhardt. He’s in a race with himself to see if he can beat Google Map’s ETA. Spoiler alert: he can. 

The parting advice from Gran every time we’re going somewhere is, “Trey, don’t you drive too fast, now.”

He seamlessly strides through the airport like he’s on a military mission. 

Now, this all would be fine, except for the fact that…

2. He expects you to hustle, too. 

I wasn’t raised this way. I’m not from a big city. I’m a small town gal with a penchant for taking it all in. 

The airport itself is part of the experience. It’s something to see, what with the fact that it’s an entire city in one building. 

When Trey’s borderline sprinting in the airport and weaving in and out of people, he forgets something: I can move that same speed, but I shouldn’t. 

I will knock people with my backpack, accidentally strike the elderly, and try to unsuccessfully hurdle children. 

Honestly, I think we’d be better off if he’d put me in an airport wheelchair and just drive me through the terminals. Everyone would be a lot less angry and a lot less injured by the end of it. 

Once, I was moving so slowly that Trey picked up all my luggage and carried it himself. He did windsprints with my bag, and I still walked slowly so I could watch the life taking place around me. 

It didn’t achieve his goal because the problem was never the bags in the first place. 

Plus, I didn’t even have to carry my own stuff:I strolled about leisurely, unencumbered by the weight of the luggage or his expectations.  

Follow me for more Marriage Hacks™. 

3. In that same vein, I’ve never doubted my driving until I was watched by my husband. 

I always thought I was a good driver until my driving was being rated and mercilessly judged. Now, listen, I’m not a fast driver: just the opposite in fact. 

Again, I’m there to take it all in: I like a slow and steady pace, wherein we can all relax, sit back, and enjoy the ride. Judging by some of the looks I get from the passenger seat, one of us enjoys the ride more than the other. 

If I don’t pass a Florida driver, just to shave 14 seconds off our commute, whose business is it but my own?

4. The food will be trash. 

This is one area Trey and I can agree on, okay? Typically, we don’t eat fast food because I just don’t have the constitution for it anymore. But we make exceptions when we’re on long drives: there is one restaurant we’ll always stop for.

Taco Bell. 

Now, our car snacks are equally as ghastly: beef jerky, protein bars, boiled eggs, and gas station charcuterie boards. Another thing we love from a gas station is coffee. 

When Starbucks can rise to the occasion and put Frosted Animal Cracker creamer in my coffee, then we’ll talk. For now, I can dress up my own coffee, thank you very much (and I can do it for a lot cheaper, too). 

5. The conversations are unexpected. 

Once, we were driving to Branson, and we were in the hills of Arkansas. Trey began talking about shifting gears. 

What I assumed would be a five minute fun fact turned into an hour-long, one-sided conversation. 

Then, to make sure I was listening, he would quiz me and ask me questions about what gear I would shift into in different scenarios. 

Shockingly, I would get the question wrong, and then he would explain just why I got it wrong, replete with explanations of rotations, gears, and sprockets.

I got so lost that I can’t even remember the words he was saying: worse, I got so confused that I couldn’t even find a good segue out of the conversation. 

6. The conversations are not always directed to the person in the car with him. 

God came through for me by (wait for it) SHIFTING THE GEARS of the above conversation when we found ourselves in Branson, and a man in a gold Mercedes didn’t like how Trey was driving, so he gave my husband the finger. 

Trey thought it was hilarious. I worried the man had a gun. 

Trey steadily talked to the man from one car back, as he is wont to do in many on-the-road situations. Thankfully, we eventually turned down a different road and evaded what I perceived to be a dangerous situation. 

You should hear the things Trey says:

“Of course, it’s a Florida driver.”

“Nice blinker.” 

“So now you decide to get over.”

“I bet they’re driving with both of their feet.” 

As he drives, I talk, too. Silently. To God. 

7. He will be a Good Samaritan, and his wife will make him pay for that. 

Once, on the way back from Cabo, a woman got stuck in the door of the airport train. The door literally closed on her, and she was stuck. Trey threw off his bags in the middle of the terminal and ran over to get her out. 

My hero!

I was so proud that I, too, ran over. Only, I didn’t realize that he was giving me his bags to protect. In all the excitement, I just left his stuff in the middle of the terminal. 

When he pried open the door and freed the lady, he then looked over at me, who was grinning from ear to ear in pride…with MY pink rolly suitcase and MY backpack (but, unfortunately, without HIS bags). 

He was THRILLED. Thank the Lord, another lady came jogging up with his stuff: she obviously had been paying better attention than me. Shocker. 

If airport security would have picked up those unattended bags, we would’ve had to schedule marriage counseling. 

8. Packing the car is a grown-up game of Tetris.

Once upon a time, when I was happily naive, I believed that packing a car was as simple as loading your stuff in the back and leaving. 

Unbeknownst to me, packing a car is basically a 3-D jigsaw puzzle to which Trey learned the code in the womb. 

This code was woefully not given to me. My goal now when packing the car?

If packing is up to me, I aim to load the car so perfectly that Trey has no need to pull anything out to rearrange it. 

It’s the most mentally stimulating exercise I do. 

For the most part, I just pray Trey is able to do the car-packing, and I just leave the suitcases in the kitchen for him to figure out. 

9. I will never get an aisle seat. 

I noticed a crazy theme about a year ago. Somehow, I would always get the middle seat on the airplane. This is the case if we don’t get those nifty exit aisle seats where you’re asked to help fly the plane if things get a little wonky. 

At least, I assume that’s what they ask: typically, I have my headphones in and just smile and nod at the flight attendant when she asks me if I’m up for the challenge. 

Has there EVER been a Meadows who was unready to rise to the occasion?

Now, if we’re in a three-seater row, I will always sit in the middle. According to Trey, this is because he needs the leg room. 

Now…listen. 

He is taller than me. I will for sure give him that. 

But that’s because he has a long torso. I’m like 75% sure I have the same leg length as him.

I need a good reason to get that aisle seat. I think claustrophobia is a good excuse: I’m working on using that one. 

Problematic is the fact that I would have to lie about that. And it’s getting harder and harder to make up good excuses, like random-onset claustrophobia, the longer you’re married. 

10. We both have our stressors. 

Trey’s: everything I do. 

Mine: when the person in front of me leans his seat back on the plane. 

From my field research, it seems that this is a specific male trait. Luckily, I did not marry a man who leans his seat back on an airplane. 

Praise God. 

This should be outlawed. There is no reason why anyone should recline a seat on an airplane to split my three centimeters of leg space in half. That’s two centimeters I have left.  

Now, I have no leg space, and I am also reminded that I can’t do math. 

Careless. Thoughtless. I want to cuss. 

He is beauty, he is grace, he is Mr. Travel-the-United-States. 

My Momma has said many times (and rightly so), “Thank God for Trey.” We are two different people, and when it comes to traveling, I’m so thankful for that. 

Can you imagine if I were in a marriage where I was the best traveler? We’d never go anywhere. We’re blessed to be able to travel as we do, and that is largely because of Trey. He books the flights, he rents the cars, he navigates the arrival times, and he takes pictures of the correct signs in the parking garages. 

I’m thankful for him and all he does, even if that means I sometimes have to close my eyes while he drives the interstate. 

It’s well worth it. I’ve got a great one!