Relationship Goals

I can count the number of times I've thrown up in my adult life on one hand.

Really.

Two of those times were in front of John. And both of those times, he held back my hair, stroked my back, and whispered encouragement like, "Oh, you poor thing. Oh, bad luck, sweetie. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, sweetheart. I know. It's just a shock. You'll feel so much better when it's over, I promise," as I vommed chunks into the bathroom sink (because I could never make it in time to the toilet, and also because bending down that extra bit seemed improbable to me in the moment).

And after that - after I spat out the last, bile-filled mouthful and collapsed, face red and tear-streaked on the bathroom floor (because even as an adult, I find throwing up awfully traumatizing) - he was the one who sweeped away my vomit with his bare hands and handed me a glass of water to rinse out my mouth, before fetching another glass of water to mix up a rehydration packet because he didn't want me to wake up with a headache. 

That, my friends, is the definition of relationship goals: someone who will scoop up your vomit with his/her bare hands. 

Not those sappy, Pinterest-worthy quotes about holding doors open and compliments and long hugs and texting, "Good morning" and "Goodnight" (they're sweet, but not necessarily "goals").

Vomit.

Bare hands.

Because relationship goals is about being there when the shit hits the fan (um, sometimes literally ... Norovirus 2010, is all I have to say) - and loving that person in their most vunerable, humiliating, and lowest moments. And every single time, it's those moments where my husband's true character shines: patience, empathy, kindness - selflessness. 

So, the second time I spewed into the sink, it was about 10 p.m. by the time I finally cleaned myself up and gingerly climbed back into bed.

"Do you want to watch 'The Andes' on BBC iPlayer?" he asked, propping up my pillows for me.

I nodded.

And he held my hand as I watched, heavy-lidded, while puma cubs frolicked in the mountains on the screen in front of us before finally turning onto my side and falling asleep. But he kept it on just a bit longer because he knew that the sound would calm my anxiety and help me fall asleep faster.

But the real reason why I fell asleep so quickly that night was because I felt safe and loved - unconditionally so.

Did You Have a Wedding Registry?

October marks our five-year wedding anniversary. How time flies! I can never quite remember the exact date - whether it's the 5th or the 6th - but it's there, it exists, and photos mounted in silver frames dotted around our home remind me so: me, in a lace blue dress; him, in a dark blue suit; us, against the backdrop of the Great Orme looming behind us.

Although we eloped (you can read our elopement story here), we celebrated with friends and family at two transatlantic receptions - but we didn't have a wedding registry or a honeymoon fund.

In Seattle, we asked our guests not to bring gifts (though friends and family generously slipped checks and crisp bills into congratulatory cards) and in Oxford, we asked that donations be given in lieu of gifts to Trinity Hospice, where John's uncle Chris (who became my dear friend shortly after my move down to London) passed away.

We didn't have a wedding registry for a few reasons. Mostly, we felt a bit funny about the whole thing (though I don't blink twice when ordering a muffin tin or china set for friends' weddings) i.e. having a list of things we wanted and asking (or, rather, expecting) our guests to buy them for us.

Perhaps the biggest reason why we didn't have a wedding registry, was the fact that we'd been moving from flat to flat for years, and still didn't have a place to call our own when we were married, let alone a rental agreement long enough to last more than a year (it was a time when the housing market in London went insane and house prices went £100k+ above the asking price, so our landlords would inevitably sell at the end of our lease) - we simply wouldn't have space for the items we'd longed for.

Finally (and perhaps the biggest reason why I'm glad we didn't have a wedding registry), our tastes have changed so much from five years ago. Of course, I would have loved to have (I think we asked for John Lewis gift cards at Christmas for about three years straight) house-related gifts when we moved into the house we bought two years ago, but even the things I thought worked in our home then, don't really translate into what we know works for us now.

Either way, I don't really care or judge whether friends have a wedding registry/honeymoon fund or not (although a 'thank you' note is always appreciated!) - it just wasn't for us at the time.

How about you? If you're married, did you have a wedding registry or honeymoon fund? Or a chosen charity to donate to? I'd love to know!

My 5 Favorite TV Shows For When I'm Feeling Sad/Mad/Bad

There's a certain kind of show I like to watch when I'm feeling sad/bad/mad: I've dubbed it The Comfort Show. The Comfort Show contains mild drama to keep me hooked, almost always involves some form of food (whether it's being consumed or cooked), almost always has an element of cheese (whether literal or metaphorical) has zero violence, and is usually shot in a neutral (but cute) and peaceful setting.

In other words, it's safe. It's cozy. And preferably, it's in a series meant to be binge-watched and left on in the background, lest I fall asleep midway through (I've been known to self-soothe during bouts of insomnia with the Gilmore Girls playing on our Samsung Galaxy View, but laying with my back to it, at a volume where I can just about make out Sookie's shrieks. I don't know, it works for me.).

John does not understand my love for The Comfort Show and thinks they're all ridiculous fluff - which they are. That's the point.

Gilmore Girls

When I was healing from surgery, I watched Gilmore Girls on a loop in our garden, and from bed. It was a nice distraction from the pain, and it also kept me from feeling down, which is a side effect I often experience the weeks following an operation under general anaesthetic. I used to loathe Rory and Lorelei's fast-talking, smart alecky ways (and sometimes, I still do), but after I started watching the show for what it was (a mother and daughter just tryin' to navigate their way through this thing called life), I started to enjoy it a lot more - plus, all the incidental characters that go along with them (e.g. Miss Patty, Kirk, etc.). 

Heartland

It's a TV show about horses set in Alberta, Canada. Need I say more?

Barefoot Contessa

Ina Garten reminds me of my childhood best friend's mom. Her voice is so soothing, and her easy, methodical way of cooking is so calming, I could watch it all day while laying horizontal on the couch with a box of tissues by my side when I've got a bad case of the sniffles. There's something so comforting and soothing about imagining a mom-like figure stirring a big pot of chicken noodle soup in your kitchen ... even if it's happening in your TV instead.

Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt

It's funny, it's clever, and Kimmy's outfits are colorful, it's worth watching just to see what patterned cardigan she'll wear next (and what amazing theatrical vocals Titus Andronicus - yes, really - will bust out). The blink-and-you'll-miss-it pop culture references and witty humor have me howling with laughter every time - it's the ultimate pick-me-up and the imaginary world I wish we all lived in.

Chef's Table

I used to find Chef's Table eye-rolling-ly pretentious, but I recently tuned in and was so moved by some of the chefs' stories (not to mention, the beautiful cinematography), I found myself a little misty-eyed ... and full of admiration. I love the personal stories; the journey from childhood ambition to Michelin-starred kitchen.

What's your ultimate "comfort show"? The series you binge watch when you're reaching for a box of tissues or recovering from a bad break-up? I'd love to know!

You Before Me

On a recent trip back to Leicester, John triumphantly recovered a box full of childhood memories from his dad's attic: school workbooks; a Thundercats figurine; a well-loved teddy, his ears misshapen and worn from too many nighttime snuggles with a small, fair-haired boy.

I patted the teddy and gave the stuffed owl an affectionate squeeze, but it was John's schoolwork that I pored over extensively. Fascinated by the insight it gave me into the person I knew and loved so much, I delighted in discovering his long, sloping cursive, written in mandatory blue fountain ink. I spent hours in front of the TV, on our couch at home, reading workbook after workbook - smiling at a teacher's encouraging feedback and frowning at grades I thought were unfair.

English workbooks from primary school revealed a sweet boy with a sense of humour and lovely imagination, harshly critiqued by a (possibly?) embittered teacher. I thumbed through pages and pages of physics and chemistry equations - equations that I hadn't even begun to ponder until my final year of high school, which he solved with precision at ages thirteen and fourteen. French conjugations painstakingly written and re-written, again and again.

This part of John - this part of his history - unlocked a part of him to me that I'd never known, but had been eager to meet. 

This was him before me.

At times, I was overwhelmed with emotion, reading these workbooks. I laughed at the silly stories, marvelled at the difficult math problems, but most of all, I saw that he, i.e. the same person he is today, had always been there.

I saw a trajectory from childhood to adulthood that was so much more straightforward than mine, and therefore, interesting. As a child, then teen, then university student, my interests were varied and unfocused. I excelled at everything and nothing at once. John was different: focused, logical, and methodical. Especially talented in math and science. A lover of football. Popular. Fun. Loyal.

The box revealed all these things, and the revelation was amazing. It made me love him even more.

Have you ever wondered what your best friend, partner, or relative was like before you met them?
(My brother plays this great game with my dad after dinner ... we'll be sitting at the table and he'll ask, "Dad ... what were you doing in [inserts year]?" We learned so much about my dad from those stories!)

The PAUL Picnic Hamper

When my mom came to visit me in London a few years ago, she fell in love with PAUL - PAUL, of course, being the ubiquitous French bakery and cafe on this side of the Channel that makes the closest thing to the perfectly flaky, ever-so-slightly yielding croissants and pain au chocolats found on that side of the Channel. Naturally, she fell for the delicious pastries and cakes, but I've always been a fan of PAUL's tasty baguette sandwiches too.

And just in time to lift my post-Paris-holiday blues (and just in time to catch the last of the warm-ish weather in London), PAUL has launched a summer picnic hamper filled with both sweet and savoury treats, which my friend Alex and I tried last week in Lincoln's Inn Fields.

We unzipped the cool bag that the picnic arrives in, shook out our blanket under a tree, and placed the cute, waterproof chequered table cloth on top (also included).

Priced at £20 for two or £38 for four, the picnic includes either sandwiches, quiche, salads, chips (or "crisps" as they're called here in the UK!), drinks, and - of course - dessert from PAUL's famous patisserie counter.

We tried the vegan sandwich - a beetroot baguette stuffed with grilled peppers, carrots, onions, carrot hummus and spinach - though I think I might have enjoyed the sliced roast beef sandwich more (note to self: order the sandwich boeuf next time!). The beetroot bread itself, however, was very good, and it's good to know that there's a sandwich option for my vegan and veggie friends.

It was a fairly warm day when we had our picnic, and we grazed on PAUL's chardonnay wine vinegar (addictive, with a zing) and sea salt (basic, but essential) crisps while people-watching in the park and catching up on our favorite new-store openings in London (Arket! Weekday!).

Of course, I couldn't wait to try the dessert: a slice of PAUL's fruit rouges tart (I made a mental note to buy it for the next office birthday) and a large pistachio macaron, which we managed to split in half with as much grace we could muster.

Too bad for us, we only had an hour or so for lunch, so it wasn't long before we had to pack up our PAUL picnic, fold up our picnic blanket (which had acquired a bit of mud at this point that still hasn't washed out), and reluctantly head back indoors. This portable picnic is perfect for a last-minute al fresco gathering with friends ... or, a romantic lunch/light dinner for two in the garden (which I'd love to do with John!).

Will you be taking advantage of this late-summer picnic weather?

Our summer picnic hamper was provided courtesy of PAUL. All opinions are my own.