One man's sick is another woman's vacation.

Over the last week I came down with a wicked bout of food poisoning.  I will spare you the details other than to say that I was not aware of how many different colors could exist inside of me at once.

As I was expelling any and all non-essentials, I figured that Emily would be there to mop my brow and rub my back.  But unfortunately she had other things to take care of--like swimming in a pool with friends.  No joke.  While I was slowly drowning in the tidal waves of nausea, Emily was creating her own waves--happy, splashy waves--at a friend's swimming pool.  I really couldn't be that upset; just to think about swimming was enough to push me over the edge of the next nausea wave.

I've read enough books about marriage at this point to know that flexibility and the ability to be somewhat fluid with expectations is important, so I put the whole brow-mopping thing out of mind and knew I would have to gut this one through partially on my own.  Emily got home from her day of poolside fun and sat with me in our room for a bit.  I stopped being nauseous for about two minutes which let me fall asleep.

I woke up to the thundering sound of horse hooves.  It seems that Emily's day in the sun was not enough excitement, and I'm really boring when sick, so she decided to watch a movie on Netflix.  No, not some quiet romantic comedy or foreign kid movie--a movie chock full of cheering, dramatic orchestra swelling, and a whole lot of horse hooves.  Secretariat.  And to top it off, the stereo our TV is hooked up to is a bit picky when it comes to volume, and Emily hasn't necessarily gotten a handle on it yet, so the movie was playing full blast.

When I figured out I wasn't about to be trampled by horses, I put a pillow over my head and tried to recapture that sweet sickness-amnesia of sleep, but it wasn't going to happen.  So instead I listened to an hour of dramatic shouting about horses mixed in with a bunch of hooves.  Finally Emily had watched enough to know she didn't like the movie and she turned it off.  I expected her to come in and check on me, wipe my brow, climb into bed.  Instead the lights went off in the living room and I heard her stretch out on the couch.  She was probably asleep in five minutes.

The next day I was still sick (like I said, it was a wicked case).  Guess what Emily did.  You got it, she went swimming.  

The time we almost got hit by a train

For my birthday, Travis took me to the So You Think You Can Dance tour. It was awesome. The music was loud, the dancing was impressive, and Travis had a better time than he thought he would at an event mostly attended by teenage girls. As we were leaving we almost died. We had to cross over some metro tracks, and as we creeped over them, the huge arm that blocks traffic started coming down. We saw the metro coming, and my life flashed before my eyes. Travis threw the car into reverse and hit the gas. We hit the car behind us. I told him it was better than getting hit by a train. I stand by that.

Emily's Pillow Fetish

Let’s get one thing straight: I have never owned more than two pillows at one time in my life.  Most of said pillows were inherited, and once removed from their cases, were more-than-likely sweat stained and lumpy.  What can I say, pillows have never been more than their function to me.

Enter Emily.  Now it’s like freaking Disney Land exploded all over our apartment.  We have frilly pillows.  We have fluffy pillows.  Brown pillows.  Green pillows.  Pillows for the bed.  Pillows for the couch.  And get this…pillows that are solely for decoration.  I know, you’re probably thinking that I’m behind the times, but this kind of interior design ineptitude is what happens when you live 3 years of your formative years raised with 2 brothers by a father who pumps Domino’s pizza into you three times a week and calls it dinner.  

And nothing could have prepared me for the shock of the pillows.  I’m not even allowed to use them for fights.  Sometimes I think I am in a kind of modern fairy tale where I am supposed to swim through all the pillows and prove my kingly heritage by the fact that the pillows make me uncomfortable.  So then I complain about the pillows.  Emily does not suddenly turn into a princess and whisk me into my new castle.  No, she tells me to suck it up and stop sweating through all the pillow cases. 

Travis gets sick and thinks he's gonna die

In the summer of 2010, we went to Peru. After a week of teaching abstinence classes in schools, Travis came down with a fever, and the world almost ended. He lay in bed, sucking down Gatorade, popping pills and getting back rubs. It was a rough couple of hours. But in the end, Travis did not die. He took some Cipro. A few days later life was back to normal.

Emily, who holds things loosely (especially if they’re not hers)

Emily is a fierce giver.  She does not feel the attachment to material possessions that’s practically part of the genetic code for anyone from the west.  And she loves to give gifts.  When I was in New Zealand, I would receive phone calls from her that went a little like this

Emily  Guess where I am?

Travis  You’re at the—

Emily  I’m at the post office.  Beat.  I’m sending you a package.

Travis  I’m super excited.

Emily  Want to know what’s in it?

Travis  I like surpri—

Emily  It’s a box of Mike and Ikes, a mix cd, a movie about travelling pants, and a nice card.  Proceeds to read out loud what’s written in the card.

Now this is something I love about her nature—something I am incredibly attracted to.  But at times it gets out of control.  Sometimes it seems as though life is a game show that is easy to win and Emily is the generous host.  Or maybe our lives are just that moment on Oprah when she tells everyone to look under their chairs, except what’s under the chairs are necessities, essentials, and things that aren’t even ours to begin with.  A case history

Comfy Brown Couch  I spent months dreaming about the day this would make the trip to the apartment.  Afternoons spent dozing and firing up the Xbox.  It is incredibly comfortable.  Emily gave it to her friend Katie on a whim, not even mentioning it until weeks later. 

Gift Card to Brio  We received a gift card to a nice restaurant called Brio from Emily’s parents.  Before I could even begin to dream of the scrumptious flatbread, Emily had given the gift card to a family we know who are religious refugees from Uzbekistan.  Turns out it was their anniversary, how can you argue with that?

My car  Another missionary from Uzbekistan was once talking to us about the huge need for cars by international refugees in Houston.  By this point I knew better than to even think about dreaming, let alone think of something as mine.  So before Emily could speak I was already questioning the man about the possibility of donating a car.  We’ll see what happens.