The good news that makes me so sad.

    

For years, long before I met Oliver, I thought it would be kind of cool to do a green card interview. The marriage kind, like you see in the movies whenever two characters get married solely so one can get U.S. residency. A sour-faced government pencil pusher takes you into a little room and asks you details about your relationship. Where did you meet? What are the names of your husband's siblings, and what is the order of their birth? What color is your wife's toothbrush?

Real life is a little different than the movies, of course.  In real life the interview comes years after your wedding, not weeks. After your foreigner spouse has had the probationary green card for two years s/he applies for a permanent card... and the government decides what to do with you.

Do they trust you? Do they believe, based on the stacks of paperwork you have provided, that your marriage is real? If they're not sure... interview!

I had my fingers crossed. I really did. This would be our big chance to prove our love to the world! It would be like Jeopardy, only a special version of Jeopardy with all questions centering around us! How's that for an ego stroke? Someone wants to know all about us! No, not just someone. The U.S. government. Our nation has taken a keen interest in the most mundane details of our life. He drinks his coffee black! She loves NPR! He pays the bills! We have a Netflix account!

Alas, when Oliver brought in the mail today his approval letter was in it. All done. The paperwork was believable. No interview for us. This is a good thing. It will save us stress, hassle, and a day of vacation time. We can move forward, plan vacations out of the country, etc. I'm really glad... I'm just a little sad at the same time.

Take Three - or Leave Them

Three years ago today we got married.

Two years ago today we ate dinner at a French restaurant. I had almost refused to go ("I'm not eating anywhere today that serves french fries" I hissed), but was more than pleasantly surprised. We ordered cocktails, appetizers, soup, dessert and coffee. Dinner too.

A year ago today I sat at my desk, squinting at the computer screen. A half-written paper stared me down and the mess of my apartment piled up around me. Oliver came home around 9, produced a Swiss yogurt from a grocery bag. "Happy anniversary."

"I thought we agreed -- no gifts," I said (and laughed).

Today I left for school just as he was sitting up in bed. I returned late to a semi-dark apartment. Celebrate? Not today, unfortunately.

So our anniversaries haven't exactly been the stuff of legend. I can handle that. We don't do super-creative, romantic gifts and grand gestures. Really, it's not a problem. The things I really care about - honesty, love, friendship, selflessness - we have those in spades. Oliver is my other half, and not in a left-half/right-half way. It's more like a swirling mixture. We're two separate people, but blended in a way that you can't take a bite of one of us without tasting the other.

I like being married. I like being married to him. Two things I like best about the concept in general:

1) Your partner's dreams become your dreams too. And vice versa.

2)You have the chance to show one person, over and over for the span of your life, that his/her life is sacred. Everyone's life is. But do we all have someone there to remind us, make us believe it? I like being that person.

A year from today we'll probably have another forgettable anniversary. But the 364 days that precede it - I look forward to those.