Hi, friend. Welcome to Dunham Dwells, where we explore connection and the awkward mid-twenties. Today, a little bit of story that is making me really happy. Love, A
The first time my husband cooked for me, it was our freshman year of high school. He made grilled cheese and we drank raw milk from his family’s dairy that was kept in the fridge in a metal jar.
We had spent the morning - or maybe it was early afternoon - it was late November or early December, and it was cold - wandering around the farm, where he showed me the milking parlor and the calves and we spent a lot of time standing around awkwardly, he hoping I would kiss him and me trying to figure out what to do with my hands, with my body, to avoid kissing him.
Not that I didn’t want to kiss him. I just spent a long time growing up thinking that kissing was the gateway drug of physical intimacy, and before I knew it I would be unmarriageable and have an STD. But that’s not the story I’m telling today.
I thought he made grilled cheese wrong - I had learned to make it by buttering the bread, and he had learned to butter the pan. As it turns out, his was delicious, as he was also trained to use an excessive amount of butter.
We spent the afternoon on a leather couch in the family den, watching a movie, snuggled together because the house was cold. It was perfect and I remember it feeling so good, and also I remember thinking about all the reasons it wouldn’t work out, all the reasons I would break up with him in just a few weeks, by text over Christmas break (I know).
Fast forward twelve years.
I make my grilled cheese by buttering the pan. (Most of the time.) I smile and roll my eyes while he complains about the store-bought milk, even though he still drinks a gallon in a week all by himself, not to mention the quart of cream he piles into his coffee. These are little things, for sure. But they are happy things.
Oh, yes. By the way. I got married last month. His name is Edward and if you’ve known me for twelve years you might be laughing while saying, “Whaaat?” Me too. I couldn’t have written this book if I tried. I’m so glad we’re here.
And I’m so glad you’re here! Thanks for reading along.
p.s. I’m selling all my yarn from last summer on super-sale to make room for a baby this fall and maybe eventually more yarn? You can find it at www.dunhamdwells.com and use the code SUMMERSTASH for 40% off through the end of August.