Weathering the Storm

I hate the last days of vacation just as much as I hate Sundays.  In fact, as a personal rule, none of my vacations end on Sundays because I'm pretty sure the results would be catastrophic.  The world actually might end.  

So here I am on Tuesday.  The Boy and I did the drive in last night - where we had a front row seat to some amazing lightening shows.  It was one of those perfect romantic moments where you're on the side of the road in the dead of the night looking at some extraordinary show the heavens created just for you.  And then he had to start a fight.  I will spare the details.  But it was the kind of fight where you know the make up time will be spectacular.  Where you think to yourself oh buddy, you are going to regret this one.  THAT kind of fight.  

The tears, the drama, the cold shoulder.  It ends fast for us.  I know he tries to make me laugh it off because he doesn't like to see me cry.  But sometimes I have to remind him not to trivialize my feelings.  That I can't laugh it off immediately.  I need to get over it on my own.  I always do. And I do believe he gets it.  The funny thing is, even with the stupid fighting and his button-pushing ways, I find myself staring at him sideways and thinking I would like to grow old with this man.  It's alarming to hear myself say this.  Even if it's in my own head.  But there's comfort in the fact that even when we are at each other's jugular, I still want the forever.