It is official. Long distance no longer describes our relationship. Instead, Joe will spend the next two weeks sleeping on the floor of my parents' living room. He pulled in on Friday after six hours in the hot hot heat, driving in a truck with no A/C (the island of an honest man).
We spent the weekend making place cards, talking about wedding plans, figuring out where he'd sleep the night of the wedding and drinking milkshakes with my family. The highlight of the weekend: finalizing all of the wedding details and reading with the deacon that will marry us, one of the most naturally happy people I've come into contact with, followed by a two-hour lunch at Lucky Steer, one of the most typical restaurants for small towns.
The diner-esque coffee is what keeps us coming back. The restaurant, with homestyle specials daily and a fun salad bar with my favorites (sunflower seeds and coleslaw--no, not together! gross!) has been our stop in Wapak when we're feeling a bit emotional.
It was our final stop on Joe's visits to Ohio during the first summer of our relationship, when I moved home and he stayed at school. It was our first stop when we told the church we wanted to get married. Now, it's the first restaurant we've been to as almost married people.
And I mean almost married. We went to the Probate Court today, which seems like an odd place for such a happy occasion. We held up our right hands, swore we didn't have syphilis and promised we weren't already married. We weren't drunk. We weren't pretending to be someone else. Things were going good. We were congratulated and given our marriage certificate. It was packed away for the wedding rehearsal.
Then I call Social Security, to see about this name-changing biz-nass. And they, like everyone else I've talked to, suggested that maybe legally changing my name without time to get a new passport, visa & driver's license (and SS card, which wouldn't arrive for, oh, a month minimum) was perhaps not my best idea. Customs would be confused. I could be held in the airport.
My heart sank a little. I have been inching my toes toward that finish line, the time when Joe and I could be the Betz family, for the past year. It means so much to him. I plopped my head onto his shoulder, into the bowl between shoulder blade and pec (a bowl I think I've worn into him). I explained. We were both disappointed, but we started making plans to make the switch post-France.
"But will you call yourself Megan Betz?" he asked.
Of course I will. And my students will call me Mrs. Betz. And we will be The Betzes. The Betz Family. Mr. & Mrs. Betz. For everyone but Social Security.
There were other, more successful errands run today. Like picking up my borrowed item, my grandma's silver bracelet, and my old item, her pewter candle sticks for the unity candles. Like getting season one of Mad Men, to make Joe understand how important it is. Like getting Jillian's kick-your-ass yoga video, which I hope to purchase for Joe & myself if we enjoy the rented trial run of it. Like showing Joe where the printer is, so that he can start running errands in Wapak and feeling like he owns the place.
Like ordering flowers for the moms during the sign of peace and getting really excited about bringing our two families together. Like falling asleep on the bedroom floor while on hold with Social Security and realizing that we will never wake up in separate states again.
1 comments:
yay! and don't cry about the name-change wait. i did the same for my change to Marty-Schlipf because we left for NZed a couple of weeks after we married. it's frustrating; it makes for some serious confusion, most of it "official" and paper-oriented, but it'll happen. you know who you are. everyone else can catch up.
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