Poverty.

Michael and I were married at 21.  Both of us were 21.  I had a head start on him, (which ended up being useless, because what does an Associates of Arts get anyone these days?) and he was fresh off of his mission, with almost zero work experience, trying to find a job that respected a resume stating: "Two years of Volunteer service."

We moved into our 419 square foot home, with what little we had.  Michael was still wearing clothes from high school (my favorite states, "I love Lakeside Football, but I came to see the band," depicting a pumped up football player, with steroid patches and all, biffing it on his face), while I made a poverty-pact with him, to stop buying new clothes.

Everything we owned was thoroughly loved (meaning worn) hand-me-downs.  We took a queen size mattress from his brother, who left on a mission.  We got a set of green corduroy couches from my parents, who had purchased the set for $200 at a second hand store several years before. We stole hampers from our parent's homes (My laundry hamper was always labeled "Serena's" so I'm pretty sure it was legit).  We furnished the corner of our home meant for dining with a small table left out beside a dumpster, whether left dead, or hoping for a new life, we could never be sure.  But it fit in the 7' by 5' spot nicely.

All of these things have been complete blessings in our lives.  However, since the time we first moved in together, the whole dining room idea has been abandoned, with the dining table being amputated to become a coffee table.  The mattress has been flipped several times to avoid wearing our body shapes into the foam indefinitely, and the couch has become a deep cavern, in which only the bravest of souls can find their way out of after a good movie, or serious nap.  At this point, I am convinced Access must have a qualifying detail about the amount of second-hand furniture in ones home, at least under a Chiropractors Only plan.

When Michael and I were planning on getting married, we often (meaning always) were blessed (meaning smothered) with good advice.  My favorite bit was, "You're going to be really poor the first little while, but that's going to be the best time of your life.  You really grow together when you've got nothin."  Cynical as I may sound, it is unreservedly true. The moments when we stress about having nothing, are the moments we realize we have everything.  Even though climbing out of the couch is a two person ordeal, and our teflon has been previously scratched, our marriage is stronger than ever, and our love never lacks.  It is great.