Last weekend, James took me to Fire Island for a day of Just Us time. My big hesitation in moving in with his parents {and yes, I have a long post on deck for that milestone} was that we would go from having every night and every morning together, alone, to having absolutely no time alone, whatsoever.

It won’t be a problem, he promised me. Well, guess what. It has been.

I’m going to stop right here, and posit strongly that I love Mama and Papa V. There are no two people on the face of the planet who have warmer hearts, or who are more willing to go out of their way to help. {Especially James, who is by every measure, their Golden Boy.} We gave up a little independence and access to grocery delivery at 3am, sure, but Mama and Papa V have given up the blissful routine that comes with a quieter house once the oldest child leaves. I understand wholly that sacrifices were made all around to let us move back in with them, and it is only by their generosity that James and I will be ready to invest in property {as opposed to throwing money down the NYC Rent tubes} in a year or so.

There aren’t words to express the gratitude we feel for that.

And. It’s tough. We knew it would be– It’s tough to transition from spending all your down-time either alone with one other person, or alone with two monster cats, and then suddenly find yourself around five people and three cats all the time and now I can never find the whisk!

I confessed to James that I was starting to feel a little lost in all of it. As a couple. Because now we’re not James and Mallory: The Couple. We’re James and Mallory: The Kids. I haven’t had to play that role in almost six years. It’s tough, re-learning a routine in a family setting that’s fairly drastically different from the one in which you grew up.

James heard me out and told me that he’d been planning to take me to Fire Island, a day Just For Us. I rolled my eyes. All my stories from Fire Island came from my gay-friends who told tales of Cherry Grove that had me sworn never to venture anywhere near the place. I knew what happened in the bushes. As racy as sophomore year was for me, I was not willing to see what I had been told I would find.

No. I told him. Absolutely not.

Two days later, I was given eight rolls of film, our DSLR and told to put on sunscreen.

It was bliss. Fire Island is like stumbling into a foreign tropical paradise, except it’s full of people from Long Island and — from what I can tell– Staten Island. We stayed away from the crowded public beaches and snapped around a thousand photos {I’m not exaggerating}.

I have sorted through and found the best to humbly show you. You’re welcome.

The closest I'll ever get to a runway. And with good reason.

I am Irish. Pale skin is what I do.

The ocean touched me, and I was not a big fan. {You have to understand, my big takeaway from The Little Mermaid is that everything in the ocean wants to eat you. So. I don't often let it touch me. For safety reasons.}

Proof I climbed the whole damn lighthouse IN MY FLIP FLOPS! I climbed up the outside, like SpiderMan. That's my story. I'm stickin' to it.

James climbed the lighthouse, too. But he took the stairs. Don't let him tell you otherwise.

The Lighthouse, at sunset.

Now, if you’ve been to Fire Island, you’re aware of their very interesting local Fauna. Fire Island has DEER. And they look just like the deer I have back home in Upstate, except they act oddly domestic. As in, they’ll just stroll down the boardwalk and let you take photos of them.

At one point, there was a buck with a very impressive rack, and a gaggle of Spanish tourists who had never seen such a thing. “His antlers are fuzzy!” I heard one of the guys exclaim, as he reached out to touch them. If you’ve ever been in Upstate, you have surely heard a story about someone thinking a baby deer was cute, only to find out that its Mama or Papa deer was not. OR! If you have cable, you’ve surely seen an episode of When Animals Attack! in which a deer used its sharp hooves to communicate its displeasure at having been domesticated.

They’re cute, but they’re wild animals. You don’t touch them.

It was completely surreal to move past the buck only to see a doe and her fawn amble across the boardwalk and into a yard to start eating the grass. Ten feet away from people.

The fawn. Still so tiny it had all its spots.

The doe. Who I believe was annoyed that we were ruining her supper.

More or less, what we did all day was walk and snap photos of one another, walking. And we ate, which was OK, but not spectacular. And I had to buy new shoes because as soon as we got out of the car my flip flops started to shred my feet-skins.

I don't have a good excuse for this. I just love the shot. And look! Look at his fancy watch!

Everyone on Fire Island has some sort of Butterfly Garden. The monarchs were lovely. The hornets were not.

And we got to watch the sun set over the water. Which was pretty magical.

I think the best advice I can give any girl who is going through the same changes I find myself suddenly navigating: Don’t forget why you fell in love with him in the first place. Don’t stop dating.

I can’t stress the importance of Us Time enough. We came home a little sunburnt, but fully recharged as a couple. It was exactly what we needed. It was a perfect day.

xo -MM.