For days of yore, see here. And this is where it get’s serious.

So years passed… many of them. In 2005 a friend and I were chatting about the Man’s brother (as he was a mutual friend… like I’ve said before, small town). I went home thinking about where the Boy/Man was and what he was doing. Again. I hadn’t spoken to him since his graduation night in 1992 (where I said hello, and swooned, but he doesn’t remember).

I went to work.

I came home.

Rinse. Repeat.

Curiosity was getting the better of me. (For those who will inevitably ask… Yes, I was married. I had been for 12 years. No, I was not looking to rekindle anything, not being shady or seedy, just wondered what brilliant thing he might be doing with his life and wanted to find out. The very basis by which social networking thrives. Duh. (Admittedly more curious about what was going on with him than anyone else I went to high school with.)

I googled his name. It wasn’t hard to find his email address. Thank you World Wide Web. So I emailed him. We exchanged emails and quickly got caught up on each others lives. He was newlywed. I was on my way to a career in midwifery. We filled each other in and chatted about how he was going to be in town for a get together. I told him it was still hot in the valley. He told me he still hated it here.

Caught up on what he was doing with his life (being married, not having kids, working in the bay, playing in a band), I went about my life. He went about his. Etc.

The next year he emailed me at my birthday. (he remembered my birthday?)

I didn’t get the email (an address I no longer used). Another missed intersection point on our life graph.

Then I thought again about emailing him. Just to check in. Two years had passed. Certainly there was a little Boy (or Girl) running around by now. So I came home from work early one morning, got the kids of to school and I shot off a “HEY! What’s going on?!”email. And within a few minutes (literally like five) he emailed back. And no, no little Boy (or girl). He told me about his job and asked me about mine. We struck up a friendship. We exchanged opinions and talked about the upcoming election. We talked about religion. The valley we grew up in. Music. Our marriages. My kids. His cats. Work. We talked about running. Fitness. My half marathon training (and leg breaking). We bickered about why we had never really dated. We found we had a lot in common.

We became fast friends.

This went on. For some time. Like a long time.

While this was happening, other things were happening. My marriage was in the state of discontent it had perpetually been in. And the discontent was getting the better of me. The kids were older now and I was feeling less compelled to stay for the sake “of the children” as it were. I nearly left. Then I decided to stay. I spent nights on the bathroom floor. Sobbing. Staring at my own reflection. Trying to figure out what was the best thing to do. For them. For him. For me. (This is one of those life situations you really need to be IN to understand. It’s an ugly, sad, scary place.) The Man, as a good friend should, told me I should get to work on the marriage. And fast. For the kids. The vows. Myself.

I did.

Months passed.

It didn’t get better.

What happens next is certainly not the most unusual thing that’s ever happened to two people. But also far from ordinary. It sounds a little Montel Williams, only no screaming and punching.

I left. (The marriage that is.)

{I’ll spare you the details. Suffice it to say, it all eventually worked out.}

Anyway… After I left I decided to go see the Boy/Man.

I hadn’t seen him since I was 17.

And I. Was. Terrified.

But I drove to the Bay where he was living. A heap of trembling flesh. Sad but relieved. Scared but hopeful. Lonely but not alone.

And there he was. The same. But different.

And I fell into him the way you fall into a pool on a summer day in this valley’s unrelenting heat. Completely. And with reckless abandon. And all the way to the bottom.

And I don’t think I would be exaggerating if I said that he fell into me the same way.

Have you ever had the feeling that someone is the other half of your puzzle?

All the corny, cliche things that they make romantic movies about?

Yeah. That.

This happened in September.

Of 2009.

Go ahead. Do the math.

I wish I could provide you with some tale of an extended romance. Of courting and wooing. Something drawn out that would keep you suspended in anticipation. But the truth of it is, when you meet someone you want to spend the rest of your life with, you want the rest of your life to start right away.

And so it goes.

The months that followed were a blur of seeing each other when we could, talking on the phone until the wee hours and trying to build our future. All while trying to pick up the pieces of the past. He met the kids. I met his cat. By October we were partly co-habitating with him living in the Bay and here. In December we were getting engaged.

By the beginning of the year we were making a baby.

Then buying a house.

Then getting married (admittedly a little out of order)…

I call this one “Feigned indifference”

THEN having a baby:

And that, my friends, is our story.

Sometimes smack in the middle of an ordinary life, the universe gives you a fairytale.

He is mine.

love , marriage , the man , the story of we

Ten things I love about you…

After writing my recent post about the youngest Boy, I was asked if I would be devoting a post to each family member. Seems fair enough.

The Man gets to go first. Because he’s oldest (as he would point out though, not as old as me, by 77 ish days).

Note: These are in no particular order. Also I’m only doing 10. Because if I did them all I’d really be writing a book.

1. When we were newly pregnant (and I do mean we) and I said “I think we should think about having the baby at home” he didn’t look at me like I was from Mars. He just said “If you’ve done your research and you think that’s the best thing, I trust you. We should have the baby at home.” Well ok. He did his research too. And sure enough we did it. And he was right there the whole time.

It was outstanding.

2. We met when we were 11. At the district spelling bee (I remember it better than him). No kidding. I’m not gonna lie, his blue eyes were the thing that I saw first. I love them. Now, I get to see them everyday. It’s awesome. I hate to be focused on such things as this (and he may be embarrassed to read this) but he is a hot little number.


Also, he won. He’s a good speller (it’s all about the brains man).
3. He loves to cook. No, seriously. He’s good at it too. He makes a mean Kung Pao. Or fried rice with whatever is left over in fridge.

He also makes a mess of the kitchen, but he cleans up (see #8).
4. He loves my bigger post-pregnant body as much as he loved my little teeny pre-pregnant body (if not more). It’s nice to not feel that Victoria’s Secret skinny made-up augmented pressure from the man you love. He’d be downright mad if I even considered plastic surgery. He likes roundness. Wrinkles. Grey hair. My squishy belly.

Even if he liked my skinny body better, I sure can’t tell.

5. He loves our little Ella. The way he calls her beautiful is ridiculously sweet. Like dripping with honey that’s mixed with sugar that’s on top of a twinkie and drizzled with syrup sweet.

If he’s holding her it’s all I can do to not cry.

6. And while we’re on that… He loves the Big Kids. They aren’t his biologically but you wouldn’t know it to be around him. He helps with math, teaches drums, practices guitar. He takes them to lessons, shopping, comforts them when their fish die, rubs backs and feet, soothes nerves. It’s exhausting but he is selfless with his time and energy.

Before he met me he had a cat.

Just a cat.

7. See #6: He plays guitar and drums. Both very well. I like that. A lot. We have a drum set smack in the middle of our living room. That is why. He plays sometimes when I am doing housework and I have to stop and wiggle a little bit.

He keeps me dancing.

8. He’s no stranger to dishes. Or laundry. Or vacuuming. And he would do them totally unsolicited. If they haven’t done a study on how men doing housework effects their romantic relationship, they really should.

I’ll volunteer.

9. He’s not pretentious. Or a hipster. Or a snob. Or an ass. He’s a funny, intelligent, all around good guy. He’s eco-aware and supports (if not pushes along) my efforts in living more green. He could get along with anyone… Except an opinionated, loudmouth, pushy conservative. If he runs into one of those, things are gonna get heated. But I love that too. If they’re just conservative and not a jerk about it, he’ll be delighted to share points of view rationally.

He is not apathetic.

10. When we got married in July we wrote our own vows. I listened very closely to his. And I’m pretty sure he carefully considered every word. In them he promised to rub my shoulders every night and to make me laugh every day and you know what, he really does it. I promised to be his lover and best friend.

And I totally am.

11. Bonus: He’s a great kisser. You’ll have to take my word for it.

(I know that’s 11. It’s my list.)

thankful , the man