It's Valentines Day Week! I will say that I 100% hate Valentines Day...that is I love to hate it. Of COURSE I love gifts, and OF COURSE I love flowers, and OF COURSE I love chocolate... but, I hate that guys feel guilted into buying a gift for their girl (and vise versa) and I feel bad for all the people alone. I have mixed emotions about it. I love it, I hate it, I love it...mostly, I love the day after with reduced candy.
At one point in my life I dated an asshole (doesn't everyone?) After him, I didn't see a point in wasting my time dating someone I couldn't see myself marrying. I decided I was instituting a new policy, I was putting up with no shit. My mother will tell you that I would date guys for approximately two weeks, and then dump them. I think it was longer than that, but oh well... Why, oh, why would I waste my time dating someone that I couldn't see myself marrying? I just saw it as a waste of my ever so fun single life. Sure, Valentine's Day would come around and for about .3 seconds I would boo-hoo about it, and then remembered that I didn't have anyone to answer to, and I could do what I want. Plus, I didn't need to deal with another (insert string of expletives.)
Then I met him.
(Bug, if you've found this blog, stop reading here...we met at church. Remember that.)
I believe that things happen for a reason. I use to think that was a bunch of bull shit, but after meeting my hubby I have changed my mind.
April 3, 2004 -My girlfriends and I went out to a bar in the next town over. A few of my friends and I were at the bar discussing how our drinks were still too dark (we ordered Malibu and Diet Cokes.) I remember it like it was yesterday (liquor will do that to you I guess, wait? It doesn't...oh well.) I turned around just as another friend of mine came laughing into the bar. The guy with her had given her a wedgie, and they both walked in laughing. It might have been the liquor, but the moment I saw him, I had to meet him. He was friends with my friends. He knew them from High school, and I now worked with them.
He was tall, had a pony tail, a beard, and was HOT. He reminded me of a lumber jack and I was in love. I was also drunk, but I "think" it was love. We ended up at a friend's house, and I french braided his hair. I am 99% sure it was the best french braid job ever. He (sober) reports that it was horrible. I still think I was right.
Being the super nice guy that he is, he drove me home that night and that was it.
With my motto of "single forever" I didn't think a guy as hot AND nice as him would be interested in me, so I didn't think anything of it. A few days later (4/7) I got a phone call....the first three digits were from the town that I taught and helped to coach basketball. I assumed it was a parent...I almost didn't answer it, but I did, and I am glad that I did!
It was him! He had called around and got my number. Butterflies went INTO my throat. I was so excited. He asked me if I had ever got to a restaurant in my town. When I said "no" he asked me if I wanted to go. I told him no...that I'd rather go to the bar up the road. So, we planned our first date...for about an hour after we hung up the phone.
I ran home, and told my mother in hurried breathes, that I had a date. When I told her his name she told me my shoes were too tall and he was short. My mom was his 6th grade teacher, and apparently hadn't seen him since then. I ran to the bar to meet him and we had a romantic snack of french fries and wing dings. It was perfect.
We were together everyday after that. We went for walks in the woods, we watched movies, we looked at stars. He stole his first kiss (which I would have just given him) by pointing out constellations to me. He pointed at Cassiopeia and kissed me when I went to look at it. (I had Cassiopeia engraved in his wedding band 2 years later.)
At the end of the month he was suppose to be moving about an hour and a half away to work in the National Forrest. I was sad, and worried about our new relationship, but knew we'd see each other on the weekends and we'd figure it out.
The weekend he was suppose to leave, he and his best friend went away to go mountain biking and rock climbing. He was suppose to pick me up Sunday morning to go to a graduation party for a friend's brother, and then he was leaving.
He didn't pick me up. He didn't call. Being a connoisseur of assholes, I assumed that he decided to just leave and not tell me.
Mid morning his dad called.
There was an accident while rock climbing. He fell 30-40 feet and landed on a rock. He had broken his leg in multiple places, three vertebrae, ribs, and his pinky finger (side note: the pinkie finger was the only one he complained about.) He was life flighted to the nearest trauma hospital about 4 hours away. I sputtered out some random words and sat down on my bed as I hung up the phone.
Right then and there I knew that I loved this man. It had been 3 weeks, but I knew.
The next few days were a fog for me. A few days later I planned on driving down to see him after work. My principal at the time was amazing (he had had my hubby in school as well) and came to my classroom around 1, and took over teaching 7th grade English.
After about 10 days of hospital/rehab he was home. I'm sure I drove his parents insane, but I stopped everyday after work to see him. I'd sit and grade papers while he napped or we'd just talk. He spent months rehabbing, but not once did he complain. We'd hang out and just talk, watched movies and talked. I joke with him that he loves me only because he had Stockholm Syndrome. He finally got out and about in June for his first drive (in his truck) with me driving...we were T-boned by a Semi truck and went down an embankment, but that's another story for another day. (See how I try to trick you into coming back?)
We've been together ever since. We have so many stories of our adventures together. I am lucky to have someone in my life that loves me so much, even with all of my crazy. Because of him I like Valentines Day, but he makes me feel special everyday, so I don't need one day to have him prove it for me.