Serendipitous beginnings

Posted on October 14, 2008. Filed under: history |

People always ask how we met. I suppose it’s the question we hear second-most-often, after “when are you getting married?” We smile, blush a little, and say (usually in unison), “At a bar.” That’s right. At. A. Bar.

I sat down at a bar and had a beer, and the perfect man for me sat next to me.

We didn’t know each other before that night, nor did we have a single person in common. I stopped at the local brewery to have a drink just to shut my sister up (“You’ll never meet anyone sitting in front of Tivo,” she nagged). He declared to his roommate that he was tired of being single and was off to find a girl. We both headed out alone that night, and ended up here, a year and a few months later, living a lifetime together.

I like to think that we were meant for each other. How else would someone just as quirky as I am end up sitting right next to me? How else would a guy with a penchant for breaking into song and dance meet a girl who’d warned her friends that her family often broke out into song and dance? How else would a softie for cats and dogs meet a sucker for puppies and kittens?

Here’s my favorite cheese ball on our first trip together to Atlanta, at the Dwarf House (the original Chick-Fil-A):
Here are Miss and Mister Cheese being (you guessed it) very cheesy. See the torn up kitchen in the background? That’s his bachelor pad, and this is one of our first make up kisses after fighting about the renovating work we were doing.
And here we are in our new house, showing off our newly refinished floors!
Now, your turn! How did you meet your beloved? Did any of you meet at a bar, like we did?

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The journey… so far

Posted on September 20, 2008. Filed under: history |

Gosh, where to begin. On most wedding blogs, brides start with how they met their fiance. However, in my case (and some decent percentage of brides, if the statistics are to be believed), the journey started long before this man-to-whom-I’m-committing. I feel a bit disloyal starting before our beginning, to be honest.

I’ve been married before. I have been done this planning-a-wedding thing before and the wedded bliss did not last. Suffice it to say that some things were good, some things were bad, and it’s hard for me to set aside the worry and just be happy.

I married my first husband* in 2000 and we separated in 2005. We divorced in 2007 after living in separate cities for two years. We had as good a divorce as two people who loved each other can. I still think he’s great. He’s still proud of me.

After ending the destined-to-doom subsequent rebound relationship, I met my fiance in June of last year. In. A. Bar. Seriously. We were engaged to be married on July 31 of this year. That’s my beautiful engagement ring! (I fast forwarded past dating to dating exclusively to my practically living at his house to talking about living together to accidentally buying a house to living together and getting a puppy, didn’t I? We’ll get to that, I promise.)

I love him. I adore him. I want my children to be just like him. This is the first man with whom I could even imagine having children, and once I imagined it, I could not get that dream out of my mind. I want to build a life with this man. I am building a life with this man. That’s the rainbows and butterflies part. He’s handsome and kind, loving, caring, hard-working, a big ol’ softie for puppies and kittens and babies. He loves me well, and I learn from him every day.

Now, for reality. We struggle to communicate. We are more different than any of my boyfriends (and, ahem, that-guy-I-was-married-to) ever were, so I can’t take anything for granted or assume it’s understood. Also, this commitment thing freaks me out. He’s lived his whole life in the city where we reside. I changed cities every two years and apartments even more often. A year and a few months isn’t long enough to know everything about each other.

I worry and I obsess and I second guess, but deep down in my heart and gut, I know I’m in the right place with the right man. He is my fiance and I can’t wait until he’s my husband.

*I knew that I was doing the right thing, would be okay with this commitment to this man, when I started thinking of my ex-husband as my first husband.

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    I’ve been there, done that, got the t-shirt (and divorce papers) to prove it. Here I am again, pledging my life to my (new) love with eyes wide open (and heart racing) knowing full well how emotionally traumatic this can end… and doing it anyway.


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