My New Tattoo!

Celtic Motherhood Tattoo

I got a new tattoo!  It's actually my fifth one, but the first really visible one.  I have one on the top of my foot, but it's pretty easy to hide, if need be.  I feel like I've entered a new world of tattoo-having.  There's a pretty big difference between having tattoos and no one knowing it and having a tattoo that people will see the majority of the time (especially because I HATE long-sleeves - it's just so hard to eat with sleeves.  Or go to the bathroom.  Is that weird that I don't like to sit on a toilet while wearing a long-sleeved shirt?  I think it's the fear of sleeve-contamination-while-wiping).

Anyway, it is (supposedly, but even if it isn't accurate, I still love it) a Celtic Motherhood knot.  The top heart is me (January), the bottom heart is Husband (and co-creator of the children), the top left circle is Ant (August), and top right is Sweet D (October).  There is room to add more children, if/when the occasion arises (punny?).  I love it.  I've wanted a tattoo to symbolize motherhood since I became a mom, but I've never found an idea I liked before.  When I saw this one, I knew it was the right one for me.  I found the design online and came up with the idea for the mother/father hearts myself.  It's so perfect.  You know, unless I divorce Husband and/or get impregnated by someone else.  But I'll deal with that conundrum if and when I have to.  I'll just make sure I only sleep with people born in November.  Problem solved!  (Obviously that's in jest... one Scorpio in my life is more than enough.)

On a side note, I was surprised by how much this one hurt.  I either forgot how much they hurt (since it's been six years since my last one), or it hurts a lot more on your wrist than other places (I have one that's around 14" by 8" on my lower back, including over my tail bone - so I'm thinking I'm mis-remembering how much that one actually hurt).  Compared to childbirth, it was nothing.  But now I have a pretty scar to bear that reminds me of my most favorite people in the world - instead of the "tiger stripes" adorning the rest of my body (of which I'm not embarrassed, but also far from fond of).  I put on my tough-girl face, though, and Husband said he couldn't tell I was even slightly uncomfortable.  Now if only I could be that tough again through labor in the future (which could take about as long as this tattoo took, since Sweet D took an hour and 45 min)...

The Day(s) I Built a Play Set; or, What Being an Army Wife Means to Me

As I've mentioned before, Husband is currently deployed.  But, in the grand scheme of deployments, this one is pretty minimal; in fact, it's not technically even going to be considered a deployment.  It won't reset his deployment clock, which means we run the (very slight) risk of Army turning around as soon as he gets home, sending him to another unit that needs a PA and deploying him for a full year-long deployment.  I seriously doubt that will happen, but it could.  The smartest approach to surviving Army life is to always at least be aware of what could happen.  We're expecting him to miss Sweet D's first birthday (but not by so much that we won't just postpone her party until he gets home) and another anniversary of ours, but if that's all he misses, we still have very little to complain about.

This is our first deployment with kids, so it's taken a bit more adjusting for me than the last one.  The first week was hard on me.  The second week was much easier.  By the third week, I began to realize that I could do this for a year, if I had to (which, thankfully, I don't - at least not this time).

Before he left, we bought a giant play set for the backyard, with the intention that we could get it built relatively quickly, and we'd have a fun and safe place where Ant could burn a lot of energy every day, without me being obligated to take both kids to the park (which is something I don't like doing alone, since I have to hold Sweet D the entire time, so if Ant gets stuck somewhere or slips, I can't just run up and help him with my arms full of baby).

We picked out an awesome one.  A slide, monkey bars, a rock wall, a rope ladder, climbing steps, swings, a tunnel, etc.  There were two different building kits to choose from: do-it-yourself, or ready-to-assemble.  We're not really that big on DitY type stuff, so we spent the money to get the ready-to-assemble kit.  Husband borrowed a friend's pick-up truck, loaded up all the pieces and brought it home.  We unloaded it all and moved all the pieces to the backyard, and Husband got working on it right away.  We figured we could get most of it built over the weekend, and maybe finish up the rest in the evenings after he got home.

How foolish we were.  Destroyed by our own hubris.

Ready-to-assemble simply means that most of the wood has already been cut to size.  Most.  Not all.  None of the wood had pre-drilled holes, but all of the wood required them.  Add to that more than several pieces of fairly warped wood, and we were looking at a lot more than two days' worth of play set building.  Combined with two small, usually screaming and impatient, children, I soon realized the likelihood of the play set ever being finished was dwindling.

Husband worked on it for several hours the first day.  Until all his drill bits were broken.  After a run to the hardware store, he got in a few more hours on Sunday, with meager results.  I'll admit at that point, knowing he was so close to deploying, I was feeling overcome with frustration and anger.  So much for our plan to have the play set finished.  Ever.

After coming home from work, Husband would go out and work on the play set for a couple hours each day.  It was coming along, slowly.  I helped when I had the chance, but for the most part, I just kept the kids from screaming at him so he could work.

Then he went to Ft. Sam Houston for training for a week, and I went to South Dakota for a "vacation."  We got home that weekend, and I decided we had to do as much as we could before he left.  We worked for about four hours on Sunday, again until all our drill bits broke and we had to stop.  On Monday, we found out he would for sure be deploying that weekend (Labor Day weekend), so he was determined not to spend his last days with us out in the blistering heat, working on the damned play set.  I resigned myself to not having the play set while he was gone.

Thursday morning he got a call that he'd be leaving that night at 1:30am.  I was a little frustrated that they'd taken away our last night together, but at least we finally had a time.  Four hours later, they called and moved it back 24 hours.

"That's it," I told him.  "We HAVE to do as much as we can to the play set."

So his last day here, we finished up everything we could.  The main structures were up, and the braces for the swing set.  It was a wooden frame, but at least I could hang the swings by myself.  It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing.

The morning after Husband left, both kids took a nap at the same time.  Determined to at least get the swings hung, I went out to work on the play set.  In less than two hours, I got the swings hung, the slide securely attached, the rope ladder up, and the rock wall parts in place.  Over the next couple of days, working on the few occasions the kids both napped at the same time, I managed to build the climbing stairs - which involved cutting the 2x8 boards with a manual saw.  I was so proud of myself, I became determined to do as much else as I could.

I've since attached the telescope (it doesn't actually work, but don't tell Ant that), and the tarp over the top, as well.  And I built the monkey bars (which also involved the manual saw, a lot of gigantic bolts, and a good amount of swearing).  The monkey bars are not yet attached, however, because they require two 10.5" holes to be dug where the legs will be secured in the ground, allowing the top to be level.  I struggled for an hour or so one afternoon with a post-hole digger, a shovel, and a pickaxe, and only made it about 6" in the rock-hard soil.

I had more than a few friends comment on how I should either wait or find a "man" who could dig the holes for me.  Surprisingly, I balked at the idea.  At first I didn't know how to explain it, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized, I have to do this myself.  As an Army wife and a mother to our little Army brats, I have to finish this play set, and without help.

"Why?" a friend asked.

"Because.  What if Patrick were killed?  I have to know I can build my kids a play set."

I know it sounds ridiculous, but that's the truth.  I have to prove to myself that I'm good enough, and capable enough, to be both their mother and their father.  I have to be able to bake them awesome Minion cakes, but I also have to be able to build them big play sets.  I have to be twice as patient with them while he's gone, and twice as loving, because I'm both parents right now.  When one of us would get fed up with them, the other takes over.  They deserve the patience and love of two parents.  Whether it's for a day, two months, or 12 months, it doesn't matter.  When one parent is away, the one who stays behind has to be good enough to be both.

The play set is just a microcosm of the reality - just the physical embodiment of my role as "dad," but if I can do it, by myself, then I'll feel confident that I can do anything else.  I can handle a two month, or a nine month, or a fifteen month deployment.  I can be strong enough, loving enough, patient enough to be what my kids deserve - and what civilian kids with both parents at home can take for granted.  If I can do this, I can truly be an Army wife.

The Day I Didn't Have a Blog Post

Okay, so that's been many days.  But today is another Monday without a post.  I don't really have an excuse, either.  Except for the whole Husband deploying and being stuck alone with the Monsters.  But that's not even a very legitimate excuse, since the Monsters have been doing surprisingly well.

Sweet D slept through the night last night.  For the first time ever.  10 straight hours.  The longest she'd ever slept before was 6 hours, and that only happened 2-3 times.  Usually, she sleeps one 4 hr stretch at night, and the rest is anywhere from 20 min - 2 hrs.  I, of course, didn't sleep all night, but instead woke up in a panic at 4am, realizing she hadn't gotten up yet, ran frantically in her room expecting to find her dead.  I'm hoping we've finally broken the over-tired cycle she's been in, and she'll maybe get on a more regular sleeping routine now.  Because that's one thing about babies - if they get too tired, they can't sleep.  What is wrong with you, babies?!  Sometimes I get so hungry, I feel like I'm going to throw up.  But I also have a penchant for throwing up.  I throw up more than any non-bulimic person I've ever encountered, so I'm not sure that's the same thing.

Ant has been handling the deployment fairly well.  He's an expert at distraction, which is evidently his coping method of choice.  Sometimes I try to talk to him about Daddy being gone, and he abruptly changes the topic to inform me of useful tidbits such as, "lids go on our cups so the chocolate milk doesn't spill."  While that IS true, it's not exactly relevant.

My dryer started making very loud noises a few months ago (but still works fine), and sometimes it makes a noise that sounds like the garage door opening.  Ant runs to the top of the stairs and yells out, "Daddy's home!!" but then when I tell him that, no, it was just the dryer, he doesn't seem to care.  He just shrugs it off and returns to whatever he was doing.  The only times he's really seemed to really be upset about Daddy being gone are times when he's already having a meltdown - then he just throws that in there to make me feel worse.

One time (thankfully only once, so far), he was on the floor throwing a fit about something else entirely, and I was about to put him in time out, when he yelled out, "Daddy can't ever come home!"  Oh jeez, how am I supposed to discipline you now?!  So I calmed him down and tried to read him his Daddy Book (a photo book I made for each of the kids with pictures of them and Husband and a little story about how Daddy has to sometimes go away for a long time to keep other soldiers healthy, etc), and then he kicked me, which made disciplining him much easier.

Another time he told me Daddy "went to Holland to get money for pizza."  As you can tell, he has a clear and mature understanding of what's happening.  He may have been trying to say "hospital," and just forgot the word, since Daddy sometimes works in a hospital.  And I do tell him that Daddy goes to work to earn money for us.  Money to buy delicious pizza.

As for myself, it turns out I'm a surprisingly capable person, and this is like a macrocosm of our normal lives: when Husband is at home during the day (weekends, etc), I become immobilized and usually don't even manage to shower, much less clean or do anything else with any semblance of productivity.  But when he goes to work (or to the store on weekends), I'm overcome with a sudden urge to do as many chores as possible while he's gone.  Now that he isn't coming home for a few months, my motivation has turned to larger things - cleaning out and organizing the garage, building an entire playset in the backyard (my neighbors have learned that I have a filthy mouth), and I'm slowly becoming obsessed with our weed-filled lawn.  I enjoy mowing and weed whacking it.  I'm excited for the weather to cool down a bit so I can rent an aerator and plant grass seed.  And hopefully some trees.  If we had a ton of money sitting around, I'd do all our landscaping plans myself.

I'm sorry this isn't funny.  Literally nothing humorous happened to me all week.  I'll try better this week, or at least try to get the motivation to tell another good story from my past.  I can't even come up with a short anecdote for you, because The Wiggles are singing loudly at me in the background (the only method I could come up with to keep Sweet D from smashing the keyboard, short of locking her away somewhere), and Anthony Wiggle is wearing some suggestive butterfly costume with tights, and I just can't concentrate.  I may have a crush on Anthony Wiggle.  There's a chance the kids don't even like this show, but I force them to watch it so I can get lost in his dreamy blue eyes.  Oh, I'll tally your bananas, Anthony.  Daylight come, indeed.

The Day I Got Married (The First Time)

In the Spring of my Fulbright year in Germany, I flew home for a whirlwind weekend of necessary insanity. Husband was going to be commissioned in the US Army, then he was graduating, and two of our very best friends were getting married, and we were the maid-of-honor and best man.

Because Husband was about to join the Army, and my Fulbright scholarship was coming to an end (along with my health insurance through it), we'd discussed having a quick, private courthouse ceremony to get legally married. Even though our parents were all going to be in town, we didn't want them there, because we were really only doing it for the legal status for the Army (a very common occurance with military folk). I figured, if our parents were there, when the pressure of planning and following through with a real, church ceremony started to build up, we'd be able to shrug our shoulders and say, "everyone already saw us get 'married,' so we don't need to do it again." I had no idea at the time how right I was with that assumption - especially when we were told just 7 weeks in advance that Husband would be deploying for a year - three months earlier than the wedding date for which I'd already sent out save-the-dates. But that's another wedding and another story.

I flew out of Germany on Thursday and made it in to Omaha about two hours before my friend (Mouse)'s bachelorette party. We went bar-hopping in the Old Market of Omaha, met up with the bachelor party, and generally had a good time, staying out until the middle of the night.

The next morning, we all had to get up extra early to be on time for the university's Army ROTC Commissioning ceremony. Husband and Mouse (among others) were commissioned, we took lots of fancy photos of all the brand new 2nd Lieutenants, and then we all went out to brunch together.

After brunch, we drove over to Husband's dorm to pack up all his stuff. He had rented a U-Haul trailer that they attached to the back of his dad's SUV. We basically threw all his stuff into garbage bags and threw them in the U-Haul. After he was cleared out of the dorm, we went to the hotel we'd be staying in for the next few days (his parents, the bride and groom, and their parents, and all our other family were all staying there, too). His dad asked the manager of the hotel if it would be okay to leave the U-Haul trailer in one of the parking spots in the back of the hotel's lot for the duration of our stay. The manager said it wouldn't be a problem, so we parked the U-Haul and left it there, only checking on it every time we drove in and out of the parking lot.

The next morning, we all got up bright and early to go to the university's graduation ceremony, where Husband and Mouse both graduated. Afterwards, we went to the Henry Doorly Zoo in Omaha (one of the best in the country) to waste some time before the wedding rehearsal that evening. The wedding rehearsal and rehearsal dinner went smoothly without any issues.

We had to get up extra early on Sunday morning to get ready for the wedding. The girls got all prettied up, we headed to the church, and everything went as planned. Our friends got married, we all piled in a limo, took a billion more pictures, then went to the wedding reception (conveniently at the hotel where we were all staying), and partied until well after midnight.

The next morning, we slept in, then got ready to head to the county courthouse. Husband did a great job planning everything - he'd set up an appointment for us at 4:15pm with a judge, and he had all the paperwork we needed (fortunately, Nebraska does not have blood test or waiting period requirements). So we drove down to the courthouse, filled out all the forms, showed proper form of ID, and waited for our appointment. Our best friends who had just gotten married the day before weren't able to come down to be our witnesses, so we called in our back-ups - who were working out at the university gym at the time, and came down in their workout clothes (they also ended up being our back-ups at our church wedding, 5 months later - they are exceptionally useful people!).

It was a very informal, quick ceremony (I was wearing a white skirt, at the very least). We didn't exchange rings; I didn't legally change my name. But it was still very sweet and brought a tear to my eye (it also kept me from getting any sense of "cold feet" before the real ceremony - no point in running away if you already have to get a divorce to leave the guy). The whole thing took about 15 minutes.

After thanking our witnesses and dismissing them so they could return to their workout, we went back down to the clerk's office, turned in our paperwork signed by Judge Schwartz (who married us), got all the proper signatures and stamps of approval, and then we were officially married. Not really the most romantic procedure.

We met his parents for an early dinner, then headed back to the hotel. We went up to our room, and less than a minute after we got in, Husband's dad came by, frantically pounding on the door.

"The U-Haul is gone," he told us. Husband ran out to the parking lot to verify that the U-Haul was, indeed, completely vanished from the spot it had been sitting in for the last three days.

Omaha is not exactly the safest town in the country, so our first thought was that it was stolen (evidently, this is a rather common occurrence - people steal the entire thing and drive it somewhere less obvious so they have more time to break the lock off and steal everything inside). We went to the hotel's front desk and asked if they'd seen anyone drive off with it, or if they'd called U-Haul and had it removed.

The person working the desk had no idea what was happening and called a manager to deal with us. It was the same manager that Husband's dad had initially talked to when he verified it would be okay to leave the U-Haul in the parking lot. We told him it was now missing.

"How can that be? We wouldn't have called U-Haul to have it towed. Especially since it was only there for three days. It must have been stolen."

We called the police, who came to the hotel to take our statement and file a report. The officer asked the manager if they had security tapes of their parking lot (they did not - their system was, unfortunately, broken at the time), and again verified that the hotel did not call U-Haul to report an abandoned trailer. The manager confirmed that no one had called - HE would have been the one to report it abandoned, and he certainly didn't, since he had spoken with Husband's dad himself.

The officer told us it was most likely stolen, and, even if they found it, all of Husband's worldly possessions would be gone.

I was overcome with a terrible feeling of guilt and dread. At his commissioning ceremony, his favorite professor had given Husband a pair of Lieutenant rank bars he had worn during the Vietnam War. While packing Husband's dorm room, I'd put the rank bars (at his direction) in one of the bags. Then that bag was put in the U-Haul. And now the U-Haul was gone. With the incredibly sentimental, meaningful Lieutenant bars. And Husband's rare acoustic guitar made from a now-endangered species wood. And all his clothes, cds, dvds, books, etc.

Through tears, I confessed this dreadful news to Husband. His reaction was beyond sad. I could see his soul being crushed with the weight of this loss. My first wifely duty, and I had failed miserably. We'd been married less than four hours at this point, and I'd already crushed his very life-essence.

The police officer suggested we drive around the neighborhood, scanning the area for the trailer. He said thieves oftentimes just drive them around the corner and out of immediate sight. At least finding the empty trailer would give us some sense of closure. He also suggested driving to the near-by U-Haul lots to see if, by chance, the trailer had been picked up by them. Unfortunately, it was now getting fairly late in the evening, and the U-Haul stores had all closed for the night.

Husband and I got into the car with his dad to drive around while his mom and sisters drove the other car so we could canvass the area. After driving around for about 30 minutes, the sense of dread growing steadily with each U-Haul-less street we passed, we decided to hunt down the local U-Haul storage facilities to see if we could possibly see the trailer on their lots, so we didn't have to wait until they opened in the morning to call.

This was before anyone (of us, at least) had GPS, so we had to rely on calling 411 to get an address, then driving around trying to find said address. After another 30 minutes or so, we found the U-Haul location. From the main parking lot, we could see their entire storage lot. They only had two of the same size trailers as our missing one, and neither of them had the right picture on the side (a giant marlin jumping out of the water). Dejectedly, we drove off, heading back toward the hotel.

Husband's mom called us at that point and asked if we'd checked at the U-Haul store. After confirming that we had, she asked if it was the one at a different location, further away from the hotel. Husband's dad asked if we wanted to drive by that store and look. Our first reaction was to just return to the hotel and get some sleep (I had to fly back to Germany first thing in the morning), but we decided, since we were already out, we might as well go look.

The second U-Haul location was much larger than the first we'd found. We pulled in to their public lot and began trying to scan the private lot for our trailer. The lot was much larger, and we couldn't see all the trailers.

But then. There it was. Behind two other, bigger trailers. That giant, blue fish, majestically adorning the side of the orange and white trailer. His giant, unblinking eye bored a hole through my chest.

"I SEE IT!!" I shouted as Husband's dad slammed on the breaks.

We all leapt out of the car and ran up to the security fence. "There it is!" I shouted, pointing between the other trailers.

"I can't see the ID number on the side," Husband replied, negatively.

Of course there are more than one U-Haul trailer that size with a marlin on the side. Of course this one wasn't ours. After all, it was behind other trailers, as if it had been there for a while. And the hotel manager had told us repeatedly that he hadn't called U-Haul for it to be picked up. It couldn't be ours. I could feel the hope draining out of me once again.

But I just had this feeling.

"Let's jump the fence and go check the number," I said, meaning, "Husband, go jump the fence and check the number."

He looked sadly at me, "I just got commissioned... I don't want to get arrested for trespassing and ruin my career before it starts."

And there it was. My opportunity to redeem myself. To prove I could be a good wife. I'll commit minor misdemeanors for you. And learn to cook someday. Totally.

"I'LL DO IT!!" I shouted, and before they could stop me, I was clamoring over the fence.

It wasn't until my feet hit the pavement on the other side that it dawned on me that the lot might have security cameras, or, much, much worse, guard dogs.

I glanced around and didn't see or hear Cujo, so I bolted for it. I ran up to the suspected trailer, and there it was, to the lower left of the jumping marlin: Husband's trailer's ID number.

This was Husband's trailer. I found it.

I am the best wife. Ever.

I started shouting excitedly and ran back to Husband and his dad, who were waiting patiently (legally) on the other side of the fence. I practically flew to the top of the fence.

And then I got stuck.

I'd turned my foot the wrong way, and found myself stuck on top of the fence. It was a chain-link fence (thankfully with no barbed wire), and the top was finished in the little twisted spikes of a traditional chain-link fence. As I tried to balance myself on top of one of the spikes to get my foot unstuck and readjust to a position from which I could properly dismount, I felt myself slip ever so slightly.

And that's when the fence took advantage of me. On my wedding night. Before my husband.

"Oh my God, Husband. The fence... It raped me!"

Husband and his dad, being the heroic gentlemen they are, immediately jumped into action - by laughing heartily at my struggle. After they calmed themselves, they proceeded to help me down. I quickly regained my composure, tried to hide the fact that I'd just screamed "fence-rape" in front of my father-in-law, and we started celebrating the finding of the U-Haul - lock intact. I later learned that my father-in-law informed Husband that I "was a keeper" because of this incident - not my bravery and willingness to break the law on Husband's behalf, but my unintentional wit in the face of intimate crisis.

We got back in the car, and I examined my injuries - just a small scratch on the inside of my leg. And the memory of it's cold, steel fingers that would last a lifetime.

On the drive back to the hotel, Husband and his dad's excitement and joy turned to anger and confusion as it dawned on us that the only way the U-Haul could be safely behind that rapefence was if the hotel manager had called and had it reported as abandoned.

Once back at the hotel, Husband's dad went on a rampage. He explained that we'd found the trailer at the U-Haul location. The manager suggested U-Haul had seen the trailer and picked it up themselves.

The next morning, Husband's dad called U-Haul to figure things out. They informed him that the manager of the hotel had called them and reported it abandoned. They said they would never just start picking up trailers off of private parking lots (like the hotel's).

Husband's dad went on a rampage. The manager refused to speak to him, but told the hotel clerk to only charge him for one night in the hotel.

They dropped me off at the airport, then went to get the U-Haul from the store. Everything was still safe and secure in the trailer.

It was definitely not how I ever imagined my wedding day would be (or really, any day of my life - who ever anticipates being forcibly taken by a chain-link fence?), but I think it was a good trial for us. Every marriage should start out with a crisis on the first day. It's good to learn right whether or not you're willing to break the law for your spouse. At the very least, I know I won't be asking Husband to be my get-away driver as long as he's still in the Army.

The Day I Got Engaged

I love super romantic engagement stories. I tear up every time I see an engagement on TV, even if it's not overly thoughtful or romantic. Like most women, I guess I'm just a sucker for love. So that's why I wanted to share my own engagement story. Get ready to be disappointed by your own stories - if they don't involve pedophilia, dirt, the f-word, and Kentucky, you ain't got nothin' on us.

At the end of my senior year of college, Husband (then Boyfriend) and I were exclusively dating, but neither of us were overly convinced of the long-term sustainability of our relationship. I had recently been awarded a Fulbright scholarship and would be leaving in early September to spend a year in Germany. Our initial reaction was to end the relationship, since we were sure we'd never last (or want to last) a year away from each other.

Husband still had another year of college left (although he is older than me, he didn't join ROTC until his Sophomore year, so he had to do a fifth year of college in order to meet all of the ROTC requirements to commission on time with his graduation), and the summer before the last year of ROTC is full of Army-training-goodness. Because of this, we would only have about three weeks in August to actually spend with each other before I left for Germany. So we basically decided to spend the last couple weeks of May together, to enjoy each others' company while we could.

Of course, those fateful weeks made us realize we actually did, in fact, like each other, we both had the same goals in life, and we turned out to be surprisingly compatible.

In early June, Husband left for the Army's Leader Development and Assessment Course (LDAC) in Ft. Lewis, WA (it's basically a giant test of everything they're supposed to learn in ROTC - then they're ranked on their performance, and this ranking helps the Army assign them to their branches, decide which jobs they should have, and determine their first duty station after graduation/commissioning). Because he wasn't allowed to use phones or the internet, I wrote him letters almost every day (how old fashioned and romantic!). As soon as he finished the LDAC course, he was flown to Ft. Campbell, KY to do a Cadet Troop Leader Training course (CTLT) with an aviation unit there.

He called from the airport in Kentucky and told me, since he was staying in a hotel for the entire CTLT course, I could come and spend the three weeks there with him. Like a young person in love (and without a job), I jumped in the car an hour later and drove 13.5 hours straight, from South Dakota to Ft. Campbell.

Over the course of the LDAC letters, we'd basically decided we wanted to get married. It really only seemed logical. Kentucky would be a test to see if we were sure. We talked about marriage, divorce, children, religion, etc, and discovered we shared almost all of the same ideologies and philosophies, and, let's face it, we could tolerate each other better than any of the other people we'd dated. Isn't that the ultimate test of marriage-compatibility? We can spend exponentially more time in a small room together before wanting to bash each other's heads in than with anyone else we'd ever met. True love at it's finest.

So we went ring shopping. We picked out a ring together, he ordered it, and they said they'd call when it was in. Then we went about our daily CTLT lives - Husband went to work every morning, I wasted time until he was finished for the day, and we spent the evenings going out for dinner and hanging out with the other cadets doing CTLT at Ft. Campbell.

One day toward the end of the course, Husband suggested we go to the nearby town to stop by the mall, get some dinner, and maybe go see a movie. He picked a teppanyaki-style restaurant (where they cook the food on the big griddle in front of you at your table), and we got relatively dressed up.

I have to admit, I suspected something. I knew he'd bought the ring and was waiting for it to be delivered to the store, and I had a pretty good idea that he was going to ask me to marry him while we were still in Kentucky. What better place than a super-romantic, fancy dinner? I'd always loved the idea of being proposed to in a restaurant, with all the other customers looking on and clapping for us as I wiped tears out of my eyes and happily said, "yes, of course I'll marry you!!" Sort of like a miniature version of our 15 minutes of fame. The restaurant would probably even give us a free dessert so we could feed bites to each other and solidify the public image of our undying love for each other.

The waitress who came to take our drink order asked if we were there for a special occasion. I glanced nervously at Husband, who also seemed exceptionally anxious. "No, just here for dinner," he told her. He was obviously trying to build up the suspense - waiting for the perfect moment to get down on one knee and ask me to make him the happiest man in the world.

We ordered our food, and the chef prepared it. I'd never been at one of those types of restaurants before, but I was almost too nervous to really enjoy the show the chef was putting on. I could almost feel the ring burning in Husband's pocket. Waiting for its big debut.

We ate our food and finished our drinks. Still nothing from Husband. Okay, he must be waiting till we're about to leave.

The waitress came by with the check and Husband paid.

Wait, what? Why are we leaving? What about my fancy-restaurant, romantic proposal? All these people are just sitting here, waiting to clap and be excited for us! They all want to look at us and exclaim about what an adorable, young, clearly-in-love couple we are! Their dinners will end so anticlimactically!! WHAT ARE YOU DOING, HUSBAND?!

We walked out into the parking lot, and Husband suggested we start to walk toward the movie theater in the mall, even though we had about an hour and a half to waste until our movie started. I was starting to feel stupid for having expected a proposal. He was probably wondering why I was acting so strange and nervous. But I couldn't shake the feeling that he was acting strangely, too.

The mall parking lot was in some state of being re-done. The current stage seemed to be "torn up, covered in dirt, and not tended to in over a year." As we started the trek across the dirt-covered, cracked cement lot, the sun finished setting, and the street lights came on, illuminating the mostly-vacant, kind of creepy area on the backside of the mall. I could feel myself getting more and more agitated and irritated with Husband. I felt so stupid; I'd been convinced he was going to ask me at the restaurant. What a disappointment. How could I have so completely misread the situation?

As we walked along, Husband noticed a group of scantily-clad teenage girls walking in front of us across the dirt lot.

"Don't look at those girls," I told him, letting the irritation take over.

"But look at what they're wearing. Pretty hot."

"They're like 14 years old! That's disgusting."

"Mmm, underage girls... that's the best."

I knew he was joking, but I was so emotionally strung out after the last hour and a half of bitter disappointment, I just let the frustration take over.

"Seriously, if you're going to act like that, I'm not even going to walk with you," I said as I walked faster to get away from him.

"Aww, come on, Laura, I'm sorry. Come back here and hold my hand."

"No, I'm serious. I'm not in the mood. Walk by yourself, or go ask those children to walk with you, if you're so interested in them," and I stomped further away from him.

"Please, Laura? What could I do to get you to come back and hold my hand?"

"Nothing. I'm done."

"Nothing? Not even this?"

I turned around to see him, down on one knee, in the dirt and weeds of the torn up cement parking lot, holding up a little ring box and smiling at me from ear to ear.

"Are you f---ing kidding me?"

Yes, that's right. That is word-for-word what I said in response to my proposal. The epitome of romance.

I walked back to him, and he actually asked me to marry him. I, evidently, said yes. It wasn't how I ever imagined it would be, but I honestly couldn't fathom my proposal being any different than it was. At the very least, it was a microcosm of our relationship. No matter how much Husband can piss me off, he can always make me laugh again. That was almost six years ago, and I still haven't tried to bash his head in.

(It should also be noted that, while reading over this before I publish it, I teared up. Guess it is kind of romantic in its own, weird way. I love you, Husband!)