Lazy Days With Grandma

On Tuesday we went to my in laws in New Jersey with the hope that my husband would get to kayak the Delaware and fish while Sarah and John and I hung out with Grandma and Grandpa. I took my knitting and some work, knowing the kids would be entertained by the new "old" toys at Grandma's and the brook in her yard.

Only it started raining about 10 minutes from their house, a huge deluge of water that kept my husband out of the river. To say he was upset is an understatement. He'd taken time off from work and was looking forward to this so much.

So we hung out. And did a whole lot of nothing. Nothing that included the kids playing Mr. Piggly Wiggly with Grandma and Daddy teaching the kids how to play Domino's - not the stand up and crash down kind, but the old man at the table in the park kind.

They loved it! (and so did Daddy. Then they played the stand up and crash down type.)

We had a lovely lunch and it stopped raining. So the kids got on their swimsuits and climbed down into the brook while my husband 'fished.' This is how the fishing goes:

Cast the line.

Snag a very dumb fish.

Toss said fish at children.

Children scream in fear.

Children beg for more.

Cast the line.

Catch a fish. Toss a fish. Scream. Beg.

 

I don't understand the game, but it never changes and the kids initiate it every time we are there and it's warm enough to be in the brook.

Incidently, this is the same brook my husband grew up fishing, building dams in and riding his canoe down -- and no, it's not that big.Canoes should not go down this part.

They all splashed and ran and screamed while there. Grandma and Daddy were in on all the action.

They built a huge dam that took about an hour to complete. John laughed and screamed, jumped and dunked himself in the new, deeper water.

Sarah stood on the bridge and declared: I don't walk in wet grass. You can carry  me.

*snort* Like that's going to happen.

I took pictures and giggled. Did some knitting and chatted with my mother in law.

In the end it was a great day -- all saved by Domino's and a dam.

 

Where I've Been

Things have been a little . . . rough. And I haven't shared this with anybody except my husband and brother and sister in law.  (Sorry mom :/) It's not the depression so much as a new med I tired for my anxiety and mood swings.

Oh, the anxiety.

So we tried a new med.

Bad, bad idea.

I have been so sick. Nauseous like pregnant nauseous only I'm not. (It's not possible, husband has had the little snip snip). The nausea started out just as a minor annoyance that was manageable, then turned into a giant monster that left me a sobbing mess in my psychiatrists office. We'd tried a time release tablet already and zofran. Still no relief.

People, I lost almost 10 pounds in two weeks. That's how bad the nausea was. So when I say I was a sobbing mess? I was hot, sobbing mess.

Needless to say, I'm off the med and we're trying a different approach. The nausea is gone and life is resuming at lightening speed - thank God.

So I haven't had the energy or want to blog or read anything in the past few weeks. As I feel better I'll get back in the swing of things.

Thankfully I had my brother and sister in law to cry to and help me - and help me they did.

And let's not forget Diana :) She understands nausea just a *little*.

Mommy-a!

Mommy-a!

Mommy-a!

Mommy-a!

John yells this fifty thousand times a day.

When he needs a drink.

When he needs a hug.

When he's hurt.

When he needs his bum wiped.

When he wants to tell me he loves me.

When he's dropped a toy.

When he's  got a hangnail.

When he wants me smile.

Or frown.

Do you get the picture?

And only I can solve the problem, whatever the problem or question or request is.

Not Daddy.

Never Daddy. Not right now.

Not for the past two weeks or so. And it's grating on my last nerve.

So the other night as we were getting ready for bed and my husband was helping, John started in.

Mommy-a!

Mommy-a!

Only my husband was dressing him and is perfectly capable of doing this without my help or input.

John kept yelling for me.

My husband kept saying, "What do you want? I'm right here. Tell me."

John kept yelling.

I was in the kids bathroom and if I left John would totally see me. So I hid behind the door.

For about four minutes. Which doesn't seem long now, but was an eternity at the time.

My husband dressed John while John yelled for me and my husband insisted that he could help if only John would tell him what he wanted.

No such luck.

Finally John was dressed and had stopped yelling for me. He walked out into the hallway.

I left the bathroom.

He saw me.

"Mommy-a! I need to ask you something!"

"John! Ask Daddy. He can help you."

"Will Sarah and I be in the same room at the Y tomorrow?"

Oh.

Yeah. I guess only I can answer that one.

So I untill John is through this stage I suppose I just keep answering him, knowing that it's only a stage and it too shall pass.

They're My Favorite

I love my husbands forearms.

LOVE them.

He was just in the garage, building something and had his sleeves rolled up and oh.my.lawd.

Ten years and three kids later the sight of his sweaty forearms -- preferably with a watch -- sends me.

Now, I've always loved his forearms, but since we have a history together it goes deeper.

Those arms have held me for ten years. Have held our babies for eight years. They provide for us. They love us.

The

Words With . . .

My husband. NOT my friends. Oh no, it's not me playing Words With Friends. It's my husband. On.my.phone.

A week ago I started one game on WWF. It quickly became two. Or fifteen. Whatever. I was having fun. I was spelling great words like 'Pot' and 'hot' and an occasional 'arrow' thrown in for some real points. My brain activity was totally punched up a notch. And yes, I was losing, horribly, at all games. But I was having fun.

So my husband says, "What are you doing over there, concentrating so hard?" And I tell him. He literally laughed. And said, "How dumb. Let me see."

He looked at the board. His eyes went wide and lit up like a Christmas tree. He giggled with glee and said, "It's Scrabble. It's just . . . Scrabble."

The holy grail of all games in his family.

He sat down, my phone in his hand. And began to giggle like a little girl who has just found out a boy likes her. Really.

And I haven't played a game since.

Oh, I've tried mind you. But how do I compete with words like 'quon' that he played for 125 points? I played 'quiver' for 58 and did a little dance.

I've had to post on FaceBook that it is not me crushing all of my friends. Because as I said, I don't even know what a quon is. Or how to use it. If it's something you use. (spell check doesn't even recognize it!)

So here's how my evenings go these days:

My husband walks in the door. He is greeted, as always, by cries of great delight from the children. He yells back and they all glow. I eye him and wonder just how long it will take.

He kisses me hello. We eat dinner.

He begins to get twitchy and starts roaming the kitchen/living room/hallway. He's looking for my phone.  He finds it and laughs maniacally.

He sits down and says, "Let the games begin! Mwaahhahaha!"

And he's down for the night.

Yes, he has a phone of his own. A Crackberry. No he won't get his own account. I've tried that angle. I've now resorted to threatening to take away my phone if he doesn't occassionally let me tweet or isn't nice to me. It sometimes works.

Until he gets his own account? It's not me totally crushing you. Or at least giving you a run for you money. I like to add 's' to the end of a word. Or throw and 'ed' on the end for something really spicey.

Why We Argue

My husband and I argue. We try to not do it in front of the kids. But we do argue. And I complain about him sometimes. And he complains about me -- but I have to say that I'm much worse at this than he is. He is amazing in his patience with me.

I love him more than I ever thought possible.  And yet we still argue. But here's why:

It's how we work things out. It's how we come to realize the real issues. That what's behind the small complaints (I leave my glasses all over the house) is really about me not picking up the kitchen when I should have. Or how a big complaint (You don't respect what I do all day) isn't truthful, it's just a build up of some smaller items (dishes in the sink when the dishwasher is empty, changing channels when I'm watching something).

After 10 years of marriage I've finally realized  that we argue to hash things out. That I'm not always forthcoming with what's bothering me, so I let it build, and then we argue. I'm working on that. My husband, for the most (large, huge) part, just doesn't get angry at me until I react to something he's done, or not done. He's very tolerant that way. I know that because we argue it doesn't mean we love each other any less or have a more dysfunctional marriage than others.

I also know that we complain and tease each other about things we do. He'll be the first to tell you that he can track my movements by where the glasses are in the house (I worked on the computer: a half empty glass of water. I knitted: a half empty cup of coffee. ) and I'll roll my eyes. Then come back with how he doesn't believe anything he hasn't seen before (especially bothersome when planning our wedding. "Throw flowers, not rice? You can't do that. I've never heard of that. You can't do it." Uhm, yes, we can.). But then we laugh. Because you can track my movements around the house based on my drinking glasses, and he really does think things don't exist if he hasn't seen them.

I've been around other couples who don't argue, and I think that's great - for them. It's how they communicate, how their marriage works. But I realize that- after 10 years-  my husband and I have to argue to get to the root of some things. Not everything. There are many things we just discuss, but many others that are hot ticket items and cause us to actually argue.

I also admit that he's a much better communicator than I am. If I'm doing something that is upsetting him, he just comes out and tells me, then is done with it. I stew and think and convince myself that whatever is happening, he's doing it just to bother me. He never is.

So. We argue.

Do you?

Role Reversal

It's no secret that for over two years my husband took care of me - from making sure I was eating and taking my meds, to taking me to all my doctor appointments, he did it all. And while I've thanked him for all of that, and everything else he did (taking care of the children, the house, the cars, my family, his family, the dog, the cat, the bills, the laundry, the groceries, etc) I discovered that there was one area I didn't understand, didn't empathize with, when it came to the 'taking care' of things.

Being with me at the doctor appointments.

Come On In! The Water's Fine!

[caption id="attachment_1419" align="alignleft" width="204" caption="Not us, but a picture of the pools."][/caption]

While we were in Colorado, my husband and I visited Mt. Princeton Hot Springs for some time alone and relaxation. It's this gorgeous facility, built into the mountains (duh), with two large outdoor pools - one for soaking and for swimming, and it's all set next to the Arkansas river.

The hot springs either dump into the river or bubble up next to it, I'm not sure, but you can soak in the hot water in these small natural pools formed by rocks right outside.

The river rushes past you on one side, the mountains rise up all around. Birds fly over head.  It's just you and nature.

And, you know, the people who totally jump into your pool.

If you've met my husband, then you know that he is not exactly a 'people' person. He likes his space.

Immensely.

So, imagine his absolute horror when, after sliding into the perfect pool, adjusting the rocks and soaking up the quiet (we have three loud, busy children. Did you know that?) a shadow fell across our oasis and a (perfectly lovely, I'm sure) woman said, "How's the water in your pool?" as she slid her body into our pool. Our  small pool.

I may have stared. With my mouth wide open. It may have closed with an audible snap.

Thankfully both my husband and I were wearing sunglasses so eye contact could not be made. Of course, I wasn't even chancing a look at his face. No way.

She chatted us up a bit, and honestly, she did seem lovely. But I wanted time to sit quitely. And did I mention the pools are small? And that we are in bathing suits? In small pools? Anyway.

Five minutes later. Another shadow. Her husband.

[caption id="attachment_1418" align="alignright" width="300" caption="This? Is how he got into the pool. Next to my husband. *cue laughter*"][/caption]

In slow motion:

Hello (echo echo echo)

Slides into pool, lays down on his back, head propped up on a rock, chin deep in the our perfect water.

His naked thigh brushes against my husbands naked thigh.

I choke.

It may have been the high light of the trip.

I managed to extract us from the situation about five minutes later. The conversation as my husband and I were climbing the rocks back up to the main facility went something like this:

Did they just  . . .

SHUT IT.

But did they just  . .

SHUT IT NOW

Huh.

 

True Companion

True Companion ~ Mark Cohn

Baby i've been searching like everybody else

[caption id="attachment_1343" align="alignright" width="300" caption="10 years ago. (forgive the picture quality. It's a picture of a picture.)"][/caption]

Can't say nothing different about myself
Sometimes i'm an angel
And sometimes i'm cruel
And when it comes to love
I'm just another fool
Yes, i'll climb a mountain
I'm gonna swim the sea
There ain't no act of god girl
Could keep you safe from me
My arms are reaching out
Out across this canyon
I'm asking you to be my true companion
True companion
True companion

So don't you dare and try to walk away
I've got my heart set on our wedding day
I've got this vision of a girl in white
Made my decision that it's you allright
And when i take your hand
I'll watch my heart set sail
I'll take my trembling fingers

And i'll lift up your veil
Then i'll take you home
And with wild abandon
Make love to you just like a true companion
You are my true companion
I got a true companion
True companion

When the years have done irreparable harm
I can see us walking slowly arm in arm
Just like the couple on the corner do
'cause girl i will always be in love with you
And when i look in your eyes
I'll still see that spark
Until the shadows fall
Until the room grows dark
Then when i leave this earth
I'll be with the angels standin'
I'll be out there waiting for my true companion
Just for my true companion
True companion
True companion

 

10 years ago I married my true companion. This was our wedding song. It's still our song. When we chose it, it was a vague song I'd heard from a friend of mine, then heard at another wedding. Today it rings so true.

Babe? I love you more than this song says. My heart sings with joy that we are together for always.

Awwwww . . . . Freak Out

So I had a small melt down last night. And I DO mean small. But it was unsettling to my husband.

And that's my fault.

My 'freak out' was really a 'I'm so frustrated I just want a farking browning or chocolate or roll dripping in butter. But you came home with ice cream sandwiches. And can I eat an ice cream sandwich? NOOOOO. WHY? Seriously? Because they have a cake crust on them. And you didn't think of that and you didn't think of me and I always think of you and I would have so realized this for you and then I would have bought you your favorite ice cream, which I totally know. Rocky road. So there."

And then he said, "You're scaring me." Which caused me to rant even more, that I could be upset, be irrationally upset even and not have it mean a damn thing, except that I.was.very.very.upset.

It doesn't mean anything. Except that I wanted something chocolate that was available and didn't cost 10 dollars. That I was frustrated right then and completely fed up. And that he is my husband and I'm supposed to be able to do this with him.

But I've trained him differently.

So when I behave this way he sees days of sleeping, piles of laundry, agitation, tears, yelling, more tears and more sleeping in his future. Possibly followed by a trip to the hospital.

I've trained him well.

Un-training him is a whole different story. A trip to my therapist is in our very near future.

Because I can't let him feel this way.

How Do I Love Thee? Let Me Count The Ways . . .

I know I tease and poke fun at my husband. He is not romantic. He is one sad man when he is sick. But this week I saw, really saw what an incredibly amazing man he is. As if I needed reminding of it.

He stood by me when I was in the deepest, darkest wells of my depression.

I know this.

He took care of our children, our home, the bills, and worked.

I know this.

What I didn't know was how he would spring into action at a look of panic from me, at three words, uttered in helplessness. I looked at him and said, "He needs help." And he was gone. Up, dressed, and out the door.  

My husband took care of a friend who is in a deep, dank well. He didn't question. He didn't judge. He just went.

Because he loves me. And he knows I love my friend.

This? I didn't know.

I didn't know that he loved me so much that he would help somebody else who was crying out.

And so . . .

I love you for your heart, which your rarely show to others.

For your quiet courage.

For you loud laugh.

For your love of Jesus and ability to get us to church every.single.Sunday.

For your sarcasm and dry sense of humor.

For your tenderness, which you try to hide. But I know, oh how I know.

For your love of our children.

For your eyes. They're pretty.

For your hard work and handy man abilities. Nothing is sexier than saying, "I could really use a shelf right here." And a shelf appearing right there 24 hours later.

For your intelligence. You hold real facts in your head. (I hold random trivia.)

For your willingness to act now and ask questions later.

For always doing the right thing, even when it may not be what you want to do.

For always putting family first.

[caption id="attachment_1112" align="alignleft" width="292" caption="The best things that ever happened to each other."][/caption]

For making me laugh, even when I'm really, really angry and don't want to laugh.

For making me love you.

For letting me make you love me.

I Want To Be A Cowboy . . .

And you can be my cowgirl . .

Right.

In October my husband and I took a week vaction to Colorado (where I met Diana. Awesome-sauce.). It was an incredible week.

We went on a three hour trail ride through  the mountains of Salida, and oh Lord, the sights. Also? Oh LORD my rear end.

They asked if I'd ridden before, and well, I have. (Never mind it was like 9 years prior.) They gave me a horse name Bealzabub Jake. My husband was yelling that he'd never ridden a horse in his life and wanted a lame one. So they gave him Elmer Suzie.

 After Chuckie Jake ran me into the fence, feeding station, mounting platform (that's what she said), and Suzie, our guide said, "You ever ridden?" At which point my husband laughed so hard he almost fell off his horse. The John Wayne look- a -like in the coral with us was, by this time, annoyed with me because at various points I had too hard of hands and too soft of hands. I was asking Diablo Jake to go left then when I really wanted him to go right. And then surprised. Only I swear to you I was following their directions. And I swear to you by all that is holy and good in my life that Damien Jake was rolling his eye back at me before we even left that dusty coral and laughing at me. (And YES, horses can laugh.)

The first hour was glorious. Our guide, Jesse, chatted with my husband and our horses followed each other without a problem. We picked our way up the mountain through pine trees and tumbled rocks. We were in a very small valley of sorts and all shadowed by the trees. It was the kind of place where you knew God exists. You could see His hand tossing stones and lighting the ground just so. We came out on the edge of a cliff and looked out over a huge valley at the Collegiate Peaks: Mt. Princeton, Harvard and Yale. There's also a funny formation in them that looks like an alien.

[caption id="attachment_1010" align="alignleft" width="300" caption="Do you see it?"][/caption]

We rested at a the edge of cliff, where we could get off our horses and take pictures. It was at this point that I realized there was a problem. A very, very serious problem. I knew that if I dismounted from my horse, whom I was sure was plotting my demise by throwing me over the edge of that cliff, I would never be getting back on.

We took pictures while still sitting on our horses. Then started back down the trail. Back down into the depths of hell. The dark, dank, depths of hell.

As Jesse and my husband chatted on about their carreers, my body reached levels of pain that child birth had never inflicted upon me. The demon I was sitting upon ceased to listen even a tiny bit. Jesse and my husband prattled on about Jesse's thisclose to 'I'm a Navy Seal' days in the service.  Since my husband was also in the service they talked shop about that for awhile while the heinous Jake kept breaking into a down hill trot.  Which caused my tender rear to slam against the saddle numerous times.

Slam. Slam. Slam.

While Jesse and my husband discussed Jesse's new carreer as a professional rodeo cowboy.

Really?

Lucifer Jake continued to break into a trot, knowing we were headed home. And that I could do little about it. I was also behind our '8 Second' guide and my husband, so what were they going to do?

Nothing, that's what.

Eventually, Jesse would hear my grunts and turn around. He'd say something to Belial Jake in a demonic tongue and he'd slow to a walk, his eye rolling back to look at me, closing in a wink that said, "You just wait. I'ma gonna git you." (Have you seen the movie 'Fallen'? Because I could totally hear someone nearby singing 'Time Is On Your Side' by this point. Not even kidding.)

Slam. Slam. Slam.

I practiced my natural breathing on the way down the trail. For real. When I was in front of the men, my husband kept calling out encouraging words. "You look great on that horse, babe."  and, "How do you say it? You sure know how to sit a horse."  (whatever.) and his favorite, "Your hair looks amazing, flowing in the wind." I snorted so hard at this that the ogre beneath me jumped.

As Jesse told us that his big toe was broken and he'd had a 'slight' problem putting on his boots that morning, The Prince Of Darkness Jake broke into a full on run. Because he'd seen the Promised Land. His barn. I watched my teeth fly out of my mouth and bounce along the dirt trail. And I heard Jesse and my husband laugh.

When we got back to the coral, I attmpted to steer (yes, steer. I was done 'guiding') Satan Jake to that awesome  mounting platform (that's what she said) so I could dismount. From the distance I heard John Wayne holler, "We don't use that for dismounting, ma'am." And I know he was laughing. And lying. He was so lying.

My eyes welled up with tears, but I took some deep, cleansing, natural child birth breaths, visualized my cervix opening like a flower, and heaved my right leg over that saddle.

It moved about an inch.

Jesse took it out of the stirrup and helped me lift it over. The Fallen Angel danced below me, increasing my agongy, and yes, laughing at me. With tears streaming down my face I heard a distinctive sound from behind me.

Click.

Bwwwahhhaaa.

The sound of picture being taken. And my husbands laughter.

Awe.some.

Here, captured for all eternity, and your viewing pleasure: my pain.

[caption id="attachment_1014" align="alignright" width="300" caption="Unbearable pain."][/caption]

Jennifer Lopez Isn't Hot. Wait . . . What??

A few weeks ago while watching the try outs for American Idol, this is the conversation that takes place.

Husband: Who is that?

Me: *sigh* Jennifer Lopez

Husband: Wow. She's . . . not attractive at all. Can she at least sing, or something?

Me: *stares blankly*

Husband: What's up with her face? Her make up is all . .  ugly. And those clothes? Who is dressing her? Because she needs to look in a mirror.

Me: What?

[caption id="attachment_552" align="alignright" width="150" caption="Uhm. . . weird eyes??"][/caption]

Husband: What?

Me: Let me understand this . . .you do or do not think she is attractive?

A commercial comes on for some razor/shampoo, featuring JLo herself. I point this out.

Husband: That's her?

Me: YES

Husband: It looks nothing like her. She's OK. I guess.

Me: ::HEADEXPLOSION:: She's been in People's Most Beautiful People.

Husband: *shrugs* She's got weird eyes.

This is really, really good for me. Right?

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What I Can't Live Without

Remember when I talked about what a romantic my husband is? Well, he read that post but didn't immediately say anything. Then, as I climb into bed the other night, he raises his eyebrows and says, "What, I'm not romantic? I say romantic things to you all the time." After I stopped rolling my eyes, I said, "Babe, you do not say romantic things all the time. But that's OK. I love you for other reasons."

He proceeded to attempt to argue with me. I listened to his arguments, I really did. Then I remembered a certain conversation we had back in August 2007. Right around the 23th, actually. (Yeah, it totally pays to be married to an attorney. I remember details like that *snaps fingers*)

My brother had just proposed to his now wife, Kerry. Wait, remember my proposal? Really, you must quickly read that.

So. It's around August 23, 2007. My Grandfather has just passed away and we are all gathered at my parents home in Michigan for his informal memorial service and my brothers 30th birthday. My brother gathers everyone around and makes the most heartfelt speech about true love. About watching our Grandmother and Grandfather in his last days. About how painful it would be to watch your soul mate die, but far more painful would be not spending your life with your soul mate. And then he walked toward Kerry, took her hand, pulled out the ring and said, "And that's why I'm asking my soul mate to spend her life with me. Will you marry me?"

Oh.

I bawled. That night, lying in bed, snuggled with my soul mate, I said, "That proposal was amazing. So romantic. Now tell me a reason you love me."

And my husband said, "You're like my left leg."

Dead silence.

I asked him to please, oh please, explain himself.  Because that's romantic? 'You're like my left leg'??

He said, "Yes! Because I couldn't live without you."

Uhm. Yeah. Pretty sure you could.

BUT, I could not stop laughing. I laughed so hard he got angry. He fell asleep and I was still laughing. So, four years later as I'm listening to him present his arguments as to how he says romantic things all.the.time, I flash on this memory. And I start to giggle. Then laugh. He stops talking and just lays there. I squeak out, "You're like my left leg."

He fell asleep and I was still laughing.

My Husband Is *Such* A Romantic

My husband and I had a whirlwind romance. OK, but wait. I'm totally giggling, because while it was crazy fast, 'romance' isn't exactly the word I should use to explain our relationship.

We met in April of 2000, had our first date on July 9, 2000, got engaged on June 9, 2001 and were married September 15, 2001. So, that's what?  16 months from "Hi" to "I Do." Not bad. And don't get me wrong, I was crazy in love with him. I knew on our second date that I was going to marry him. I wasn't even worried if he felt the same.

My husband is not one for flowery words and grand gestures. But I know he loves me from the small, everyday things he does on a consistent basis. (Oh, and there's the way he took care of me and the kids when I was unable to draw a breath without crying.) It's always been this way. When we were dating he made a budget for me, changed my oil, watched my cat -- and I found out later that he hates cats. And the cat slept with him. He was so in love.

He is a  man of few words, but when he says something it is meaningful. So I knew when he proposed to me it was going to be amazing. Because I had recently moved here from Michigan we actually had a wedding date before he proposed -- logisicts had to be worked out. So the surprise factor was gone, but I would at least get a wonderful declaration of love.

He took me out to dinner at this wonderful restaurant on the canal, where we dined at a stone table along the water. It was beyond romantic. And  I saw a box shaped lump in his pocket. This was the moment. The moment every girl dreams about. My prince had come. I ran to the bathroom to check my hair, reapply my lipstick so I'd look the part of a newly engaged woman. All beautiful and glowy.

When I returned to the table, the lump was gone. No matter how hard I searched and peered I could not find it. Then, my boyfriend began talking about how he was not sure I was ready for marriage. How I wasn't ready for a commitment, for the responsibility of it all. How he'd been thinking and maybe I was a little flighty. What.the.heck? (only, trust me here, HECK was so not the word in my mind. Try something stronger. With and F in it.)

Then, my boyfriend, who had been in the Navy for four years, began pointing out and talking about the boats on the canal. "Look at that catamaran!" I looked over my shoulder, thinking, "Really? What the blankity blank blank is a catamaran? And do I care? I.Do.NOT." He said, "Wow! Check out that frigate!" I shot poison filled killer darts at him from my eyes and looked behind me. I took a deep, cleansing breathe and prepared to tell him that we needed to have a serious - oh so serious talk.

When I turned around there was a little black box sitting in front of me.

I looked at the box. I looked at him. I looked at the box. I looked at him. He grinned that grin that I had fallen in love with, put his hands behind his head, leaned back and said, "Ain't I something?"

And that, my friends, is how I came to be married to the most awesome, intelligent, hard working, kind, compassionate, loving man I've ever known. Yes, he is something.