Thursday, February 21

My husband

I love him. Quite a lot, actually. He's a wonderful man. The best father to our babies. The most amazing husband a woman could ever ask for. He's perfect for me, and I'm perfect for him. God blessed both us immensely.

You might not know this, but John is a very, very old man. (I make sure to tell him this whenever he gets too high and mighty about being smarter than me (which he totally is). Gotta make sure I keep him humble, ya know?) I just turned 25 in November, and John is 38. I know!! He's old, people!! But I like that old man. And he knows it. And uses it to his advantage, getting me to iron his clothes and bear his children and plant a garden with 37 tomato plants, all for him.

We still argue over whether our first date was actually a date. Of course it was. He doesn't agree. He's wrong. He was my manager (Sshh!! Don't tell! It's a secret!), and I had the biggest, most insane school-girl crush on him. I thought he was soooo dreamy! It was almost my birthday, and I had been teasingly asking him where he was taking me to dinner, because it was a very important birthday. He would laugh and say, 'Not that I wouldn't love to, but your dad would shoot me.'

Note: just like a month before, my dad had stormed into my place of work, and completely told off the manager on duty (ahem, John!) because I had skipped school and gone on a trainer outing in Conroe. Oops. So John was rawther afraid of my Pops.

Then my dad met a woman online, and decided to marry her. He went to visit her over the Thanksgiving holiday, which coincided with my birthday. Did I mention that his new lady lived in Russia? No? Well, his new lady lived in Russia. He was gone for at least a week. So that ruled out the 'your dad would kill me' angle. Then I did something I had never, ever, ever done before.

On my last shift before my birthday (I was off for three or four days), I wrote John a note. He wasn't working, so I stapled it all the way around the edges (restaurants are notorious for having snoops!) and left it in his box. It went something like this: John- So glad you finally decided to meet me for dinner. Meet me at Two Rows, down in the Rice Village, off University Ave. I'll be in the bar area at 8. Don't stand me up!

Just for the record, he hadn't decided to meet me for dinner. I was laying it all on the table, and I have never been so nervous as when that night came. Now, Two Rows was only 10 minutes or so from his place, but I had to drive almost an hour to get down to the Rice Village. I was freaking out!! I parked my car, double-checked my lipstick (as any good girl from the South would do!), got out of the car, and walked upstairs to the restaurant. I looked around the outside seating area, because he was always talking about how much he loved being outside, but of course he wasn't there. I nervously walked into the bar area, looked around, and didn't see him. My hear sank. But wait!! There he was, sitting at the bar, having a beer, looking amazing. I hadn't ever seen him outside of work, dressed as nice as he was.

Swoon!!! Be still, my heart!! I couldn't believe it!! We had the most wonderful supper (I still remember what I ordered), and talked for like 3 hours. It was crazy how much we had (and still have) in common. He told me happy birthday, paid for my supper, and walked me to my car. He gave me a kiss on the cheek, told me happy birthday again, and closed my door for me.

Less than three months later, I followed him up to Austin when he was transfered. He moved, I came to visit for a few days, went home, went back for another visit, and haven't left yet. :)

We were talking about this wonderful night a few years later, and here's the shocking news I discovered: he doesn't think that was our first date!!!! And, he almost didn't even show up!!!! He told me that he wasn't ever planning on coming, but he was sitting on his couch at 7:45, watching the clock, knowing that I would be really ticked off if he didn't show up. So he thought, 'Well, I don't have anything better to do,' go up and got dressed, and still got there before I did. It's not fair, I tell you.

Needless to say, I'm glad he 'had nothing better to do,' and decided to meet me. You tell me, was it a date? It was my birthday (well, the night before my birthday), I got to pick the restaurant, he paid, and opened my car door for me. I call it a date.

Our anniversary is Saturday. It's been over 8 years since we started dating, and this will be our 6th anniversary. I can't believe it! In some ways, it doesn't seem near that long. Time has flown! But in some ways, I can't believe it's only been 6 years. They've been so wonderful, that I'm kind of wondering what my life was like before I met him. I mean, is seems like we've just know each other our whole lives.

But it really was a date. I'm just saying.

6 comments:

Anonymous said...

Brea,

I've never heard this story. I decided to take a little break here at work and read your blog, and I'm SO GLAD I did because I LOVE this story! It's called FATE or I call it a God thing. I'm so glad you took that risk. I'm sure you would have ended up together anyway, eventually, but you might not have 3 kids by now if it had taken you another 6 months or year to get together. Thanks for being such an awesome WIFE and MOM. As John's Mom, I love you dearly for all that you are. HAPPY ANNIVERSARY!

Sarah said...

Leaving your BFF in high school is not cool, but John pretty much rocks.....so I can understand :) Love you so much & I am SOOO happy for you!

dlyn said...

Great post - love your writing!

Anonymous said...

Happy Anniversary! :) Heather

At A Hen's Pace said...

What a great story!!!

It was a definitely a date.

:)

Jeanne

Krista said...

Food was involved. It was SO TOTALLY a date.
At least that's what I tell my husband. Even if we go grocery shopping and swing buy Quiznos and get sandwiches on the way home ... a date because food is involved.