The Best Thing

Do you ever just have those moments when you look at your life and realize how truly lucky you are?  If not, I highly recommend it.

Tonight, it just hit me really hard.  In the middle of so much chaos around me, with so much sadness in the lives of people I care for so much – I am so very lucky.

There are a lot of things in my life that are not the way that I expected them to be.  Most of my “unfulfilled dreams” are due to a lack of financial planning in our younger years, followed by a decade of bad luck, and lots of money spent on fertility treatments (for that I have no regrets!).  We are not home owners, and are a long ways away from ever buying a house.  It will probably be at least 10 more years.  We are a single car family, and simply cannot afford another car payment right now.  We never take vacations, and we don’t really “go out” a lot.

And yet, I have everything I truly want.  I really am so completely happy.  And I know exactly who I have to thank for my happiness:  Evan.

This man is so perfect for me, and it would be impossible for me to ever tell you how much I love him.  I doubt the words exist.

No, we are not perfect.  We argue pretty much every single day.  He makes me CRAZY!  He can always find something wrong with my cooking, or at least suggest some way for me to improve every. single. recipe. regardless of how proud I am of my culinary skills.  I can’t remember the last time he paid me a compliment, and it is certainly NOT in his nature to help out around the house unprompted.  He is a total sports addict, which makes me 12 shades of crazy because I LOATHE sports (an occasional baseball game is not out of the question but as a general rule – I am allergic to all things sporty).

And yet, I still dream about him.  Seriously.  I do.  At least twice a week, and not in a bad way.  Always good dreams.  He still holds my hand under the covers every night as I sleep, and is the first to back me up when I am angry about something (unrelated to him).  He respects my wishes as a mother and is always very quick to offer support when it comes to our girls.  Evan always lets me go hang out with my girlfriends whenever I want, and never makes me feel guilty about it.  When my back is bad or I am sick, he bends over backward to make sure I am taken care of.  He has only missed ONE parent-teacher conference for Lucy (and only because he was out-of-town for work) but has never missed a single softball game, play, or school function for her.  He has literally used vacation time to come home from work early to play in the snow with Lucy, and when I ended up having to take Emma to the local children’s hospital for tests, he dropped everything he was doing at work and found a way to be there with us.

He always kisses me goodbye in the morning, and tells me “I love you” before we end any phone conversation regardless of how long we have talked.  He eats the outside edges of my brownies so that I don’t have to eat the tough part, and always lets me have the last of the chocolate milk.  And on the rare occasion that I burn something (like one side of a grilled cheese sandwich) he pretends he doesn’t notice.

The first thing that attracted me to Evan was his looks.  Shallow, yes.  But hey, I was 15 the first time I remember meeting him.  Evan has the most beautiful blue eyes I have ever seen.  They are vibrant and bright, and so very easy to get lost in.  Cheesy, I know, but completely true.  He also has very thick, dark hair – almost black.  This combination has always made me weak in the knees.  He is tall – 6’2″,  has perfect skin (I kind of hate him for that), and ridiculously thick,long eyelashes.  Both of our girls have his eyes/eyelash combo – they are stunning.  Although he doesn’t look the same as the day I married him (neither do I, dangit), he is still ridiculously attractive.  Actually, the recovery nurse teased me after I had fully come-to, because when I initially woke up from my surgery on Tuesday, I asked her to please go get my husband from the waiting room.  I told her she wouldn’t have any trouble finding him because he was “the cute one”.

Evan has been taking such impeccable care of me while I’ve been recovering.  He took 2 weeks off work so that he could be here with me, and I haven’t had to ask for a single thing because he is so proactive about things that he makes sure that everything is within arms reach.  He has been taking to Lucy to school every morning, and has not asked me to do a single thing to help care for Emma throughout the day.

I married the perfect man for me.

I don’t know why it hit me so hard tonight, but I am glad for this reaffirmation.  I have everything I ever wanted, and Evan has given it all to me.  He made me a mother, and he continually makes me a better person.  I don’t know how I got so lucky, but I am eternally grateful I did.  He truly is the best thing to ever happen to me.

This post doesn’t even come close to what I was trying to say, but the bottom line is that I am so completely and ridiculously in love with my husband that it makes me a little weepy.  I hope you all at least get a glimpse of that.


Turns out I’m NOT superwoman. Huh.

Consider this a Public Service Announcement (only applies to those without common sense.):

I am apparently one of those women WITHOUT common sense.  I woke up the day after surgery feeling great!  I decided that I would be just fine to complete my bi-monthly grocery shopping trip (3+ hours), and a solo trip to the local Sam’s Cl.ub.  I fought Evan tooth-and-nail all day, and regardless of his constant insistence, I decided that I knew best and could handle an only slightly modified routine.  Like, I was off diaper duty, and didn’t cook. Pretty much all I changed. I felt good.  Why should I slow down?  

Why?!?!  Why am I so damn dumb?!?!

I just had 2 organs removed from my body, and somehow decided that that wasn’t enough of a reason to lay my ass down for a day or two.  

This morning?  Not so pretty.  I ended up sleeping through most of the day, and woke up around 3:15.  Apparently, I was tired.  Ice packs have been my best friend, and I have one strapped to my abdomen constantly.    

Yep.  I’m brilliant.  Who knew that my gallbladder and appendix contained the majority of my brain cells?  Nice.  

I’m totally effed.


When it rains, it pours, right?  

This whole thing with my Dad has nearly put me over the edge.  

Thursday night he came home to his formerly-close friend sitting on his porch to break the news that his wife had moved out.  She was too chicken to confront him, so she took the easy way out.  No explanations, nothing.  The friend simply told him, “Mama Bear moved out this morning.”  Nice. 

After my Dad talked to her, he spiraled downward very, very fast.  

When I spoke to him at about 7:30 that night, he was obviously upset, but seemed like he’d be okay.  Little did I know, that earlier in the day he had jumped in his truck with a loaded pistol and sped off.  It took his friend 3 hours to track him down.  I don’t know what was said, where the friend found him, or really, any of those details.  No one told me about it until 2 days later.  

I have spent the last week on high alert with him.  He seems to be in much better spirits, and has actively sought help.  Nonetheless, I am beyond stressed.  We speak frequently throughout the day, and yesterday was the first day I didn’t actually have eyes on him.  I think he’s going to be okay, and that he is passed the worst of it.  Well, until she serves him with papers, which she has told ME about, but not him.

I didn’t get to see him yesterday (even though he lives less than 4 blocks away) because my back went out again.  No walking for me!  It seems to have been a mini flare-up, which I’m grateful for, because on top of that, I have my pre-op appointment this afternoon.  Yep, I’m going under the knife next week.  Apparently, my gallbladder decided this was fine time to stop functioning.  Okay, well, not completely stop but at 4%, it might as well just give up.  This has made for a very bland menu, and lots, and lots of tears.  This sonofabitch HURTS!  It’s got to go.

So, there is the continuation of my recent sob story.  

Stressed doesn’t even begin to touch it, but I’m sure I’ll survive.  Let’s face it.  This is not the worst thing I’ve dealt with.