I will marry soon. Very soon. Like, less than 2 weeks soon. I haven't a dress yet (really not worried), my sister's handling the cake. Duncan Hines would've been fine with me. Am I really stressed? Nahhhh. I'm 40 years old. And I have only now, literally met the man of my dreams. And probably the man of a few others dreams too (sorry chica...)!
But I am also a realist. As perfect as he is for me--there are flaws too. Flaws I see. Flaws that only he has--flaws that he shares with his species (why can't men put paper on the roll?). Flaws that I don't see now, but I'm sure I will later. And you know what? They only make me love him more. Because they make him HIM. And I love him. Warts and all. I love the silly accents he uses while reading to me--or to the kids. Whether he's reading the Bible to me or Hank The Cow Dog to them. Or The Hobbit to his kids. I love how silly he looks when he first wakes up--like a lost boy. I love that he is smart. That he texts song lyrics to me--obscure ones...ones only we seem to get. I love that he is a procrastinator. That he forgets where he left his checkbook. That he doesn't watch much TV. That he forgets to clean the bird cage--after he told me he would (If he reads this he knows this is *my* sweet way of saying that I would love it MORE if he would DO IT!).I love that he is political (even tho I am not). I love that his ideas don't always match mine--and that his way isn't always "right" and mine isn't "wrong". I love that he doesn't mind if there is laundry on the couch. The chair. The dresser. The bed. That we move the pile from one spot to the next until that pile is gone and a new one takes its place. I love that he brings me flowers--for no other reason than that he thinks I'm having a bad day. I love the way his hands look on me. The way he looks at me--and just...*looks* at me. I love the way he makes me know--that even if things are going to be bad--they are going to be OK.
So, the thought of marrying him doesn't stress me. The opposite. He is my rock. My one constant. Nothing feels...*righter* than marrying him. Sometimes I only wish I had met him sooner--but then we wouldn't have been right for each other. We had travels to go. Players to meet. Ways to grow and lessons to learn. NOW is our time. And everything up until now was only to get me ready for this. Practice. To see how to play this part--and the way to do it? Don't play. I get to be ME this time. And I get loved for it. Because I know that he loves me--and all my flaws too.
I can't wait to be his forever--actually, I already am.
So, no worrying about me (those who are). Be happy for me. Be sick of me telling you how wonderful he is--I promise, he's a man--he has dirty underwear in the floor...he has yucky "man" habits. He snores. He hogs the bed. The covers. Leaves hair in the sink. The lid off the toothpaste. The air set on 70* when he leaves the house. He gets "moody" and hurts my feelings. He eats all the bacon. He isn't perfect. But he's perfect for ME. And he loves ME. And for the first time in my life-- I love someone for WHO they are--the whole person. Not for who I think they will BE.
We will marry at his parents house. On their property, near the pond...a morning wedding. All 8 kids in the wedding. Our only attendants are the kids. They want it that way and so do we. Small wedding. And a quick get away--a trip to Memphis/Nashville. I wish you all could come.
This is the beginning of 'happily ever after'...
PS: He looks out for me too. He knows how important it is that I take my meds. He knows all about *that* ugly part of me. Remember, he even educated himself on it... He wants me healthy and happy too. He LOVES me. He makes me feel like I matter to him. Never had that before. He TELLS me that I matter to him. He shows me. Who could ask for more than that?
I live in East Texas. Married to Da Man! I am Mom/StepMom to 8 beautiful kids. Don't worry--I'm medicated! I like music, reading, computering and laughing my ass off.
I recently married my Prince Charming. He's everything I ever wanted and several things I never knew I needed. He sends me...
Email the hell outta me at firstname.lastname@example.org