Of Engagements

At the beginning of my senior year of college, the three girls with whom I resided and a fifth semi-apartment-mate all gathered together to bet on when we would each earn a rather important ring on a rather significant finger.  The cause for such an activity was because it was a given that three out of the five of us would, in fact, be planning weddings that school year.  Whereas my roommate, Jenny, and I remained blissfully single - we offered a true challenge to the game.

I would like to confess here that on that very night I knew in my heart I would, sooner, rather than later, be married to the precise man who is currently my wonderful husband.  But as he and I had not become an item, nor had we even begun to "hang out" on a regular basis, I feared setting my engagement day too soon and, thus, raising suspicion in the others (and, truthfully, so as not to get my heart set on anything too prematurely).  Thus, I chose a date far into the future (well, you know, five years seemed far at the time). 

10-10-10.

It sounded like a good enough day to me.  The others felt sorry about my presumed pessimism about my romantic future, but I smiled to myself knowing my ring would come much sooner than anyone expected.

Fast forward five years and here I am.  Four (and a third) years into a marriage with a man a thousand times more amazing than I tend to give him credit for - better than I deserve by far.  We have two lovely children who have stolen our hearts.  We are daily growing more in love with each other, with our kids, and, most importantly, with our God.

I'm glad he didn't wait to put that ring on my finger.

Now, I'm not going to say that spending the day of my predicted engagement staying home from church sick, dealing with a diarrhetic potty trainer (seriously - could there BE a worse combination?!) who ended the day by vomiting various times throughout the house (by the way, did you know how difficult it is to remove regurgitated kool-aid from a white-ish carpet?) and doing about four loads of laundry - all of which had at some point been coated with some sort of bodily discharge - was really my ideal celebration. 

But the mile-long walk to support some friends - which gave my man and I a good time to talk and re-charge (with NO potty accidents from a certain little one!) - followed by authentic roadside tacos with carne asada went a long way in allowing me to declare that while I did not receive any fancy fingerware on this day, it was, in fact, a good day in the life of me. 

Here's to 10-10-10.