Day Nine: Whatta Man.

Monday was my husband's thirty-fourth birthday.  When we first met, he was twenty two.  Damn, that's a long time.  If you've read A Borrowed Blog, you have a pretty good insight of our story.  If you haven't read it, I definitely would encourage you to - it's a good read if you're into love stories and happily-ever-afters.  I'll wait if you want to go check it out. 

--waiting--

--still waiting--

Hey, you wanna hear a joke?  Nevermind, that will just distract you - and me, I'm sure.

--waiting just a little bit longer--

You're back!  Great!  So, now that you have a background on me and M (or as you just read RayH7), I can proceed.  Our story gives you ups and downs and facts, but it didn't really talk about the people behind us.  You've gotten to know me through my writings, and through "Dino Who?"  And I tell you stories about M and our daughter G, but in honor of his birthday, I want to take the time to share with you the man behind the letter M.

When I first met M, I had just turned eighteen.  We met - online - the following month for the first time.  I had just broken up with this other dude, and was still pretty comfortably sitting on the I-hate-men bandwagon...at least as comfortable as an eighteen year old senior in high school can be.  The last thing I wanted was another bad experience with a member of the male species.

Me and M hit it off right from the start.  He was different than other guys.  We shared the same faith foundation, and for me, that was the number one must have in a man.  He also took the time to really get to know me - my likes, my dislikes...what makes me laugh, what makes me cry.  He was a friend...a real friend.  Building on top of our shared faith, came the honesty of friendship from which grew love.  Our official journey together began in 2001, and we've been together ever since.  I've watched him grow from a twenty two year old college kid into a very well-rounded, respectable man. 

Together, over the past almost twelve years, we've experienced highs and lows just like any other couple.  Through it all, we've endured.  M has been my rock.  He's been my best friend when I had nobody else.  He's seen me at my absolute worst - emotionally, physically, psychologically - and loved me anyway.  He's loved me through the many screw ups I've made in our relationship, or in my own personal endeavors.  He is the most hard working man I know.  Honest.  Trustworthy.  Loyal.  He's a wonderful father to our little girl.  He takes care of us.  He's respectable and respectful.  He cooks.  He cleans.  He does laundry.  He's my comic relief...my therapist...my best friend.  He stays positive during the hard times.  He knows when to hold his tongue.  He stands up for what he believes in even when it's not popular.  He owns up to his faults, and he's man enough to apologize when he's in the wrong.  He provides for his family.  He's genuine.  A lover.  A fighter.  A football fanatic.  He's smart.  He's strong.  He's gentle.  He's a good man.  He's mine. 

I love you, Mr. M. 

Tumultuous Tuesday.

1:21 AM...that's when it started. But before we go there, let's back up.

Yesterday was Columbus Day - the day that marks the anniversary of Christopher Columbus arriving in the Americas. It wasn't his birthday, as I heard a local DJ say over the radio - just wanted to clear the air on that one. Get it?...clear the air, because it was a DJ that made the mistake? Okay, yeah...moving on. Although most of us did not get the day off of work, it is considered a federal holiday, which in turn means people like postal workers and bankers had a 3-day weekend. Mondays are my bank days. Visiting our local branch has become part of my Monday afternoon routine. I get x-amount of cash out to pay our nanny for the week. Yesterday, that didn't happen. A sign in the window said "Closed in honor of Columbus Day." Crap. Off to the nanny's I go, cashless. Columbus, rhombus.

After picking up my 25-lbs of giggles and wiggles, we headed to the grocery store. My daughter, we'll call her G, has had a runny nose for about 3 days. Yesterday, it went from semi-runny to stuffy. A coworker recently told me about a Vick's Vapor Bath for little ones, so I figured I'd try it out. Long story short, and forty three dollars later, we were checking out with no Vick's Bath. A regular bubble bath it will be.

We're finally home. Dinner is about 20 minutes from being done, and I mention to M (my husband), that G needs a bath. After some hesitation, he says he'll do it after dinner. G wasn't feeling good, and as her mother, I knew the earlier she had a bath, the earlier she could get in bed and hopefully sleep off this runny nose of hers. Dinner was finally done, and of course, she was a fussy, tired little snot factory. I ended up bathing her...annoyed to the point of tears at the husband for not utilizing the 20 minute slot I had suggested earlier, so that we could actually eat dinner together while it was still hot. But in his defense, he did apologize and told me the rest of the night would be better.

Fast forward. It's 10:30, I'm finally in bed...pounding headache and scratchy throat. Pollen is the devil, by the way. By 11:00, the lights are out, and the household had set out to slumber for the night. Then, what seemed like hours later, I'm startled awake by my husband leaning over me and saying, "Hey!"

I jumped and gasped. He continued, "Baby, it's me. I gotta go."

"Go where? On a call?", I asked.

"Yeah."

"Will you be back, you think?"

"Yeah."

My husband is an HVAC Technician and works for a large property management company here in town. He rotates an on-call schedule with three other techs every month. This is his week to be on-call. Someone's bathroom had exploded...or something like that...and off he went, into the darkness, to save the night. I asked him if he'd be back, because I swore it had been hours since we had climbed into bed. I was expecting my alarm to go off any minute. I peek at the alarm through sleepy eyes...it's 1:21. Really? I go check on the munchkin, and climb back into bed. I watch way too much Law & Order, so I couldn't sleep without the husband there. I heard every creak, every thud, every minuscule sound that may or may not have been simply in my head. He finally got home a little after 2:30, and I was able to fall back asleep.

6:04am. My alarm is blaring. 6:53am. Still fighting with the snooze. Crap, I'm late. I scramble to get myself put together. I was annoyed at the world - everything and everyone, including myself. Poor G had a mini-meltdown. She wanted to eat breakfast before we went to the nanny's. She never wants to do that. It's not even part of our morning routine. So, I scoot out the door, leaving her there with M, crying her big brown eyes out. I did get some consolation when M texted me to say she drank a sippy cup full of milk in the car, and was perfectly content when he dropped her off at the nanny's. Thank goodness.

I finally reach work. I park. As I'm walking into my office twenty minutes late, I manage to spill red V8 Fusion on my light gray pants. Miraculously, I'm stain free.

The morning continued pretty uneventful. I worked through numerous reports before lunch, and the afternoon has been pretty painless...with the exception of a growling stomach, a headache, and blogger image uploading drama. My original plan was not to blog about my Tuesday turmoil, but to talk about some great recipe finds. Maybe tomorrow.

29 minutes until the whistle blows. Then it's breakfast for dinner and endless hours of HGTV. Maybe Tuesday's not so bad after all.