I met my hubby about six years ago. Actually, the first time I met him was when he brought my older sister back home from a date, and I ate all the Max & Erma cookies they had. I had opinions of him: geeky, weird, uber-Mormon family, socially awkward, unpopular, super righteous, always wears tacky button up shirts that are always tucked into his jeans. But I didn't really know him. He went on a mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and my family moved in behind his parents' house. I wasn't living with my family at the time, because I was living with my grandfather to be closer to the college campus I was attending.
Shortly after Hubs got back from his mission, my mom gave him my phone number and told him to call me. Because, you know, "she's lonely". Thanks, mom.
And guess what? He called me. That night.
The plan for our first date was to go ice skating. It would have been perfect: the Hubs could show off with his superior ice skating skills, he could skate by my side as I struggled to keep my feet underneath my body, effectively wooing me into loving him for all time and eternity. It was not to be. The ice rink was booked for a little league hockey game.
Instead, we went to see a movie. Night at the Museum. We got drinks and snacks and sat down. The movie started, and so did the dialogue. And the ice crunching. Crunch, crunch, crunch, laugh, "Did you see that?"...crunch, crunch..."The monkey has the keys!" Yes, I saw that. Yes, the monkey has the keys. I AM watching the same movie as you are!
After the movie, I excused myself to the ladies' room. When I came back out, there was the Hubs, chatting away with two other guys....in Spanish. "Did you know them?" I asked as we left the theater. "Nope, they were just speaking Spanish. And I know Spanish. So I started talking to them." And off to dinner we went. To a Mexican restaurant. Which was totally alright with me, because I LOVE Mexican food. But there was more Spanish speaking, and a little bit of awkward food sharing. After some more meandering around town, the date was over.
I went out with him again, and again. Two months after that first date, he held my hand. Something was happening. I was enjoying his company. Two and a half months after that first date he kissed me (which is a great story in itself). Something was there. I knew I loved him. And he loved me. He asked me to marry him three months after our first date. Needless to say, I said yes.
He is still geeky. But I'm a nerd in my own sort of way, so that's OK. He is still weird, but it is the kind of weird that makes me love him even more. He is still from an uber-Mormon family, but we have met in the middle and compromised in ways that marriage can bring about (and, really, my family could be considered uber-Mormon, too. Our families are just very different in how openly private topics are addressed.) He is still kind of socially awkward, but he has friends, and he knows how to speak to people. Sometimes I just feel the need to tell him to say some things, or keep him from saying other things (but that may be the control freak in me rearing its ugly head). He may still be unpopular, even though I don't really know if he ever was, but the unpopularity extends to me, too. People think we're odd because we are so crunchy. He is still super righteous, but now that I'm not an immature teenager, that is a wonderful trait to own. And, he still wears tacky button up shirts tucked into his jeans, but only when his super hot button up shirts (the ones I picked out for him) are dirty.
He is so wonderful. He is handsome. He is manly. He is sweet. He is gentle. He is kind. He is a great father, husband, friend. He causes in me a desire to be a better person. I am so excited for the eternity I have to be with him! I am so excited for the eternity of birthdays we will have to share, and the opportunities they give to reminisce about how blessed we are to have eachother.