Today's challenge for the 15th day of March wants me to tell you ten reasons why I am AWESOME!  But everybody already knows how amazingly awesome I am, and I don't see how I could possibly add to my awesomeness by describing it for you. 

I'm indescribable, really.

So, I thought I'd link back to a post my husband wrote about me in early 2009.  We had been going through a difficult time in our marriage, and he had been out of work for a few months.  Discouragement abounded.  Yet he took some time to sit at my computer and be silly, and I loved him more for it. 

Without further ado, here is Jeremy's post.

Well, so much for my promise to blog more often. Sorry you guys! I've realized now why I wasn't blogging as often before my promise. It's because I'm BUSY! By the time I get to the end of the day, I'm exhausted, and there's still plenty of things that need to be done besides blogging. Sigh.

I almost typed "Oh, for the simple days," but I realized I don't want to go back to the time when I had lots of time to blog. It was definitely fun and carefree, but I'd much rather be making a difference and investing in friendships and getting work done while enjoying my life than just sitting around and enjoying my life.

Yesterday was mine and Jeremy's eighth wedding anniversary. Hooray for us! I keep thinking that someday I'll tell you the saga of how Jeremy and I began dating, but I'm not sure how idiotic I really want to look on this blog. If I ever do tell the story, you'll have to keep in mind that I was a very silly and immature eighteen year old and cut me some slack. Or, you can just sit back and laugh at me; either way, we'll all have fun!

We're supposed to be getting ready to leave for the library and collecting all of our overdue library books right now, but instead I'm blogging, and my daughters are fighting over a cup full of water. This is going to be a mess. I can see it now.

Huh, they decided to share it. That's a surprise.

Mercy's third birthday is the 25th, and I'm working on her birthday party plans for this weekend. Gotta run to the store for some cake ingredients. I think I'll use the second gigantic courgette to make a chocolate zucchini cake complete with chocolate chips! Mmm, my mouth can taste it already. Saturday, hurry up and get here!

Well, this post is going nowhere fast. :-) I need to get busy on a shopping list and finding those library books...and drying the spilled water off the computer's extra battery. So much for sharing.

Yesterday, I informed you of my drivers license woes, and several people commented on the trouble with our marriage certificate. Do I have a story for you!

Let's rewind to 2003.

It wasn't until 1:30 pm, the afternoon before our wedding day, that I remembered to pick up a marriage license. I knew that most states required a waiting period between the obtaining of the marriage license and the actual marriage ceremony, so my forgetfulness prompted a slight panic-attack. Jeremy and I rushed to the county clerk's office to pick up our paperwork.

The motherly woman behind the counter expressed her felicitations at our wonderful event, and told us we had to wait twenty-four hours before getting married as stated in Illinois state law. I looked at the clock. It was 2:04 pm. Our ceremony was scheduled to start at 2:00 pm the following day.

The woman joked with us about watching the clock and being sure to wait, then she handed me two papers. One made of card stock, beautifully printed in rainbow colors with a Bible verse embossed in gold at the bottom: Mark 10:7-9 "‘For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and the two will become one flesh.’ So they are no longer two, but one flesh. Therefore what God has joined together, let no one separate.” And the other paper, a flimsy, smallish, square, badly-photocopied, ink-missing-in-spots note stating that the bride and groom had been married on a certain date at a certain place. It had blanks for all of the pertinent information to be filled in and places for witnesses and the marriage official to sign. The lady firmly told us that the pretty copy was not official. It was only for our viewing pleasure, and meant to be framed and hung on a wall of our home. People frequently were confused because the non-impressive looking paper was the real certificate. She instructed us that we needed to have it signed by the pastor and witnesses, then return it to the clerk's office within seven days so they could record it and stamp it, then I would need to mail it to the social security office for a new SS card in my married name.

Other than the rehearsal dinner, I spent the rest of the afternoon and evening running various wedding errands, and then my bridesmaids and I white-gloved my apartment, since I would be moving to Iowa with Jeremy immediately after our wedding. I tucked my papers into a special folder in my suitcase so that they would be easily findable the following morning amid all the chaos of my not completely packed up apartment.

In the morning, the bridesmaids and I all finished packing my car with odds and ends, including my honeymoon suitcase with the important file folder. At the church, I pulled the folder out so the pastor could sign our marriage certificate. I handed him the fancy one, and he reminded me that it was not official, but when I checked the folder for the pathetic photocopy, I could not find it. A mad search ensued, but no document came up. We delayed the ceremony slightly because the pastor was helping me search. Finally he said, "Never mind. I'll go ahead with the ceremony, but remember, you won't really be married until I've signed that paper." Then he walked towards his spot at the front of the church.

Can I give you readers a word of advice?

If you are ever a pastor marrying a couple, NEVER joke like that to a nervous, panicky, did-not-sleep-last-night bride.

NEVER.

It was not humorous. All of the scenarios I had had nightmares about for the past three weeks did not measure up to the idea that after waiting this long (Jeremy and I had dated six years) and after all this trouble (several things had gone crazily wrong at the last minute with the wedding plans -- for example, when I had called the florist the day before to verify the time that our flowers would be delivered, I discovered that no one there knew who I was. It turns out, the sales-person who had sat down with us and pain-stakingly researched flower colors, meanings and seasonal availability, the woman who had stayed in contact with me over the past several months, the woman who had given us a signed copy of our flower bill quote had been fired the week before, and she took all of her client files with her. When I presented my copy of the quote and the list of flowers, they told me that over half of those flowers were not available during this season; the sales-person had been dreadfully mistaken in both her floral listing and her quote-price; the flowers on my list would have to be drastically substituted or flown in from some distant climate - but none of that would happen because the shop had decided to refund my money with their apologies because they were already completely swamped with weddings that WERE on their calendar.) Yes, after all THAT trouble, we would STILL not be married. Even my nightmare about "The Unity Candle Falls On The Wedding Dress And Engulfs Me In Flames And I Have To Be Rushed To The Hospital And Our Wedding Is Canceled Because I'm In The Burn Unit" did not prepare me for the panic that flooded my blood-stream at that moment.

With wide eyes, I looked up at my dad standing next to me. I knew I was about to sob hysterically. He shook his head at my un-asked question, "No," he whispered, "he was just joking." But his voice rose slightly at the end of the sentence, giving me the impression that my dad -- MY DAD -- was unsure of the facts.

If that won't shake you to the core, then I don't know what will.

As I sedately walked down the aisle, arm in arm with my father, my mind lingered on the possible whereabouts of that document. While Dad gave his giving his daughter away speech, I mentally searched every nook and cranny of my almost empty apartment. During the singing of the song Jeremy and I had picked out for this occasion, my brain checked clothing pockets of every garment I had come in contact with over the past twenty-four hours.

Only Jeremy's extreme stage-fright brought my mind back to the present, and I had to whisper encouragement to him during the rest of the ceremony. He told me later that it was not nervousness about getting married; it was the fact that he had to stand in front of everyone. If only he had known then what being married to me would be like, he might have been more nervous about the proceedings.

He's a riot, that guy.

During the reception, my sister Hannah went back to my apartment to search for the missing document, but she came back over an hour later, empty-handed.

"That's alright," the pastor told Jeremy and me, "You have an entire week before the license expires. You'll find it in a day or so, and I'll sign it then. No problem."

"D-do you think it's okay for us to go on our honeymoon without it being official?" I whispered anxiously and feeling dumb.

The pastor laughed heartily, winked and said, "I think it's okay," at the same time that Jeremy declared, "We're GOING on our honeymoon!" with a bit of a growl in his voice.

I began breathing again. Good. So long as we're all in agreement!

Jeremy and I headed to the Poconos for our honeymoon. We got stranded in Cincinnati when several flights were cancelled on account of torrential downpours, and we did not reach our Pennsylvania destination until the wee hours of the morning. We wandered the airport, trying to find a taxi to take us to our hotel, but every vehicle was taken.

Except one.

A lone man dressed all in black stood leaning against an airport column, listening to us as we walked from counter to counter, reciting our tale of honeymoon woe, and he took pity on us. He lurched away from the pole, and asked, "Yous need a ride?"

When we nodded, he jerked his head, "Follow me, I can take you."

Jeremy and I glanced warily at each other, but neither of us were receiving odd vibes from the friendly man. We allowed him to take our bags for us, and we followed through dimly lit back hallways until we finally stepped out of the building into the pouring rain. The man waved us back under the building's overhanging roof, while he put our suitcases into an old, black hearse.

I am totally not joking, you guys.

When we hesitated, he explained that the limo company he worked for had refurbished the interior of the hearse so that it was now a limousine. He opened the door for us, so that we could examine the inside. Sure enough, it boasted mirrored walls, leather bench seats, gorgeous light sconces, a refrigerator stocked with miniature soft drink cans (a selling feature for my new husband). We hopped in. You didn't really think Jeremy would pass up a hearse with a fridge in it, did you?

We chatted happily with our new friend (I can't remember his name now) about our wedding and his wedding and our airport adventures and our future plans. He told us that normally, the charge for this car was pretty high, but the party that requested it had been delayed even longer than we had, and he thought it would be nice to give us a free ride as a wedding present. Jeremy played with buttons on his side console, accidentally turning the sconces on and off, accidentally turning the floor lights on and off, accidentally lowering and raising the windows and drenching the two of us in the process until I turned to him and said, "Stop it. What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to find the wall between us and our driver," he muttered. Our friend laughed and said, "I was wondering when you two would get around to that." Then he pushed a button in the front and the wall went up. He then proceeded to drive like a maniac for more than an hour through the rain-slicked, winding mountain roads. I had to stop kissing Jeremy because I needed a receptacle for my car-sick stomach. (How romantic.) The ride continued.

In order to get some relief, I finally had to lie face-down on the coffin-shaped floor where I begged God to make the ride end before Jeremy changed his mind about me, while Jeremy removed ALL of the tiny Mountain Dew cans from the fridge. When we stopped, and the courteous limo driver opened the door for us, I remained on the floor unable to move because of the dizziness. He and Jeremy stood outside the open car door in the slight drizzle that was now falling from the sky and chatted. Jeremy offered him a Mountain Dew, and the two of them chugged away. I heard him offer to pick us up and drive us back to the airport when our honeymoon was over, and I heard Jeremy accept his offer while my entire being silently screamed NOOOOOO, but I couldn't speak.

I'll fade to black for the rest of our honeymoon. We did have three more hilarious adventures, however, two of them do not involve clothing, so you'd have to ask me in person for those details.

On our fifth morning of being married, I rummaged through a suitcase pocket for some article of clothing, and my fingers met a paper-like object. I pulled it out. An envelope. Hmm. I opened the envelope.

"Jeremy! I found our marriage certificate!!! The real one!!" We counted the days, and realized it would expire within forty-eight hours. We filled in the blanks and signed our names. (Only, I filled in my maiden name instead of my married name. Didn't know I'd done it wrong.) Then we rushed to the concierge office. She listened to our crazy story and agreed to over-night the document to my parents for free! She also placed a long-distance call from her desk phone to my parents for us, and we explained the situation. My parents needed to sign as witnesses (our maids of honor and best men had witnessed the decorative one), and my dad needed to take it to the pastor for his signature. Then my parents would need to take it to the county clerk's office so they could record it in their books and do some kind of special stamp on the back of the document.

My parents received the certificate the following day and signed it. Then my dad took it to the church for the pastor's signature. The associate pastor told him that the senior pastor had gone home early; he was about to start his family vacation. Dad drove out to the senior pastor's house, only to find that the family had already departed and would not be back for at least a week.

Dad drove back to the church and explained the situation to the associate pastor who sympathized but had no solution. My dad asked if the associate pastor would sign the document, but he refused since he had not married us. After much debate, the associate pastor finally agreed to sign the senior pastor's name to our document, and that is why we are the proud owners of a FORGED marriage certificate. The associate pastor jokingly swore my dad to secrecy.

Which is why my dad told us, and which is why I am now telling the internet.

(But you will notice the names have been withheld to shield the guilty.)

Jeremy and I returned from our honeymoon, stopped off at my parents' house to pick up our infamous, official marriage certificate, and moved directly to Iowa. I mailed my certificate to the social security office, and they called to inform me that I had filled it out with my maiden name. I needed to send a certified letter showing what my married name should be. I did so. They mailed the official certificate back to me along with a new social security card reflecting my name change.

Jeremy and I went to the DOT (Division of Motor Vehicles) in Iowa to obtain our driver's licenses. The officials there frowned at my certificate and told me it was just a photocopy. They wanted my real one. Jeremy and I argued and argued with them, but finally we went home to our new apartment and gathered up the "pretty" certificate, the mailing envelope from the social security administration, all of the various and sundry pieces of government papers showing my name change, and the phone number for the county clerk's office in Illinois in case all else failed. We returned to the DOT, and stood in line for the same worker. After more arguing, some very close perusal of our paperwork, and a phone call to Illinois, he finally gave me a license, but he still expressed doubt about my marriage certificate.

Whew! Jeremy and I have joked about that paper several times over the years.

Until this past Saturday.

Today, I called the State of Illinois, and inquired about the nature of their marriage certificates. The lady verified that their certificates do not show any numbers or codes at all to prove that they have been recorded. I asked for a certified letter from the State of Illinois listing this to be true so that I could take the letter to the Indiana BMV as they had requested. The lady told me that the State could not do this for me, but that if I called the clerk's office of the county where I was married, they could probably help me out.

I called the county clerk's office. That lady told me that they could not write a letter for me, but that if I showed the special raised stamp on the back of the paper to the BMV workers, that should be proof enough.

I turned my certificate over. "But there is no special raised stamp on the back of my certificate," I told her.

"There isn't?"

"No. Are you telling me there should be?" A sinking feeling began in my tummy.

"Yes, there should be. You must be looking at the decorative certificate. That is not the official one."

"No, I know that. I'm looking at the official one," and I described it to her, "plain white square of paper, looks like a bad photocopy..."

She interrupted me. "No, our official certificates are multicolored and have a stamp on the back. You must be looking at a photocopy of one."

I paused, not even wanting to finish this conversation. "No," I said dully, "this is not a photocopy. I mean, it IS a photocopy, but it is the original of what I was given at your office seven years ago. The signatures are originals."

"Huh," she thought about it. "I'm not even sure what that could be."

You know what?

I don't even care if we're legally married or not. This is ridiculous.

"Ma'am, can you do a favor for me? Would you look in your computer system and tell me if I am listed as married in there?"

"Oh, honey, I wish I could, but I'd have to see your current photo ID before I'd be allowed to check for you."


AAAARRRRRRGGGGGG!!!! THAT'S WHAT I'M TRYING TO GET!!!!!

Jeremy has been complaining of chest pain, tightness and pressure for the last four months, but being a guy, he just hasn't been able to gather enough courage to visit the doctor. I'm not sure why that is. He regularly conquers stuck pickle jar lids, grumbling car engines, lagging budgets, scraped knees, and all of my amorous pursuers, but nice doctors who can help are not on his resume. (Spiders aren't either, but that's okay; I can handle spiders myself. It's the crickets that I need his manly shoe for.)

Of course, his visit in 2007 to the emergency room in our Iowa hometown for more acute chest symptoms did not inspire him to return to an ER any time soon.

Finally, last night around midnight, he became uncomfortable enough that he could not sleep, so we decided to visit the emergency room here -- you know, just to see how they've chosen to decorate it.

It was lovely. Beautiful deep blue chairs with curving rich wooden arms.

Oh, sorry.

Long story short (I'm famous for the shortness of my stories, you know. Just ask my parents whose favorite phrase for me when I was growing up was, "Get to the point, Missy!")

(How boring.)

Anyway, long story short, Jeremy was not having a heart attack. He has nothing wrong with his heart at all! Instead, he's been suffering from a viral version of pleurisy. The doctor prescribed a heavy dose of Motrin for about a week, and voila! Perfectly healthy husband!

Hooray!

Plus, we got a wonderful, late-night date from it. To celebrate his relatively clean bill of health, Jeremy and I shared a cardboard container of Arby's curly fries around 3:30 in the morning.

And a side of heartburn. Appropriate for the occasion, I suppose.

I turned 30 on Sunday, and Jeremy found the perfect card.

On the front it says "THIRTY YEARS HAPPY!" When you open it, Tim McGraw sings, "I think I'll take a moment to celebrate my age..."

But the best part is the note that Jeremy wrote: "Happy Birthday! I look forward to spending the next 30 years with you by my side. Just imagine the adventures we're going to have!"

Oooh! I can't wait! :-)

Kimmie's graduation is looming. I am waiting on the invitations to arrive in the mail. I am waiting on Kimmie to FINISH the list of friends that she wants invited. I am refereeing college ideas, housing ideas, job ideas. I love it, but my mind keeps juggling...and dropping.

Mercy has started acting a little funny. Always rubbing her eyes and nose. A little whiny, but OH, so happy! I think she's teething. I wonder if she has allergies. I wonder if she has a cold. My allergies are acting up, and they feel like a sinus infection even though I know they are not. It makes me sad for Mercy, assuming she feels the way I do.

Liberty has finally decided that she has a mind of her own. She's gone from my very agreeable, happy girl, to this child who crumples on the floor in tears when I say no. That's a lot of fun. But she is still so sweet and happy in-between! I love the sentences she comes up with. Her English is lacking, but her vocabulary is delightful.

My sister Charity has come to visit us for a while, and she has made a big difference the past few days. She's been taking care of the girls while I am at work so that Jeremy can concentrate full-time on searching for a job. Jeremy had been spending most of his time caring for the kids instead of answering emails and making phone calls. He is finally feeling productive!

Several recruiters have contacted Jeremy for more information so that they can better job-hunt for him. He spent seven hours yesterday sitting at his computer filling out questionnaires. Then his eyeballs fell out.

My boss, Craig, gave me a little bit of extra pay unexpectedly yesterday, so Jeremy and I went on a date while Aunt Chari played with Liberty and Mercy. That money would have been useful elsewhere in our budget, but sometimes, you've just gotta splurge, you know? It made a big difference in my outlook: a surprise pick-me-up, time alone with my husband! We were able to talk without interruptions, and just relax with each other. It was wonderful!

Aunt Chari and Liberty had the following conversation.

Chari: "Is your name Mommy?"
Liberty (giggles) "Nooooo."
C: "Is your name Daddy?"
L: "Noooo."
C: "Is your name Kimmie?"
L: "Noooo."
C: "Is your name Mercy?"
L: "Noooo."
C: "Well, what is your name then?"
L: (pauses to think) "Call me... DUDE!"
Then she fist-bumped Aunt Chari.

I'm raising a gangster.

Written by her husband, Jeremy. Bwa-ha-ha-ha!!!!

1. Missy is silly. Everyone who meets her agrees with this. Even people who have only known her a short time. You will agree after you read this.

2. Missy is a bad luck charm. When she decides she likes something, the producers immediately stop producing that item. For example: the Sante Fe sauce at Quiznos, the cream-filled doughnuts at Krispi Kreme, the waitress at Bostons (who never even took her order, but faithfully served me and refilled my drinks.)

3. Missy loves flowers, but she has a death touch. Boy, I'm glad I'm not a flower!

4. Missy is a human teething ring. She found out about both of our childrens' first tooth after being bitten by them.

5. Missy likes smiley faces. They make her happy. She sometimes uses a smiley face instead of a signature, and somehow the reader is supposed to know who wrote that note. They usually can.

6. Missy loves dressing up in dramatic hats and scarves and fancy clothes. She should have been born in the 1920's.

7. Missy loves to write letters to her friends. BUT SHE NEVER MAILS ANY OF THEM! We have a box at home full of written, addressed and stamped envelopes that have never been mailed. But she sure is proud of the fact that she WROTE the letter.

8. Missy likes to name inanimate objects. Houses, cars, trees. Ask her about them sometime. She even names objects that do not belong to her.

9. Missy loves musicals, both on movies and stage. She collects soundtracks. She loves songs like "That's my cigar!" "You'll steal another!"

10. Missy wants pink hair. Or more accurately, she wants to put hot pink stripes in her hair.

11. Missy likes getting a back rub every night.

12. Missy loves to read, and she loves to read to our kids. That is a yay, happy. (Which, if you know her, is a term I have picked up from living with her.)

13. Missy likes to take pictures and to draw.

14. Missy is passionate about acting. She has lots of voices that she uses for fun at home.

15. Missy loves sunshine and tries hard to avoid standing in a shadow when we are outside. When we are inside, she moves with the sun as it streams through the windows throughout the day.

16. Missy likes shoes. She has five billion of them that I trip over because she does not like to put them away.

17. Missy wants to garden: tomatoes, cucumbers, corn, watermelons. I laugh at this. (See number three above.)

18. Missy loves adventure. She especially loves it when she gets lost on her way to somewhere.

19. Missy loves exploring. She tries to talk me into driving down every back road she sees.

20. Missy loves attending plays and concerts. With me!

21. Missy likes some kind of funky coffee at Smokey Row. She is slowly turning into her mom.

22. Missy likes to play games, even games that she can't win at like Connect Four.

23. Missy went mudding in our minivan one time (see number nineteen above). This caused our local mechanics to scratch their heads and laugh at her when we brought it in for a tune-up three months later.

24. Missy loves to write books, edit other people's books and blog. She also enjoys creating cards. She made a great one for me for Valentine's Day. I would show it to you, but it would have to be censored first.

25. Missy loves me -- through good times and especially through these bad times. And I love her.

Do you know how wonderful my husband is?

He is watching the kids right now so that I can have some free time. Alone. Silence. Peace.

And it was all his idea!!

I headed into town to work out at the gym, and decided to make a quick stop at the office to check something on the internet. My quick stop has turned into a two-hour catch-up of all things internet related, and now I am realizing that I probably don't have time to work out. But maybe I do. I will just hop onto a treadmill to walk for thirty minutes, and then head home.

Or something like that.

My daughter has a hero.

This weekend, Liberty followed her hero wherever he went. His name flew from her lips repeatedly, "Daddy! Daddy!" If he sat down, she climbed onto his lap. If he walked into another room, she followed closely on his heels. When he switched directions, she whirled around, fell over, picked herself up and trotted after him.

Daddy cleaned out the garage this weekend and pushed his to-be-restored 1983 Camaro into the driveway. He talked about washing the car, and Liberty dragged out the bucket and sponges necessary to complete the task. Daddy pulled the garden hose over to the driveway and began spraying his beloved machine. In her pink and green sun-suit, Liberty followed directly behind. When the wind blew droplets of water onto her skin, she squealed and ran away laughing then quickly returned for more, her little blond curls bouncing as she ran. Liberty kept Daddy supplied with fresh, soapy sponges, and she scattered bubbles delightedly in between sponge deliveries.

When Daddy walked to the other side of the car, Liberty walked to the other side of the car. When Daddy backed up suddenly, Liberty got stepped on. But that did not deter her from her hero-worship!

I really can't blame her. He makes my heart go pitter-patter, too!

Lately I've been struggling for coherency. Which is why I've been posting surveys and memes instead of really writing. My thoughts are so jumbled. I don't even know what they're jumbled about.

I'm even struggling to put complete sentences together now. I re-read what I've written, and I wonder, does that sound right?

I guess it's the baby, but this is really getting ridiculous.

Only 45 days till I get to meet my little brain-eater!

By the way, I have the most awesome husband in the world, in case you didn't already know that. He helped me get all the baby clothes sorted and put in place yesterday. He helped me pack the hospital bag yesterday.

And most importantly, he rubbed my back last night! Mmmmmm! He loves me! :-)

When Jeremy arrived home at 2:30 last night, I was still awake in our bed, and we were able to discuss several issues that I had encountered yesterday that were keeping me awake. I explained to him that I was second-guessing my actions and the stand that I had taken that day, and he listened to the whole story. After a bit of discussion between us and some encouragement from Jeremy, he went to the kitchen to fix himself a small snack, and I settled into my pillow to get some long awaited sleep.

After a few minutes, I heard our bedroom door creak open just slightly. I opened one eye and saw Jeremy's nose and lips protruding through the small crack.

I waited, wondering what would come next.

Melissa, this is God. Jeremy's voice rumbled from the other side of the door. You are doing the right thing. Keep it up. Keep going.

The door slowly opened further, and Jeremy's entire head appeared around the edge. I grinned at him in the darkness and thanked God for giving me such a wonderful man to encourage me.

Sometimes, even when things seem hopeless, I just have to keep on keeping on. God is in control. My actions can be used by Him, but my actions do not have power on their own to change others. Only the Holy Spirit changes hearts. Mine included.

My favorite Valentine's Day was the day that Jeremy first told me "I love you."

We were attending college in Florida at the time. We had been very good friends for over a year, and we had been dating for the past several months. As we stood in line outside the overflowing cafeteria, waiting for our turn to enter the building and pick up our to-go boxed supper, I stood gazing up at the full golden moon in the periwinkle twilight sky. I remember how the bottom curve of the moon seemed to balance on the top branch of a nearby oak tree, and I thought to myself, What a beautiful, perfect evening. Jeremy stood behind me also watching the moon, we were so close together that my back almost touched his front. He leaned in close to my neck and with a low, gravelly voice quietly said into my left ear, "I love you."

My heart leaped inside me because I had been waiting to hear those words from him. But I did not want him to say that only because it was Valentine's Day, and I wondered if he would feel pressured or trapped now that he had finally said it to me. (Did I mention that I tend to overthink things?) So I gave him an escape route. Without turning around, pretending to be preoccupied with the moon, I casually murmered, "What?" as though I had not heard him.

He turned me around to face him and looked directly into my eyes. "I love you, Missy," he said firmly and decisively and with an amused smile on his face. He knew me very well.

I smiled sweetly up at him and said matter-of-factly, "That's good. Because I love you, too."

And what had I done for him that Valentine's Day, you ask? Well, early in the morning, I had snuck over to where his car was parked on campus, and I TP'ed the whole thing. I hung empty Walmart bags from his back bumper, and tied sad looking red and pink balloons to his side mirrors. With special window paint, I wrote HAPPY VALENTINES DAY! across his front and back windshields.

Because I'm romantic like that.

No, I am not over the weekend, but the weekend is over, so I'll report on it.

I picked Kimmie up from school on Friday, and she excitedly informed me that her English test was EASY! We'll see if her grade ends up matching her confidence level. She studied for a Journalism test over the weekend, and she's taking that test today.

We drove up to Newton so that Kimmie could take a written test to get her permit, but the DMV was closed. So we stopped off at McDonald's drive thru for breakfast, and then headed back home. Kimmie begged to be dropped off at home with Liberty because she wanted to study for her upcoming test, and Jeremy and I continued on to Pella where we enjoyed strolling around downtown hand-in-hand and window shopping. A sign outside of the local bakery told us that Apple Bread was only $1.00 for a small loaf. Jeremy and I read each other's happy faces and wordlessly chose to enter the shop. Inside, two girls from Kimmie's high school greeted us from behind the counter. We purchased our Apple Bread and continued walking in the sunshine outside, sharing torn pieces from our tasty loaf. Of course, we stopped in at the bookstore, because everyone knows that those are impossible to just pass by, and we stopped at a photography studio that Jeremy has been telling me about. He wants to get our family pictures done there, but I think it's going to be pretty expensive. The owner was out taking photographs, so we wandered around, enjoying his artwork and wondering what the prices would be like. We ended our date at Walmart where we talked about Christmas presents for Kimmie and Liberty before grocery shopping for the week.

Saturday evening, after Libby went to bed, Jeremy, Kimmie and I watched some movies that we had borrowed from the Library:

Cadet Kelly with Hilary Duff (Kimmie's choice) was cute and lively, and despite a few eye-rolling moments on Jeremy's part, all three of us enjoyed the movie. We were also able to have a small family talk about the importance of order and discipline in our lives as well as enjoying the artistic and crazy sides of our personalities. Everything in balance is Jeremy's motto, and this movie presented that theme very clearly.

Red Eye, about a hotel manager who is accosted on an airplane, was my choice, and I was pleasantly surprised that it did not end with a lot of stupidity and screaming on the heroine's part the way most suspense thrillers do. Instead, the heroine was creative and determined. The villain was also smart and determined. There were no unnecessary dramatics. I REALLY enjoyed this movie. Tim De Loge would have approved it; it was a thinking man's thriller. (As is Alfred Hitchcock's Twelve Angry Men and Rear Window.)

I also picked up The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy because we had never seen it, and I had heard it was ridiculous. I must warn you that this movie requires a certain mindset to enjoy it. (I enjoyed it, but Jeremy and Kimmie spent most of their time saying, "This is so dumb.") Think Monty Python's Quest for the Holy Grail which I thought was hilarious or Napoleon Dynamite which drove me to tears for the boring-ness or Space Balls which drew an occasional chuckle from me and much eye-rolling. Now, I wonder if my varying reactions to these movies was due to my own mood at the times of viewing. Anyway, Hitchhikers Guide was silly, obnoxious, ridiculous and surprisingly teaching. Mid-movie, I realized that the writer had written more that just a silly movie. He was searching for the meaning of life. Why are we here? What is our purpose? These questions were asked repeatedly with no real answer ever being given until the end. The writer of the movie had decided that real purpose in life came from finding someone to love, who would love you whole-heartedly in return. After the movie was over, and I was in my wonderful bed, I continued pondering that answer. I realized that many movies, TV shows, songs, you-name-it gives this impression. That true happiness and meaning in life can only come when we find someone to love who will love us whole-heartedly in return, just the way we are. I was amazed, after turning this concept over in my head for a while to realize that that is exactly what God does for us. He loves us whole-heartedly. Not looking for anything in return. Just the way we are. He does not ask us to live up to a certain standard. He does not ask us to give things up to earn His love. He just loves us. He loved us before we even knew He existed. He loved us before time even began. Before the world was created.

He loves.

He loved us so much, that He was willing to die for us. Thankfully, He was also powerful enough to rise from the dead...for us. He took the punishment for all of my sins, even the ones that I have not yet committed, because He loved us. Yes, the movies and the songs and the TV sitcoms are right. Love is the meaning of life. Humans' love for each other is just a picture that illuminates the void we are searching desperately to fill.

That void can be filled. It has been filled in my life! By God. I have accepted His gift of forgiveness. I don't have to measure up, or do good, or be worthy.

Because He loves me the way I am! Yay for me! :-)

Saturday morning dawned beautifully and warmly. Brilliant blue sky kissed green and golden harvest-ready fields. Jeremy woke early (around 10:30 AM) and as previously arranged, Kimmie babysat Liberty while Jeremy and I drove to Olive Garden to use our gift card.

I ate a scrumptious Smoked Provolone Alfredo over Angel Hair. The dish arrived sprinkled with breadcrumbs, diced tomatoes and chopped parsley. Beautiful and delicious! Jeremy ordered the never-ending pasta. He started out with Spaghetti and Meatballs, moved on to Sausage and Peppers and finished with Alfredo over Angel Hair. (I guess the never-ending pasta did come to an end.)

We then conducted a napkin-folding contest while Jeremy digested. Our waitress judged the results, and Jeremy won. Sigh. In my defense, my cloth napkin was older and floppier than Jeremy's crisp linen. I've already challenged him to a rematch when we return to Olive Garden six months from now.

Friday night, Jeremy took me out on a surprise date.

We ate at a restaurant that we had never tried before and split a meal and a dessert, and oh my goodness was it ever good! We plan to return often. We then headed to the cinema to watch (finally) Bourne Ultimatum where the constantly moving camera always leaves me feeling slightly ill. Afterwards, we discussed many aspects of our lives, and made decisions that we have been putting off for a long time.

When we arrived at home, both of our girls were already asleep so we had the house to ourselves and enjoyed the peace and quiet.

On his way back from Texas, Jeremy stopped and bought me a notebook and a bookmark. Now does my husband know me, or what? The notebook is cute and small enough to fit in my purse. It is so cute that it inspires writing (unlike the ugly legal pad that I have been lugging around with me).

The background colors of my bookmark merge from green to orange to red to blue, and the foreground is littered with smiling yellow faces in varying sizes. The faces smile up at me so happily that I have to smile back at them.

I'm so thankful for Jeremy.

I want you to know what an awesome man you are and what a great husband and father. When I met you in college, one of the things I was most attracted to was your love for God put into action in your life. I loved and respected the fact that your words and actions first went through a filter of "is this in line with God's Word?" As a result, I could see Jesus in you.

We've been dating and married for almost ten years now, and as you well know, our life has not often gone according to our plans. Even though in reality our life has been going better than we planned because it's been going according to God's plan, several times you and I have been upset with Him because He wouldn't change to do what we thought He ought to do. During those times I have wondered if either you or I had changed so much from who we were attracted to in college that we wouldn't be attracted to the people that we have become, but I want you to know that the man you have become (with God's help) is so manly and wonderful and Godly to me. I have always begged God to let me be married to a man who is a spiritual loving leader for me and for our family, and watching you this past Easter weekend has made my heart jump up and down like a joyful little kid who gets to go to the circus! (By the way, I have never been to a circus, and I want VERY badly to. ;-)

You took control and made great decisions. You drove Kimmie to the various places where she needed to go and talked father/daughter things with her, allowing me to take care of Liberty at home instead of trying to fit Liberty's needs in amongst all of the other things that needed to be done. (You will never be able to comprehend how much that meant to me.) You laughed, played with, fed and changed Liberty. You laughed and played with Kimmie and I. You even found time to whisk me away from it all for some rejuvenation. Wow! But the best part of the entire weekend was when you sat at the head of our supper table, and after carving our Easter turkey, you opened the Bible and pointed our family to God.

This is the man who I married: tender, strong, loving, masculine, caring, logical, playful daddy, loving disciplinarian, lover, gorgeously sexy, Godly, leader, servant, friend, partner, soul mate, life mate.

And I am glad and proud to be married to you!

With LOTS of love,
your wife, Missy

Jeremy took a trip to the emergency room last night. He had been having chest pains since Saturday evening, and on Sunday evening, his left arm began tingling during church.

The four of us drove to the hospital after dire warnings from Jeremy's grandpa regarding the lack of urgency the emergency room attendants would employ. Thankfully, his grandpa lives in another state, and our emergency room attendants considered Jeremy's chest pain to be very urgent. They immediately gave him a curtained off room and a stretcher. I got stuck with the paperwork.

Kimmie stayed with Liberty in the waiting room, and I was allowed to be with Jeremy after I finished filling in the blanks. When I pulled back the curtain, Jeremy's chest was exposed and several plastic coated wires had been adhered to his skin. He lay on the hospital bed looking very weary and slightly shaky. I can only remember one time that he has been to see a doctor since I met him in 1997, and my mind struggled to grasp the concept of his 28 year old body hooked to machines. The screen on the one closest to him displayed four lines travelling across the monitor that blipped and jagged depending on his body rhythms.

At first, two or three nurses in the room performed different duties, but after the blood was drawn and the EKG had been taken, only one popped in and out. I sat on a rolling stool on the right side of the bed and held Jeremy's hand. We didn't speak very much at first, and I briefly considered what my life would be like if Jeremy died. I would need to sell the house, and choosing where to live after that would affect all of my other decisions. That's about as far ahead as I was capable of thinking at the time. Jeremy informed me that I had better marry a nice man who would be very godly.

I thought to myself how nice, godly men probably wouldn't be extremely hard to find (although I know several women who would contradict that), but finding one who would even come close to measuring up to Jeremy would be just about impossible to find. That thought made me VERY sad. Jeremy's my best friend. He's the one I turn to for logic, stability, shelter, love, reality, pointing me back to God. I told him this, although he has already heard it from me many times in the past. He told me several times that he loved me, and his voice trembled with feeling. We both wondered if it would be the last time we shared those words.

Then the doctor came in and declared that Jeremy had pulled a muscle in his chest, probably while lifting Liberty with her car seat. Ha-ha!! :-) My big, strong man sheepishly peeled the adhesive pads from his chest and pulled his shirt back on over his head while the nurse coiled the wires and replaced them on the nearby machines. Jeremy signed the necessary paperwork, and the four of us strolled out to our car about an hour and a half after we had arrived.

Throughout the rest of the evening, he clutched at his heart in assumed pain whenever he needed to do any Liberty carrying. Although, he did make a nice supper for us once we got home. :-)

Jeremy and I are now officially grown-up.

"Oh, because you have become parents?" you guess.

"No." I respond.

"Because you feel old now?"

"No," I respond.

"Did you find a grey hair this morning?" you smile knowingly.

"No," I respond and cast a dirty look in your direction. "Enough of this nonsense! I will explain."

Valentine's Day, I was sitting busily at my desk, minding my own business (and Craig's), when I heard the bells jingle on the front door. I rose to greet the newcomer, and behold, it was my handsome prince, Jeremy!

He strolled towards me with a grin on his face and one hand behind his back. "Surprise! Happy Valentine's Day!" After greeting him with a kiss, I walked around him and found beautiful roses in a gorgeous vase. Now to all of you who are yawning over the roses cliche, let me tell you, Jeremy is NEVER boring. He has never bought the usual roses. This time, he had a trio, one vibrant red, one medium pink and one slightest blush, combined with baby's breath and baby ferns (that always remind me of dill) in a painted vase that started at vibrant red and slowly faded to slightest blush, criss-crossed with silver and interspersed with hearts. Beautiful!

Thinking he had stopped by on his way to work, I attempted to distract him from leaving by bringing him into my office and sitting on his lap. (Don't worry, no one else was around.) Surprisingly, he did not seem in a hurry to leave, and when I realized he would soon be late for work, I urged him to hurry. He just grinned and informed me that he had TAKEN OFF WORK to celebrate V-day with me!!!!! Wow! He planned to take me to Olive Garden, which is an hour away from our house, so we made arrangements for Kimmie to babysit Libby, and we left.

And here's the part where I discovered we were grown-up. Instead of heading straight to the restaurant, we drove to Lowe's. On Valentine's Day.

Now, you must understand, visiting a home improvement store has been a long-standing tradition of my parent's whenever they go on a date. They go out to eat, or they go Christmas shopping, or they drive around town, and they always finish the night off by strolling through Lowe's or Menard's. The attraction? I have never known. But here Jeremy and I were on Valentine's Day, strolling hand-in-hand down the aisles looking for a snow shovel.

Ah, romance is not dead! :-)

One more reason that I love Jeremy: He does all of the counting at our house! Hee-hee!