8 days…

For all 4 of you devoted subscribers out there, this will probably be my last post for awhile. Tomorrow, at the ass-crack of dawn, I’ll be driven to Vancouver so I can say goodbye to my man, get on a plane, run around like a headless chicken…and a week later, say “I do” to that same man.

The end is in sight. I can almost taste it. (For anyone out there planning a wedding, I would hesitate to recommend planning a destination wedding. Unless you already have key agents set up at your destination [and frankly, all over the dang country] who are ready to make “Mission Wedding” a reality.)
It feels like just yesterday, I was sitting at my sister-in-heart’s kitchen table, listening to 4 lady hens clucking away while they furiously wrote notes and asked questions. I remember grabbing Steve’s hand and thinking, “Nine weeks. Are we crazy? Can we actually pull this off?”

I shouldn’t have worried.

Now that it’s time to go, I am excited. I am sleepless. I am reflective. I am broke.
I am crying over just about anything.
A song, a kind gesture, weddings on TV, helping Steve put on his wedding suit to make sure everything fits (he looks damn good, by the way!), seeing the look in his eye and feeling his lips upon my face whenever we talk about the future.

So many feelings. And with those, comes fear.

I already know that the day itself is not going to be perfect, and that’s okay. I already know that our marriage is going to have tough times, and I’m willing to face that. I’ve already been dealing with those fears for the past number of weeks.

This time, it’s something infinitely more simple.

The tears.

I’m afraid that this trend of crying over anything is going to carry over into the entire week that I’m home, finishing up last minute plans, making memories with my family and friends, and finally, the high-heeled walk down that grassy aisle. I’m afraid that I’m going to lose control and be a bawl-bag to the point where everyone’s debating, “Kay, she’s…happy… right? Cause right now her face is just such a road map of a bleeding clown that I can’t really tell. This is awkward. ”

So what do I do? I’ve been tempted to shut down a bit, make things less emotional, therefore less uncomfortable.

Except I can’t. I did that once before, when I  heard the news that all of my paperwork was done and I could legally live in Canada and finally start a life. I allowed myself 5 seconds of sobbing, and then I listened to that inward voice that said, “STOP THIS. You are making a scene.”

I’ve regretted it ever since. I’ve never been able to go back to that moment and really feel that embrace of absolute victory and freedom. It’s gone.

I don’t want the same to be said for my wedding day. I have decided that I am going to go, and I am going to FEEL THE CRAP out of this next week and if that makes you uncomfortable, then don’t be there. I don’t need you to rain on my…wait…rain? Un-rain? Cause I’ll be doing the…anyways…

This is the week I’ve been waiting for my entire life, and I’m going to enjoy it, even if I need to invest a stock in Kleenex and garbage bags and hand sanitizer.
Oh, and *newsflash*, Steve’s a bit of a weeper as well, so yeah. Hug us, love us, take pictures of us, be happy for us. Cause life’s too short to not feel, to not be present and alive for every single moment.

Cheers [and tears] to freakin weekend! :-*

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18 days…

For the last month now, a certain ring has occupied my left hand. When we first started out, I was paranoid. I didn’t want to wear it eating, sleeping, showering, anything. Now that we’re adjusted, standards are a little more relaxed – although, I have worried that the main diamond would fall out when I wasn’t looking, to the point that I even had a dream about it.

I love this ring. Sometimes two minutes will go by before I realize that I’ve been staring at it, trying to decide just how many colours and angles are actually in that puppy. And I think I’ve made it pretty sickeningly clear that I love the man who gave it to me.

I thought that in the past 6 months, I’d learned everything there was to know about him.

And now it’s clear that I was wrong , at some developmentally strategic point in my life, kicked in the head.

A few days ago, it was Sunday. It had been a long week, and we were tired. With the Labor Day long weekend in our midst, the only kind of labor we wanted to accomplish was the Koopa-killing kind in the land of all things Mario.

But of course, the phone rang.

Apparently, later that night at Bogy’s Pub, there was an open jam occurring; one of Steve’s co-workers wanted to show off his “killer David Lee Roth impression” and wanted Steve to come lay down some Van Halen tunes with him. We had a few hours to debate whether this would be a worthy effort – Steven wasn’t feeling all that well, but it had been a long time since he’d had the chance to play his favourite music in a public venue.

Now, if you don’t know this about me, I strongly believe in the power of being a supportive spouse, or just person in general, especially if you’re spurring them on towards their best. But here, I was stuck. I knew that Steve needed rest, but I also knew that this was an opportunity to do something he loved. For the first few hours, I kept my mouth shut — which I have also learned is a valuable trait in a spouse, bee-tee-DOUBLE-you.

I could tell a really long story about how we packed up all the gear (that’s 2 Van Halen guitars, pedals, cords, guitar stand and a frackin heavy 5150 amp) and unpacked all the gear twice because Steve was really nervous and changed his mind, but I won’t. All I know is that I decided that now was the time to gently nudge my darling into Nike-ing up and just doing it.

Then he did. And my face fell off.

Don’t get me wrong. To know Steve is to know that he is passionate about playing the guitar and especially about playing Van Halen.

But this…I watched him come alive. I couldn’t stop grinning from ear to ear as I watched his nervousness melt away through his fingers and out into the night. His knees bent and swayed with each riff; the notes I heard were played so fast, I hardly saw them being made. I overheard comment after comment about the fantasticness of “Wolfgang Steven Van Halen.”
The rest of the band was great, but he was the only one I saw. I’ll be honest, I’ve never been much of a groupie for ANY musician, but I’d follow him anywhere – and in 2 1/2 weeks, he’s gonna be coming home with ME every night.

Eat’cha haht owt, cougaz.

And what makes me love him even more is the fact that he never let it get to his head. He’s just doing what he loves and it’ll never become anything more than that.
He’s still human, he still gets nervous, he still runs into my arms and prays that he’s good enough for me. He doesn’t see that he’s as much a diamond as the one on my finger. So colourful, mysteriously faceted and priceless in every way.

I look forward to learning more of who he is as each day passes. And I know I’ll get the chance to, cause this is one diamond I’m not going to fall out of my grasp easily.

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