I started this post a week ago...

It's quiet right now.

Munch is asleep in her swing and there is Banana Bread is baking.

Banana Bread, incidentally, is not a pet name for my cat or anything. It's actual banana bread. I felt that I should clarify, since I make a habit of calling my daughter various food items. I'm pretty sure she things her name is Sweet Potato Pie. Poor thing will get quite a shock next Thanksgiving.

I love my life. I really do. But occasionally I look at my life and the quiet domesticity of it all, and can't help but compare it to that of my peers.

When most of my fellow '05 grads were graduating with their BA's, I was walking down the aisle.

When they began starting careers, I started trying to conceive and became a mother.

I never had the experience of going away to college. I never had that in between stage somewhere between teenager and full-blown adulthood.

That was initially a complete disappointment, by the way. In the fall before college, I was geared up to apply to Liberty University in Virginia. I had plans of scarves and hot coffee and football games in the fall, living in a dorm, being on my own, albeit slightly hidden in the safety of being at school. Not quite the same as the real world, I hear.

Anyway

I was all set to go, right up until my mother broke the news that it simply wasn't affordable. I didn't qualify for Bright Futures, and while I had a few scholarships, they weren't going to cover four years at a private university. That might have been surmountable, but then my father was deployed, leaving my mother, sister and I behind, and leaving me with a great sense of responsibility to them. Moving to Virginia just wasn't in the cards.

So I went to the local community college, got a job and started life. Met my husband. Nagged him into marrying me. Finally go my AA. Had a baby. Not the way I expected it to go. Not the way the lives of so many friends went.

I sometimes

You don't get to know what I sometimes, because at this point, Munch woke up and nursed, then proceeded to giggle and play and be all-around charming until I snapped out of wishing for anything but the life I've been given. Because really, how could you not love this:

Measuring a Year

Four years ago, I saw this guy across the room in my new Chorale class. Isn't he phenomenal looking?

He was wearing a Jesus T-shirt and cussing up a storm. "Cute" I thought "Very cute. But nope". I don't often get prophetic on you, but right as I wrote him off, a tiny voice inside said "Look again. That's him". So I did. And I looked a little too long. I think he though I was a creeper. He started to draw close to God over that summer, and by the next October, we were dating. On May 1 of 2008, we were engaged, and on May 16th of 2009:

I love him more and more, deeper and different, every day.

Happy Anniversary, Paul!

Apology

It's very upsetting when you are angry at someone for very good reasons, and you have thought all day about what you will say to them when you next see them about how terrible they are and how long-suffering you have been, and then they show up at your work with the words "I'm sorry, I was being dumb. I love you so much"



Because then you're the jerk.



But really, how can you stay mad when you have something this darn attractive apologising:
Love you, my love. Forever and ever.

Domestic Worry

My sweet husband, who is equal parts patient, kind, strong and a veritable laugh riot, has an MRI this Wednesday.

They are checking for a tumor. Or an Alien invader, which, after reading The Host, doesn't seem that unlikely to me.

When he mentioned the word tumor, I burst into immediate tears, causing B, who is nine months old and does most of the crying around these parts, to stare at me like I'd lost my mind. He followed the "T" word with the word Benign, which, admittedly, he should have led with, but c'est la vie.

According to the doctor, my husband has either a benign tumor pressing on his inner ear, or Menier's Disease. Menier's, however, is a rather horrifying way to live life, has no cure, and would eventually rob my musician husband of his hearing in the affected ear. A tumor in that particular area is relatively easy to remove and would leave few lasting affects.

At the moment, and with the above info in mind, we're quietly chanting "Come on, Tumor!"

I have peace at the moment, after much prayer throughout the whole of last week and this weekend. I know that whatever the outcome, God will take care of us, as he always has. I also know that my God is a god of miracles, and I would be lying if I said I wasn't praying for one.

If you are my reader, and you pray, please do. I'm unsure what to ask you to pray for. A tumor? Healing? A miracle?

My mother, I think, put it the best when she said "We'll pray that he will be well"

I couldn't have said it better, I think.

Guilt

I may be the worst wife ever.

Tomorrow is my Paul's birthday. He'll be 24. YAY him.

I do not have a present, a card, or anything resembling a cake. I'm a procrastinator, and now I am less than 24 hours from my sweet husbands birthday with no birthday accoutrements. Apparently I will be hitting up the mall after work.

The End