Wednesday, December 25, 2013

What You Choose.

The Deputy worked this Thanksgiving, which meant I woke up on November 28th while he crawled into bed. I got dressed, kissed his groggy face good-bye, then went to my parents' house for Thanksgiving. That night I drove home while he drove into work. Then I crawled into bed and slept while he was involved in a high speed, 3 county chase which included a 19 year old hostage, a stolen police car and the end of a man's life.

I watched the camera footage from The Deputy's camera last night. Out of curiosity, I also got on Facebook to see the young man's newsfeed. I continued to watch the footage. I watched as he drove sporadically into the oncoming traffic lanes at speeds over 100 mph, I watched as he fired shots at my husband. I scrolled down his FB newsfeed to see where his friends left messages of condolence, saying how much they will miss him. Back to the footage, I listened as the hostage got onto the radio and told the officers that if they didn't back off, she was going to be killed. I listened as other officers calmly responded, asking the man to pull over. I heard her voice again, crying and begging for her life. His FB friends congratulated his actions, asked him how it felt to finally be in the front of the cruiser, rather than the back. On a screen in front me, the chase continued. His FB lauded his behavior, calling him an "angel" a "rockstar", told him he "went out in a blaze of glory". More chasing, more crying, more negotiating, more shots. I watched my husband continue to follow, calling out speed and location. The girl's voice gets more frantic each time she radios in. I heard the panic in her voice and think to myself, This is real life. Nothing scripted. She honestly believes she is going to die tonight... It made me sick. 

On the footage, I heard my husband praying. I turned to him and asked, "What did you say?" I thought maybe he was praying for an end, for the safety of the officers, for his own safety even. He kept watching the video and said, "I was praying for her." 

More FB comments about "the po-po". More praises for the man's behavior, more sadness for the loss of another "little gangsta" and "great person to smoke with". 

While this man made horrible life choices, hijacked a police cruiser, held a gun to a young girl's head and fired shots at officers, my husband prayed. 

I'm not as big of a person as I'd like to be. I'll admit, I find it hard to have understanding for the friends and families of those like the man in this scenario. I find it hard to feel compassion for those attending his memorial service. I find it hard to believe any of those "supporters" would be saddened if he had done what he intended and taken the life of a girl with a single bullet to her brain. I find it even harder to believe they would have felt compassion for those of us who would have spent Black Friday identifying the bodies of our LEO's, had his shots been more accurate. 

With every thug, low life, "gangsta" wannabe, punk The Deputy encounters, I feel a little bit of hardness creeping into my heart. At first, I thought it was a good thing, that I was becoming strong. But instead of feeling strength I just taste a cold bitterness in my words and see a cynicism in my viewpoint. 

Even now, writing this, my blood feels hot and I want to lash out at anyone who posts comments on the news articles about the incident with ignorant opinions that the man should have been offered rehab instead and that "LEOs always get a free ride". But then I remember that in the very moment of crisis, while The Deputy chased one of his own vehicles, while he played out scenarios in his head to be prepared for any outcome, while bullets came at him, while a girl's voice came on the radio in fear, he chose not to follow the path that would make him no better than the degenerate he sped after. Instead, he chose prayer.

If he-who doesn't see news happen from a television but who has to live it out-can find the strength to trust in the God who gets him home safely every morning, who protects him in the line of fire, who keeps the demons from haunting his memories then who am I to do no different, as the person who merely has to watch it happen from behind the lens of a camera? 

 I write this simply to get it out of my head. This holiday season has already taken multiple lives of police officers. Who comforts their families when they wake up each day with an aching emptiness? Who blasts the social media and news outlets in their defense? Who actually stops humanizing blatant criminals long enough to realize that an actual human heart is beating under every badge? 

In the same manner society chooses to feel sorry for those who choose to throw their lives away and end up as nothing more than a mug shot, I will always choose life. I will always choose to support the good that exists in our LEOs across the country, even when the media attacks like a wolf, leading sheeple by the masses to believe all LEOs are bad, based off the behavior of a few. I will always choose the man on the video who chooses to pray rather than hurt. 

 And like the example he shows, I will not allow bitterness into my home. Where he leaves it, I will too. Where he chooses love and life, I will match him. And together, above all else we will choose to pray.

Monday, November 25, 2013

Thankful.

So I decided to give in and admit that Thanksgiving is this week-NOT Christmas. Even if I tried to skip right over and start Christmas on November 1st, it's not happening. To get to Christmas one MUST go through Thanksgiving. 
(I made a fall wreath, can I have Christmas now?)
 

Do I hate Thanksgiving? Not at all. I love food. And I love to have an excuse to eat a copious amount of it. But does Thanksgiving warm my heart the way Christmas does? Do twinkle lights get wrapped around light posts? Do visions of sugarplums dance around my head when I sleep? No, no and no. But since I cannot fast-forward to December 25th, I'll be a grown up and just embrace life as is. Which means posting a cheesy blog about what I'm thankful for. 

I'm going to keep this LEOW related, because who doesn't appreciate a police-wife-blogger who actually does what she says and posts things that are police-wife-related? 
 
What I'm Thankful for in my LEOW Life: 

1. Having someone around to teach me how to use a gun. It never really occurred to me before to learn how to use one, but it sure is nice to wake up one morning thinking, "I want to learn how to shoot a rifle" and know that I can actually do that.

2. Having someone who will make me learn how to do the above task correctly. Is there any bigger waste of time than learning how to shoot a gun improperly? Ain't no purpose learning to pull the trigger if you don't know how to aim it. Just ain't. (I really felt the urge to be extra annoying there).

3. Being able to walk around downtown and just enjoy the downtown-ness of it all. Why? Because I married my body guard. He plays, "Let's Spot a Felon" whilst I point out the various buildings I like, places I've been to, horses pulling buggies, the street vendor selling some tacky tourist item that I swear we need to buy, fancy restaurants we should make note of to eat at on our next whatever, the hotels lit at night, you get my point. I love downtown. He lets me love it. 

4. I get to live with a human GPS. The man seriously knows any back road to any major road and knows back roads to the back roads. He knows where we are ALL. THE. TIME.

5. That moment EVERY time I wake up and he's next to me in bed. Just means he made it through another night safely.

6. I get to do random things I probably wouldn't otherwise, like "meet" the K9 unit. Which consisted of me giving lots of loves and then watching them train. (Why don't we have a police dog yet?!) 

7. I have a little nagging voice in my head that I hear when driving: Know what street you're on, know which direction you're heading, know the address of the building, look around you. Which could easily be annoying, except it gives me this weird sense of being in control of circumstances....even if it's only a little bit.

8. I get to buy adorable things like this:

 

(Even I, the Christmas decoration dictator, allowed
some wiggle room to fit this adorable ornament into our d├ęcor)
(Future LEObaby totes owns these kicks already!
I couldn't pass them up...)
 
(One day, future LEObaby will have the sweetest ride on the block!)
 
All in all, I'm blessed with the amazing husband God has given me and I couldn't be happier LEOW. Even when things get hard, I can always look around and know that I've been given more in life than I'll ever deserve.
 
Happy Thanksgiving everyone!
For those LEOWs who will be with their LEOs: Enjoy! For those of us who's LEOs work that day/night, I hope everyone stays safe!
 
 

Thursday, November 14, 2013

Foodless.

I have a serious case of blogger-inadequacy this morning.

Every where I look, someone has managed to not only make something delicious to feed themselves (and probably their children and husbands) with but also has a seriously professional picture to catalog it's existence before it became a distant memory that you had to recline in your chair to make enough room in your stomach for, then call out for someone to bring you a heat lamp to help aid in your digestion. (Does everyone not eat like I do?) 

True story: I had to use a DICTIONARY to look up the spelling of a word and I have a serious run on sentence looming above everyone right now. I'm a mess today. 

But what do you expect from me? In Blogging Land (yes, it's real) I'm basically a court jester. Entertaining, probably wearing a hat with bells on it, jingling about the castle. (I'll admit, my knowledge about medieval times is almost non-existent. So my facts are probably skewed or completely imaginary). You can find me on any given day, laughing at my own jokes and talking to myself. (You know this, you've read the previous posts). 

In any case I won't be posting pictures of the meals I whipped up out of leftovers, I won't be sharing recipes of 'from-scratch' breads or showcasing jams I made from the garden I planted in the bathroom sink. 

Instead, I should start blogging "What I Didn't Make for Dinner". It would feature pictures of empty plates: "This is the plate I didn't use when I ate green olives out of the jar last night". I could show a picture of the empty crockpot: "Mmmm...this is what I didn't smell when I came home from work because I forgot The Deputy had SWAT today (instead of his usual work schedule) and that I would even need a meal later! Delicious." It could instead feature restaurant menus, movie theater popcorn bags, pizza boxes, leftovers in my fridge from OTHER people's cooking. I'm the lady with a thousand recipes saved on her phone, who still has no idea what to make when she gets home. 

Am I over dramatizing again? Absolutely not. But you get my point. My blog is a lone ranger. Where are the bloggers who don't make 4-course meals for dinner every night? Where are the bloggers who don't find the thrill in spending hours in the kitchen prepping? Where are the bloggers who actually enjoy ordering pizza, who don't actually know what most of the spices on the rack are for, who don't know how to do anything with a pumpkin beyond carving it and roasting the seeds? 

I need you. 

I also need some temporary redemption.

Here's the one thing I love to do in the kitchen:

Gentleman Cupcakes for The Nephew's Dedication

Wedding Shower cookies for our wedding last summer...

Valentine Cupcakes!

Cars cupakes for The Nephew's 2nd Birthday

Birthday cookies for a friend...
'Thank You' cupcakes for some awesome people...


So the kitchen isn't completely foreign to me. But on the blogging scale, I might as well be huddled in a corner, while my potatoes boil over and the fried chicken re-fries itself, talking to my hand.

Wednesday, November 6, 2013

I hear ya.

Today my post will be a little less LEOW and a little more W. Plain and simple. 

I tend to give more information than needed and get too personal, so I'll try to scale back and keep this as neutral as possible. Which is saying alot for the girl who sometimes feels the best converstaion starter begins with intimate details about her last underwear mishap. Who doesn't enjoy a good, "....and then I realized I wasn't wearing any!" story?! Exactly. 

My marriage thought for the week has been about giving. And not because I'm paying attention to life enough to realize this is November, the month of giving. It's actually due to a related article that's been floating around on my Facebook newsfeed. I read it, thought, "That's nice", closed the browser and went back to--surfing Pinterest for DIY holiday projects, DIY shoe repair and basically any other DIYing you can imagine that I -PROMISE- to do as soon as I get home, then realize I'm too tired and lazy to actually do it--working. I read the article then got back to work

But the article stuck with me like a popcorn kernel in my wisdom tooth. Just sat there, resurfacing every so often when I'm distracted, irritating my gumline. Only instead of picking this article out of my mind with a folded sticky note, I just thought about it. 

I thought about what it actually means to be married to someone for the sake of making them happy. Not that you don't love them or ever get anything in return, but that "what's in it for me?" shouldn't be your motivation behind getting married. 

The article suggested that in marriage your focus should be on making the other person happy, even at the cost of your own happiness. (Ideally, two selfless people would spend their energy making each other happy so it's win-win. I don't think the article was implying that we should submit ourselves to abuse and control. Just throwing that out there.) It sounded easy enough-spend more time making sure The Deputy feels loved and happy. 

Then it hit me. What makes him happy? I don't mean in the grand scheme of life-his dreams, goals, plans, etc.-I mean on a day to day basis. I know what he wants: love, respect, respect, RESPECT, kindness. But do I always know how to show him that? 

{ You see where I'm going with this?}

That's right. Love Languages

I can't be a selfless partner if I don't know something that's NOT about myself. I know how to speak love to myself. I know how to speak those love languages to him. But do I know how to speak HIS language? 

So that's what I plan on learning, with the help of Gary Chapman's "5 Love Languages" quiz! Who doesn't love a good quiz (or pop-quiz for The Deputy). It's always fun to learn something new and even better if that knowledge is actually going to better your life. Unlike learning 'arrow math', that 3 hour documentary I watched about squid and all those hours I spent at pre-teen sleepovers perfecting my lip singing skills. Okay, I did that alone. And well into my teen and adult years. 

Anyways. 

I just wanted to put some love out there out there today. Let it sit in your brain for awhile, irriate your thoughts...you never know what you'll end up with. 

 It looks like I have homework to do tonight. And do you know what's harder than trying to study MacroEconomics with the TV on? Getting The Deputy to take a mushy feelings quiz. 

 Wish me luck!

Friday, October 25, 2013

What's done is done.



Like I mentioned before, The Kitchen Nightmare Remodel is finally done!

I absolutely love our new kitchen, it's warm, new and best of all doesn't have floors that need to be swept and mopped EVERY.SINGLE.DAY. 

Not that I did that with the old floors, but they NEEDED it. I should have done that daily. But I didn't. 

Now we have amazing, travertine stone floors that let me a normal human being! Which I translate into meaning 'someone who only has to mop the floors when either: (A) They LOOK dirty (which in my opinion will be never! Just kidding) or (B) when you can no longer walk barefoot around the kitchen without having to wipe your feet on something'. Gross, I know.



Anyways, it's great having a kitchen that actually looks clean once you've cleaned it! Imagine that.

Before/After #1

Before/After #2 (the before pictures are from way back when The Deputy first bought the house. We did have appliances in before the remodel)




Ta-da!

The end.

Thursday, October 17, 2013

Happy October!

There are very few things in life I get extra happy about. That's a lie. There are actually very few things in life I don't get EXTRA happy about. I believe in big emotions, whenever possible. If you're not going to be over the top, singing with the radio, doing a jig around the kitchen happy about something then what's the point?

The Deputy calls this emotion "Amanda Happy/Excited". If you had to put your feelings on scale of one to whatever, in our house, that scale is one to "Amanda Happy". The Deputy usually levels off somewhere around a 2-3 for EVERYTHING. He doesn't find life as entertaining as I do. Well, he just chooses not to express all of his feelings in the form of an interpretive dance or poetry slam. Which he should. I'd pay good money (HIS money, of course, I wouldn't spend my money on a poetry slam) to see that! 

I say all of that to say how happy I am that it's October! AMANDA-HAPPY! We're close to the holidays, surrounded by pumpkins and everyone's desk at work has a candy bowl on it. Minus mine. Two reasons: 1. I'm too cheap to buy candy for other adults who can afford to buy their own candy and 2. I'd eat it ALL before anyone even saw it. But luckily I'm not too ashamed to bum candy off of OTHER people! It's like trick-or-treating all day long around that place. That makes my heart happy. (Probably also makes my heart have to work harder and inches me closer and closer to cardiac arrest, but it's just once a year, right?) 

My fall holiday-kick-off-month has yet to include any actual holiday celebrating though. Not including the wreath making and the ritual of putting up our five piddly fall decorations in the house. 

But I did get to settle a score with THIS GUY at the range the other day. 


I'd say that's pretty festive. Right?


If my childhood memory serves me right (and it always does), I say it counts.

Anyways--I'm looking forward to year #2 of married holidays with The Deputy (and about a million more after that!). With any luck we'll be carving pumpkins, eating candy and watching Elf by the end of the week! Because it's never too early to start watching THAT:


Or maybe it's because watching Buddy the Elf reminds me alot of someone I know........a friend

Wednesday, October 2, 2013

Faithful.

It feels like forever since I've posted, but I realize that I may be running out of entertaining LEOW anecdotes. Or that they've instead become "regular life" for me. 

Either way, I haven't been on here in awhile, but I'm back! 

The Remodel is finally finished! And by "finished", I mean we're still missing one cabinet that was on rush order and the toe kicks underneath. 

It's always fun to meet new people and learn what their individual phrases mean. For instance, I used to refer to ALL soft drinks as Coke. I never realized this until spending time in a new place (where everyone calls it 'soda') and I got ridiculed for answering the question, "Will you grab me a Coke?" with, "Sure, what kind?" Not to mention being called a Yankee when using the phrase "You guys", a Valley girl when saying "like" and not understanding when people call something 'wicked' to mean good. (Military brats just can't catch a break!) 

Anyways, you get my point. People from different places say different things. (Army kids just have a general 'crazy-speak'). 

I encountered this again recently with the term "rush order". For me, RUSHING an order is something you do when you when you want to do something speedily. Fast. Right away. Lightening quick. For Home Depot, however, 'rush order'=Big, fat lie. Rush order=oops, we forgot either: 

A) place the order as "Urgent" 
B) Call you when the order arrives 
C)Place the order all together, or 
D) All of the above. 

(That's right, I used your real name)

Did I need to go into an exhaustively long, exaggerative narrative just to say they took 6 weeks to rush order a cabinet? Probably not. But seriously, the rush order took longer than our initial special order cabinets! 

All in all, we have a completely functional kitchen so this LEOW is a happy camper. 

Not much else is happening in the LEO realm at the moment. On a random note, I did find it interesting that the more I become connected with other LEOWs, the less I want to be connected with other LEOWs. 

This isn't to say ALL--because I've met some really great LEOWs at recent work functions! It's just a matter of time before we're painting our nails, wearing PJs and singing into our hairbrushes. 

But for the rest? I'm not sure if I have the energy to keep up with the cattiness, the competition of whose first responder husband is better (it's mine, by the way) and who can post the MOST depressing story on Facebook. It's bad enough that we live in a world where monogomy is "weird", affairs are celebrated or ignored, at the very least, and that all of us LEOWs live with insane work schedules and jobs that we've taken in like a third spouse. 

And I promise I live in the rational world long enough to realize that some people have faced/are facing some very serious issues and very shaky marriages. I don't make light of their situation(s). But to imply that ALL LEO husbands are just like yours is ridiculous. 

At the end of the day Law Enforcement is a job. That's it. At the very grassroot level of it all, it's something our husbands do. We all know it's more than that to them, but it's not something they were born as, it's not in their genetics. Each man behind the badge is a unique human being--with his own strengths and weaknesses. It's sad to see so many wives lashing out in pain and so many other wives latching onto them for sympathy or acceptance. It doesn't make sense. 

So I said "Thanks, but no thanks" to some LEOW organizations and closed that door. I can't control my life, I can't control The Deputy's life, but I can, at least, control what's being fed into my mind all day. I have the power to walk away. In all reality, I'd rather feel like the ONLY LEOW in the entire universe than to expose myself to constant negativity, whining and bickering just to have a few seconds of not feeling alone.

Thursday, August 29, 2013

Crazy Talk.

I try to be a man of my word. Yes, I'm a lady, so I can't technically ever achieve this status but I don't like the sound of "woman of my word". It's just weird.

That being said, when I say I'm going to do something, I try to follow through. And when I say I'm going to post something in my blog, you can bet your firstborn child that you're going to read it on here.

Last night, The Deputy and I were driving home from hanging out with the SWAT guys & wives/lady friends and I was chattering away like a rabid monkey....which I always do when it's late and I'm tired. At one point in the conversation I said, "I don't know how to feel about this!" (I was, of course, just being melodramatic for the sake of being melodramatic) The Deputy looked at me and said, "Well, why don't you blog about it..."

So I told him that I certainly WILL be blogging....about his rude behavior!

We LOLed and LOLed and I continued to be obnoxious (hence the usage of something annoying such as "LOLed") until I passed out in a Benadryl-induced coma. I may have woken up with my arms feeling like they were full of lead, but that was the best sleep I've had all week....

Thursday, August 1, 2013

The Remodel.

This is my new nightmare. 

 Forget the robbers, drug lords and Russian spies that used to torment me. Forget the cat (well, I could never actually forget The Cat) Forget any previous post where I lamented the loss of sleep due to some creepy crawly staring at me in the middle of the night. (For new readers, nothing creepy or crawly actually ever stared at me. Except the little light on the Roku). But you get my point. 

 My new nightmare is The Remodel.

 It haunts me at night in my sleep, on my way to work, during work, on my way home from work, in the shower....you see where I'm going with this. 

I used to daydream about kitchen cabinets with secret pull out shelves and organization drawers that would keep my life in perfect order. Now I find myself at work in a daze, debating the best method for washing a large amount of dishes: in the tub or on the porch? I mean, water is water right? But if I wash the dishes outside, I'd have to dry them immediately and bring them in. But I could wash quickly! But if I wash in the tub, I can just let them hang out for awhile then pack them in the office to bring down once the kitchen is complete.

First world problems? You bet. Do I fear being judged for this? Not even a little bit.  

For my mockers, I simply say, look at this

 For the unsympathetic I have this

And for the entire world who knows I'm probably being a little bit dramatic I say, you're right. Here's what the kitchen actually looks like right now: 


Not too bad, I'll admit. The clutter is gone and we basically have an empty room. 

The Deputy has pretty much done everything on his own at this point. I say "pretty much" because I remember being a huge help and busting out my Hulk muscles when we tore those cabinets out. (That's EXACTLY what I REMEMBER. Don't verify these facts with him). 

And because he loves me so much, he hung the white board calendar back on it's wall already! That boy really knows how to get to my heart. 

So everything at this point is rosy, we're just waiting for the cabinets to arrive. Which I stopped believing. Rick (you know who you are!) is on my list with all the other things I stopped believing in when I was in Kindergarten. He and Santa can hold hands and frolic around in the land of non-belief. I say we just live with our new Phantom Cabinets, leave all the dishes in the dining room, eat on the concrete floor and call it a day. 

 The other day, The Deputy and I were watching TV, he looked around at the piles of stuff everywhere, the current fridge in the entry way, the new fridge in the dining room, etc. etc. etc. and said, "It looks like we live in an episode of Hoarders!" And I wept. On the inside, of course, because it's TRUE. 

No amount of sweeping, Swiffering and rolling up carpets is going to help. The same is true for all of my drama. Will this stop me? NO SUCH LUCK! (No, I didn't need to use all caps-but I wanted people to read it the way I would say it-in a loud voice, shaking a fist) 

 "The new kitchen will be worth it!" they said. "It'll be finished soon!" they said. "Your cabinets will arrive!" they said (whilst laughing, leaning back in a swivel chair and petting a furry, white cat). 

 And yet here I am, up to my knees in dust, sweeping away my hopes and dreams. 

 Actually--I'm at work, pretending to be doing something productive and double checking my face to make sure I'm not acting out this monologue while I type it out. I've been told I don't have a Poker Face. Which is believable, since I don't play Poker. But I was also once promised to recieve cabinets and we all know how that turned out, so I don't really know what to believe any more.

Friday, July 5, 2013

Work Weekend

It's "Work Weekend" for The Deputy! What do all you LEOW wives have planned this weekend? Since I'm alone (not technically, literally, officially or any other exaggeration I use) my weekend plans are: Baby showering it up for the sister and cleaning my house.

Well, the baby shower part is true.

I'm not going to lie, a friend posted a video on Facebook today of her baby and I clicked on it with the sole intent of seeing how clean her house was. I only felt slightly ashamed when the baby started walking (the purpose of the video) and I said, "Yes!" when she passed a pile of laundry and then a bag of trash. She ended her walk by a messy bed and my heart filled with happiness like a little child at a birthday party. Or maybe it shrank and turned into a little, hard, Grinch heart. I couldn't tell at the time.

I didn't write this post to confess that I'm bad at keeping the house "nice", because really, we don't live in a landfill. Far from it. But between working, wifing (thats right, just made up a word!), making up words and a million other things to take care of, I'm just proud of myself for managing to start the weekend with groceries in the fridge and a load of knickers in the dryer!

Happy Friday everyone, let's make up accomplishments and celebrate them! :)

PS: To all of those LEO's on shift this weekend (or just tonight) have a safe night, hurry home to the loves!

Tuesday, July 2, 2013

Sleep? What's that?

It's no secret that I sleep like a crazy person when The Deputy is on shift. It's also no secret that my cat is fully aware of this and enjoys using this to her advantage in the wee hours of the morning. I've blogged extensively about The Cat. (I use the term "wee hours" to describe 11:45 at night, just so you know. Incorrect, but let's face it, I don't know what the "wee hours" of the morning actually look like. And I use the term "extensively" here to describe once.)

Before marriage I would randomly wake up in the middle of the night looking out of my window (checking for robbers, rapists and chupacabras, naturally) and being convinced that the smoke detectors turned into spy cameras once I fell asleep. It was like the Toy Story from hell for me. Instead of things coming to life to act out adventures whilst I slept, they would come to live to kill me.

After marriage, the crazy sleeping stopped! Just kidding.

However, we don't have a smoke detector in our room so that eliminated one of the tormentors. I still peek through the blinds on a nightly basis. But now I have a new night terror, my cat. And this is a fairly new one, she's taken the game to an extreme level.

Her plan: Befriend the lady human and cuddle with her every night in bed. Do this continually for about eleven months, make it a nightly routine. Then suddenly, out of nowhere, insist on sleeping on the window bench from now on. Move completely out of the human bed and let the lady human adjust to this new sleeping arrangement. A month later, start randomly jumping on top of lady human juuuust when she falls asleep, giving her a mini-stroke!

The plan is genius for two reasons:

1. The Cat knows I have insane sleeping patterns that are magnified when The Deputy is on shift. So it's really an easy score for her. (I hope she's proud of herself)

2. The Cat also knows that before I moved in, The Deputy discovered a stray cat (that's right, a strange, feral street cat) actually got into the house and stowed away there for a few days. I laughed at the time of the story, but now that I take residence in said house, it's no longer funny. The Cat, however, who originally thought the incident was horrendous, now thinks it's amusing to jump on my chest (again, the crazy sleep has already set in when she does this. I'm not in my right mind when these shenanigans occur) causing me to panic and think (actually, I mind-yell), "THAT'S NOT MY CAT!" and flip on a light. To discover her furry little face smiling at me. That's right, she smiles.

And then it's another ten rounds of "Ohmygosh what was that?!" before I can finally fall asleep again.


Tuesday, June 25, 2013

You know you're a LEOW...

So I haven't done one of these in awhile...but maybe that's because the LEOW things that used to seem odd to me have become my new "norm".

But either way, they're always fun to talk about and even more fun to put into a list!

You know you're married to a LEO:

1. When your kitchen "junk drawer" (ours is actually a junk box) is where you shove all the random badge holders, fake bullets and holsters you find ALL. OVER the kitchen.

2. When you finally have time off (at the same time) and you ask him what he feels like doing, you know he's going to say, "Want to go to the range?!" And he even uses his little kid Christmas voice to ask.

3. When you get these kinds of presents:

4. When you're genuinely excited about these kinds of presents.

5. When all of the t-shirts you steal from him to wear to bed have SWAT symbols on them.


6. When your version of a "not too bad" day at work involves me managing to pass the time without actually having to work and his version of "not too bad" means he only had three arrests, one missing goat and handful of beligerent drunks.
7. When you see a scorpion in the hall and call for help, he instantly appears with a weapon in hand. And let's be candid here, he wasn't even wearing pants at the time, so I'm still not entirely sure where it came from.

I'd round this up to an even "10" if I had a few more minutes, but I should probably get back to "work" at some point this morning.

Feel free to add your own "You know you're married to a LEO..." to this list!

Wednesday, May 15, 2013

Police Week Post!

It’s been 319 days since I married a deputy sheriff and 319 days that I’ve been learning to not only be a wife, but to be a L.E.O. wife. The game is different than I expected, the rules change constantly and unknowingly. What I expected out of marriage was routine, schedules, date nights and a well-dressed dinner table. What I found instead is a calendar on the kitchen wall that counts out exactly how many days we’ll be in different time zones, homemade freezer meals so we can at least sit down for a ten minute dinner before he leaves, and “dates” that sometimes turn into watching a movie because he’s just coming off a three day shift and has no energy for anything else.
I don’t pretend to know a lot about marriage. We still learn new things about each other constantly and we work hard to have a happy home. But what I do know now, that I didn’t know 319 days ago is this:
I know how to lock up the house before I go to sleep at night. I know that the trash isn’t always going to be taken out on time, so I lug it out on my way to work if it needs to be. I know how to carry in a carload of anything when he’s not home and how to do it quietly when he’s upstairs sleeping. I know not to call him for every small “emergency”. I know how to entertain myself. I know how to celebrate holidays days before or after. I know not to get attached to any specific schedule because it can change overnight. I know how to eat dinner alone while he rushes around getting ready because he overslept. I know how to go days at a time without having a real conversation with him, and to just make mental notes of everything I want to tell him later. I know how it feels to go to special events alone, how it feels to be the odd man out with other couples, how it feels to worry when he’s been called out on a SWAT mission and I know it will be hours before I get even a simple text message from him.
I know why his back hurts. I know why his knees hurt. I know why he sometimes just watches me from across the table while I have a one-sided conversation and he just nods along. I know why he slipped a gun into my nightstand. I know why he wants me to use it properly and refuses to believe I’m “weak”. I know how heavy his utility belt and bullet proof vest are from moving them out of the way and thinking out awful it must be to have those hanging from your chest and hips for 12 hours at a time. I know that a bullet casing will leave a burn in the shape of a ring on his skin. I know that a bruised bottom lip means he wrestled someone to the ground.
I know that two tours to the war overseas made him a hero, but wearing a badge here makes him a public enemy. I know people look at him and see an enforcer, a pair of handcuffs and a ticket book. But they don’t see the hours he puts in, away from his family. They don’t see the dog he rescued from the side of the road with quills in its nose. They don’t see the SWAT raid that he spent with a scared child, asking to see his Batman costume to distract him from the commotion. They don’t see the welfare checks he does to see how an elderly person is doing, that no one has heard from in days, because their own children are too busy to care. They don’t see the roll of stickers he carries in case he meets a kid. They don’t see the bags of candy he stashes away to hand out for the kids who come up to him in the poverty stricken neighborhoods. They don’t see the midnight hunt through the woods he took to find a man with dementia who wandered off. They don’t see the extra time he gives to participate in the D.A.R.E. gradations or the faces of the kids who light up when they see him come out at the ceremony. They don’t see the practice he puts in to perfect an Honor Guard team to pay a proper respect at a memorial service. They don’t see how much it hurts him to hear the last call over the radio at a funeral for one of their own fallen officers.
I know that he’s always a law enforcement officer, even without the badge. I know that he is always looking over one shoulder. I know why he’s not easily upset. I know why he’s late coming home, why I’m driving somewhere alone, why he can’t be there every time I’m sick. I know what it’s like to be fiercely loved by someone who knows how short life is. I know what it’s like to have a husband with integrity. I know why he thinks before he speaks, why he doesn’t lose his temper and why he makes me feel safe. I know why we pray before he gets into his patrol car at night and why he holds me tight in the morning. I know that this life is nothing I expected, but is exactly where I’m supposed to be. I know I wouldn’t trade this life for anything.

Monday, May 13, 2013

National Police Week 2013

So it's National Police Week and guess who's excited? This lady! (If you could see me right now, I'd be pointing at myself and winking)

Anyways, there's not too much going on for it over on this end of the world, but I didn't find that out until the middle of last week so I guess I'll have to wait until next year. Boooo.

I did take my nephew to a Kops & Kids Safety Picnic this weekend and we loved it! Well, I loved it more, but he's 2 so he didn't really know what we were doing there. I'm planning on taking some snacks and drinks over to the office for my husband's shift this week and I made a wreath. Who doesn't love a good wreath?!



And Gigi's Cupcakes in San Antonio was ever so cool and made us these adorable cupcakes to display/sell during the week...(thanks again for actually reading my nagging emails!)



I do follow the events of the National Police Week going on in D.C. and they seem to have it together! I've been feeling a mix of emotions this past weekend coming up on NPW. It's a time to honor those lives lost in the line of duty and to show a little extra love and support for those still living through it. My heart is heavy for those wives, husbands, children and parents surviving the loss of their loved ones and yet I'm extremely proud of all of our LEOs for the sacrifices they make daily and the integrity they live with.

Take some time to thank a police officer this week, remember the ones gone on before us and love the ones we still get hold.

Friday, May 3, 2013

The noises.

I have a cat.

Well, I inherited a cat through marriage. She's pretty cool, we've become decent friends over the past few years since I first met her. She used to just glare at me from a corner and push her way in between The Deputy and I, but now, she seems to like me. She likes to sleep on the inside of the "C" my body makes when I sleep and will jump up on the ottoman to steal loves from me when I bend down to put on my shoes. You know. The whole head "boop" thing.
I didn't think it would be possible to become attached to a cat that you didn't have from kittenhood. Because let's face it. Cats are rude. The only reason anyone actually loves their cat (and I mean, grown adult, 78 in cat years, crankiness) is because they got them when they were teeny tiny, hopping, squeaky, yarn chasing fur balls. Little ankle biters.

But what I didn't anticipate about the LEO wife was the occasional lonliness. And what the cat didn't anticipate about me was the constant aroundness. Before I moved in, she basically was a cat that owned a four bedroom, two story house. The Deputy slept there a little during the day and then was either at work or was out galivanting around town with me.

So here we were, faced with a weird situation, just two girls thrown together by life. We've bonded over the past year. In a big house. With lots of creepy noises at night.

Which leads me to my original thought when I sat down to write this. If I had a dog, would I be able to actually get some sleep on The Deptuy's work nights?

I think so. Dogs go cray cray over that kind of stuff. You can hear a creak in the closet with a dog, and if he doesn't budge, you're fiiiiiiiine. You can hear someone running up the stairs. Is the dog still asleep? You're fine, it was probably the wind. Is that a man wearing a mask, trying to pry his way into my bedroom window?! Look for the dog. Is he still sleep chasing rabbits? Go back to bed.

But cats are drastically different. They like to play, "Let's see how fast I can scare the human at midnight!" by waking from a dead sleep, tail poofed up to the size of my leg, eyes wild, running a muck all over the house. Then of course, I'm awake, heart pounding wondering if that thump I heard was in my sleep. Did I dream that sound? Is that what woke me up? Is the cat running for her life as we speak? Is she sleep walking? Do cats sleep walk? Do cats see ghosts?! And then it's another two hours until I'm actually asleep again. You just can't trust a cat to save your life.

You see my problem.

Don't get me wrong, I don't camp out in a closet all night holding a gun and it's not like I live next door to a crack den or anything. I'm not up checking behind closet doors all night, I'm just not resting. And when you live with a LEO, there are  reasons you don't get up to check out the "scary noise" you heard coming from his office, because this is what you're going to flip the light on to:


As if the cat freaking out isn't enough to spike your heartrate.
(Take my word for it, that poster is much larger in person. Considering the small size of the office...)

I guess I'll either have to become one of those people who can survive off very little sleep or become one of those people who's really good at sleeping at work.


Tuesday, April 30, 2013

For the worst.

The other day I "volunteered" to join some of my co-workers in a gigantic night parade our city has every year. We were going to walk, hold banners, all that fun stuff, basically just represent our university. Easy peasy.

Until the rain started. We kept up good spirits. The rain continued. We looked like drowning rats. The rain got heavier. We stopped smiling.

Then the temperature dropped, the thunder & lightening started and the streets flooded. We were in the middle of a full fledge storm. At one point, we were wading ankle deep through trash. Actual garbage. People were running through the parade to get to the other side of the street, covered in trash bags and getting soaked, but they didn't leave. There was a mass exodus at the start of the heavy rain, but with thousands of people already there, a few hundred leaving didn't make a dent in the crowd.

So there we were. Walking and walking and walking. The crazy parade watchers were huddled under awnings, hanging their heads out of parking garages and hotel windows. And the super "devoted" parade watchers (and by devoted, I mean drunk) were still sitting in their seats, uncovered Lone Rangers just cheering and cheering as everyone went by. The floats were drenched, banners were dissolving and bands were just plastic covered toy soldiers moving along silently, except for the sound of the drum line. I began to lose feeling in my feet, I was soaked through every layer of clothing and I couldn't look straight ahead because the sideways rain made it impossible to keep your eyes open. I followed the group blindly and just kept thinking, "This is crazy, this is crazy, this is crazy" I'll admit, an "Oh my gosh, I'm going to die here!" may have slipped into the mantra as well.

The parade finally ended, we finished the 3 miles (don't get me started on why it didn't end sooner, like when the news reports read, "Get inside, take cover, stay away from windows!") and we walked another 9,000 miles back to our ride. Except, it wasn't there. Only one person in our group had our driver's number. But his cell phone was soaked beyond the stage of being useful. So we took cover under an awning of a children's hospital and I stood there shaking. On the outside. (On the inside, I was huddled up in the fetal position crying). We somehow managed to locate our driver a block away, he had been stuck when all the roads started closing. So we walk back into the rain, we get into the van and head back to our cars at work. I manage to get home, into the shower and into bed around 1:30 am.

I woke up the next morning still feeling sorry for myself (I like to drag things out sometimes) and planning to for at least the rest of the morning. Maybe even into the afternoon, it really just depended on how much energy I was willing to devote to the drama. So we're driving out to church and I ask The Deputy how his night was. I should mention, he worked the same night of the storm and it was his birthday. He shrugged and said, "Not too bad. But I did have to wrestle a naked, drunk guy to the ground...and he was peeing and pooping blood everywhere."

Just like that, my pity party came to a screeching halt. Well played naked man, well played.

Thursday, April 4, 2013

See you later, alligator.

The Deputy left this morning at 3:00 am to head out to a SWAT Conference. From the looks of it, you'd think he was heading to Disneyland. [Scratch that. If you know him at all, you'd know that was a bad analogy. The giddy person dancing around the house packing for Disneyland would be me. He would be the regular, level-headed guy that he is.]

But I stand my ground. He was happy to be going. Happy to be packing. Happy to be tossing back anything I tried to throw into his bag. Happy to be waking up at the crack of dawn (crack of night? Whatever 2:30 am counts as). Happy to answer my crazy text messages ("Why didn't you say good-bye?!" He did. I just didn't remember. Also, I may or may not have a slight case of sleep rage.) Happy.

I'll admit (to you, not to all the military wives out there who are actually departed from loved ones for months on end), I miss him already! It's only been like ten hours. I'm going to be really bad at this. But I bet I'll be awesome at not cooking dinner, wearing the same pair of yoga pants around the house all weekend and "forgetting" to shave my legs....

Thursday, March 21, 2013

Negotiation.

I'm constantly surprised by the things I find myself discussing with The Deputy. Most people call it "compromising". LEO wives call it "negotiating".

Our newest negotiation was over bedtime. That's right. Like a conversation you'd have with your parents in junior high. Only, instead of someone begging to stay up an extra hour, I was trying to convince The Deputy to go to bed earlier.

The conversation went something like this:

Me: "I wish you would come to bed earlier, I hate going to bed alone and then waiting for you to come upstairs..."
The Deputy: "I can't go to sleep that early!" (by early, he means 9:30. I'm old like that)
Me: "But I have to get up at 6:30 every morning, I can't stay up that late!" (By late, I mean at least midnight. The Deputy is a night owl in every sense of the word)
The Deputy: Blank stare.
Me: "If I go to bed 15 nights out of the month alone without complaining (this coming from the girl who actually counted), you should be able to make the sacrifice and go to bed early the other nights..."

That's right, I threw out the word 'sacrifice'. I think it's a great marriage word, I plan on using it for the next forty years.

To cut to the chase, we both came out alive.

I'll continue to sleep alone half of the month (his work nights) and he'll give in and go to bed at a time I'm sure feels like the middle of the afternoon to him the other half. And then I'll continue to roll over to his side of the bed, stick my feet in between his calves and say, "Are my feet cold?!" just to feel him jump, steal all the covers, ask him to be the Big Spoon and fall into a deep sleep by 10:00 pm while he lays awake with my hair in his face, his arm going numb, thinking about how magical and wonderful marriage is! (I can't say for sure that's what he's doing because, well, I never stay up long enough to find out....)

(Photo courtesy of www.sheknows.co.uk)

Friday, March 8, 2013

Work Weekends.

So because of the way The Deputy's work schedule pans out, he's basically off every other weekend, Friday-Sunday. It's a glorious three days of absolute freedom. We know that every other Friday-Saturday we can do whatever we please because we probably don't have anywhere to be...most weekends we end up running errands or doing a whole lot of nothing, but at least we get to choose to do nothing.

Long story short, I'm sick. I've been sick for the past two weeks. Just when I thought I was getting over it ("it" being some weird combination of a cold and hay fever) I woke up Tuesday morning with a lovely stomach virus. I originally thought it was food poisoning (sorry Mom & Dad, I'll never, ever think I got sick from eating at your house ever again. As if the past 24 years of your homecooked food had ever attacked me before. I'm being punished for the very thought!) and would run its course in 48 hours, I was wrong.

Food poisoning means you puke your guts out all night at your brother's apartment while on vacation (freaking out the then toddler niece), feel kind of sea-leggy the next day, but manage to keep Burger King chicken nuggets down nicely at the airport by that night. That's right. I don't just get food poisoning, I get food poisoning the night before I have an 8 hour flight home.

This wasn't that easy. I was stuck in bed all day the first day, dragged my carcass to work the next day and have just been surviving ever since. Every day gets a little better, but I still have no energy or appetite. You know I'm sick-sick when I turn away food.

So long story short (basically, how this relates to the LEO wife life in any way possible), this led to me calling The Deputy last night (that's right, I bugged him at work) and crying my eyes out. I'm exhausted. In all ways imaginable. Physically, spiritually, emotionally, marriage-ly. Okay, so I made up that last word. But in the wife realm, I feel dead. In the past few weeks I haven't done anything but get through the day and pray for bed time.

The Deputy was all sugar and spice on the phone (because he loves me and I'm the luckiest girl ever) and said I can't do anything about anything, I just have to get better and then get back on track. And then he said we'd have a nice weekend together.

Which just reminded me, I'm sick on Off Weekend! Is there anything worse in the entire world?! (Of course there is, but I'm making a dramatic point here).

It's a cruel, cruel world.

Friday, February 15, 2013

The Fourteenth.

So yesterday was Valentine's Day! The Deputy and I had one free night this week and celebrated it on Tuesday.Flowers, cards, fancy restaurant, the whole nine yards.

We met for lunch yesterday, where he brought me a mini bouquet, took my car to fill it up with gas (I rode to work with the gas light on), washed it and watched me stuff my face with pizza at Cici's! One of the many things I love about marriage: Eating at a pizza buffet and feeling no shame that your husband watched you inhale your food like a boa constrictor. Unhinge jaw, swallow whole.

Anyways, when I got home from work we managed to squeeze a little impulse time in before Bible study and wound up at the animal shelter where we almost went home with her:


And these two little guys, if I had been able to (because who can separate brothers?!):



We were all set to come back on Monday and take home our dog-baby...but somewhere on the trip home, decided we should wait until the cat is "gone" (don't make me say "dead"!)...because we both know she'd act a fool if we brought home a 'sibling', and probably communicate her disapproval by treating our house and carpet like her litter box.

Since The Deputy has had that girl for the past 13 years, and I've become quite attached to her in the past 3 years that I've known her, we decided to take that into consideration and hold off on the pups.

I'm not gonna lie, I woke up pretty disappointed this morning. And my motives were almost 100% selfish...I'd like to have 'someone' around while The Deputy works. I have family close ( I mean close...my sister lives 5 miles from me), friends close and a nephew I can hang out with any time I want to. But it would be nice to have a little someone of my own.

Has anyone else ever done something this crazy to cure the LEOW blues?

Friday, February 1, 2013

Love the way.

This post today has nothing to do with my LEO wife life. Except it is about me. And I happen to be married to The Deputy...so basically, everything I say and write pertaining to marriage & my life is inadvertently a LEP wife life blog.

It's Friday. But not just any regular Friday, it's Friday, February 1st (rabbit rabbit). For those who don't know, February is my birth month. That's right, month. Even though my birthday celebration(s) have never lasted longer than three days (people start jumping off that birthday bandwagon pretty quickly) I adore the month of February!

And since I'm feeling so full of the good kind of lovin' today, I thought I'd post a little list about it.

What Makes Me Happy:
Writing-Surprise! Luckily my diploma agrees with me.
Hotels-Maybe it's the vacation, maybe it's someone else making the bed, maybe it's the 24 hour access to a vending machine, I can't get enough!
Downtown-I think I suggest going downtown at least once a week. The Deputy, on the other hand, isn't a fan.
My boots-If I could figure out how to wear them every.single.day, I'd do it.
Being by the water-Any water: a lake, a beach, a pool, a river. Something about basking in the sunshine makes my pasty little heart glow!
Hammocks-It combines two of my favorite things: Being outside and being lazy. There's a special place in my heart for hammocks. The Deputy acutally proposed to me one night when we were in his backyard, laying in the hammock, looking at the stars. (Don't worry, he got down on one knee).
Baking-I love all things cake. And cupcakes. And sprinkles. Sometimes I go to the kitchen and pull everything out of my baking cabinet, just to look at it. I would feel more ashamed about it, except I'm pretty sure I've caught The Deputy doing the same thing. Only with guns and holsters.
Hearts-Particularly red or pink ones. (I thought as I got older I was supposed to be less and less like a girl. But I think it's actually getting stronger).
Chevron stripes-We recently reupholstered the kitchen chairs with a very grown up, yellow and white chevron stripe cloth. They seriously brightened up the room! (Not to mention the magic being worked on my desk by my chevron striped mousepad).
Being married-I say it too much, I can't say it enough, I don't think I'll ever get over it. Marriage is the coolest thing I've ever done. I love being in love with someone who loves me back and I love sharing my life with him.

(Us at a mini photo-sesh with the sister. It was freezing, The Deputy wouldn't stop making jokes and my fingers wouldn't stay straight!)


So Happy February everyone! What do you love?

Tuesday, January 22, 2013

Behind the badge. (This is a long one)

Today I have a confession to make. An ugly one, at that.

In case you didn't know, I love The Deputy. (This isn't the confession part). And I mean, I love love him. Like stars in my eyes, daydreaming at work, telling him every minute detail of my life, showing off to make him laugh, let's hold hands all day long even if it's 108 degrees outside and we're just making each other hotter, let's hurry up and grow old together just so we can see what it feels like to be married for 50 years-kind of love. He's the one I love. Every. Single. Day.

When I see him, I see more than a shiny badge and a gun. Sure, I love the LEO part of him. I love that it's a part of my life and will be a part of our family's life. But I also love about a million other things about him that the rest of the world doesn't see. He's playful, he's thoughtful, he takes forever to respond during a heated "battle" (as we call it) because he's thinking before he speaks, he opens doors for me, he flirts with me because it's fun, he listens to my girl talk when I haven't been able to talk to my sister in awhile, he gives in and drinks Diet Coke when we're sharing at the movies, he has the most amazing brown eyes and his hair turns a fantastic shade of copper in the summer.

When the world looks at him, they see the badge.

They see the man who will protect them against violence. The man who is always prepared to take charge. The man is on duty 100% of the time. They joke with us and say they feel safe when he's around. He's a symbol of protection, safety and refuge.

The world would be more than happy to trade his life in for their own. Or for the lives of their friends, their children, their spouses. You know, the loved ones they would get to go home with and see every day if The Deputy saved them.

Confession:

If The Deputy died saving the lives of others (and basically doing exactly what he swore he would do) I would be the proudest wife. I would honor his memory, I would pass on his legacy to our future generations, I would carry him with me in my heart for the rest of my life.

But honestly, would I ever think the lives that were traded for his, were worth it? Never.

And I realize writing this now, how terrible I must sound. I sound selfish, immature and calloused. But for all those who think that, I wish they would take a step back and realize what they're asking of me. Of all LEO wives/husbands/families.

Yes-we know they volunteer to serve and protect. They do it daily, they do it knowingly, they do it willingly.

But do they know what I see when they're looking at a badge? I see a man. Just a man.  A man who sits across me from the dinner table. A man who makes me popcorn when I'm too cold to get off the couch. A man who gets excited to see a new lion documentary posted on Netflix. A man who knows my darkest secrets and refuses to share them. A man who holds my heart.

He's my friend, my heartbeat and my home. Like I said before, if something terrible happened and The Deputy fulfilled his civic duty by sacrificing his life to protect the lives of others, I would be eternally proud of him.

But I would also permanently lose a piece of my heart.

Friday, January 18, 2013

Nothing a little gun oil can't fix....

That's right. Gun oil.

The other day I noticed our steak knives were starting to rust a little. I left them on the counter to show The Deputy when he woke up, because he tends to be super handy with all the things in life I don't feel like dealing with. Or caring about.

I asked him what he thought we could use to clean that off (and of course asked if consuming rust was going to kill us. He said no, but I'm not totally convinced) and he picked one up, examined it a little and said, "We could probably use some oil..." So naturally, I asked what kind, thinking I would need to go to the section of the grocery store that sells such items to clean and take care of silverware. (It's the aisle right next to magic potions and secret remedies of make-believe land, right?)

He shook his head and said, "No, I'll just rub a little bit of gun oil on them and they'll be fine."

(I need an emoticon that correctly portrays my dead pan stare when I'm trying to decide whether or not he's kidding. And then flash forwarding 7 years and picturing my child, injured, saying, "No mom, it's alright, we don't need to go to the doctor's...just rub a little gun oil on it!")

Anyways. I eventually Googled it. That's right. Everything useful in life, I learned from Google. But even he (Yes, Google is a "he") looked at me like I was crazy for typing in "Using gun oil to clean steak knives" and just gave me 10,000 pages of how to clean my hunting knife.

I want to be concerned about the effects of consuming gun oil, but I guess it can't be any worse than rust...

Wednesday, January 9, 2013

We're on the way.

And just like that, it's back to the grind. And by 'grind' I mean regular life from January to October.

Our holidays were fantastic and over way too fast! During them, we passed our six month married anniversary. Which isn't a huge number but it's half way to a year! It's exciting and sad. Only sad because after June 30th I can no longer make a big deal out of any tiny, minute thing in life I please and say, "This is our first _____!" I like to make big deals out of things...I like finding any reason to celebrate.

The past six months have been a crazy whirlwind of life. Moving in together, sharing the house, sharing the chores, sharing the money, sharing emotions, sharing time, sharing your quirks and weird daily habits, sharing towels. (Well, I share towels. He'd prefer to use a neatly hung, dry towel that I didn't just "leave in a wad on the floor, full of hair". I kid you not. I was initially offended at his request, thinking he found me disgusting. Once he explained why he wants his own towels, I'm amused by it. Plus, I still use his towels, I'm just sneakier about it.)

On top of the sharing, there's the squeezing. Apparently our lives require 60 hour days. Unfortunately we only get 24. Total. This includes our sleeping time too! So we share, then we squeeze. We squeeze in his work schedule. We squeeze in my work schedule. We squeeze in "my" time and "his" time. We squeeze in time with my family and time with his family. We squeeze in time for errands, time to take the car in for an oil change, time to clean the house. (My least favorite time. Why does it take hours to clean and seconds to fall apart?!)

We somehow manage to make it work, make it fit. Even when it's hard and his work schedule becomes unpredictable for a moment, or those stretches of time when it feels like I'm only seeing a ghost of him floating into the house as I'm waking up for work and leaving the house when I'm getting home. We just keep going. We keep sharing, we keep squeezing, we keep talking and laughing and stealing a night away from the whole world to sneak out on a date.

We're just trying to make it. Just trying to fit our two worlds into one. Just trying to take life as it comes and trying to have a little fun along the way...