I was totally going to make y’all wait for further details, because I was sure I’d have an even better story to tell you tonight about how Chickadee had a couple of teeth pulled, but things went awry. Instead of having two teeth extracted per the orthodontist’s instructions, this afternoon Chickadee had a shot of novocaine and became hysterical. After a few bits of poking around in her mouth (to ever-louder anguished wails, despite not flinching a bit at being jabbed with a pointy instrument when she wasn’t paying attention) we were sent away with a referral to an oral surgeon. Laughing gas, here we come!
In the meantime, I guess since you were so sweet and nice with your well-wishes on the last post, I should probably fill you in on that whole marriage thing that’s going to be happening.
In fact, let’s just go ahead and see if I can address everything in handy FAQ form.
When did Otto propose?
Last Thursday. While I was banging around in my kitchen in a snit, on the verge of tears, because of something wholly unrelated to him. I was frustrated and upset and also needing to make dinner for hungry children, and so I banged and clanged and cursed and NATURALLY this was the right time for a grand romantic gesture. Otto said, “I think I know how to cheer you up. I brought you something.” And he wandered into the next room and I continued whatever it was I was doing at the sink, and the next thing I knew, there was a ring in front of me and he was asking me to marry him. He was right; it DID cheer me up!
What happened right after that?
Well, let’s see. He asked, I said yes. There was hugging and kissing and exclaiming over the ring and then I apologized for being in such a lousy mood, and Otto said, “Yeah, I guess that wasn’t very romantic timing.” And then we laughed ourselves silly. It was perfect, really.
Yeah, what’s with that ring? It looks like a wedding band.
It’s a traditional Irish engagement band, with trinity knots and emeralds. (“And diamond chips!” said Otto. “Just chips! So that you wouldn’t hurt me! Because I knew if I got you a big rock, you’d hurt me.”) It was made in Ireland. It’s small and delicate and I thought I didn’t want a ring and that was just because I didn’t know I could have a ring like THIS. I love this ring.
Where were the kids when this happened?
They were in the other room. Otto gathered them up for a powwow that I wasn’t allowed to listen to, and they came running back into the kitchen hollering “WE APPROVE! WE APPROVE!” Then Monkey grabbed his stuffed puppy and insisted that even Puppy approved.
When are you getting married?
Soon. Soonish. Sometime. We don’t actually know yet.
And what will the ceremony be like?
Chickadee has for months delighted in calling me “lady” or “that lady” as part of this little schtick she does. Do not ask me where it came from or why she does it, but I have a hard time not laughing and so she keeps doing it. (This is germaine to what follows, I promise.)
So, the next day or the day after that (I can’t remember which) we were all eating breakfast together and Chickadee referred to Otto as “that dude” in the same voice she normally uses to call me “that lady” and somehow this devolved into her explaining to us that the ceremony will go like this:
Do you, That Dude, take That Lady Over There, to be your wife? And do you, That Lady Over There, take That Dude, to be your husband? Yes? NOW SMOOCH!
We all agreed that that sounded pretty good.
Haven’t you guys been together for like, five minutes?
Actually, we’ve been back together for about 4 months. Which came about 2 years after we’d dated for almost a year. Which came about fourteen years after we first met. If you look at it as four months, this is fast. If you look at it as seventeen years, we’d be hard-pressed to move much slower.
Oh yeah… how did you get back together?
That’s a story unto itself, which I’ll have to tell another time because it really deserves more time and thought than I can put into it right now. Let’s just say that I owe a debt of gratitude both to my car and to the guy I dated during the intervening period who listened to my fears and several times assured me “I’m not Otto.” He sure wasn’t. Thank God.
So what’s the plan? Who’s moving?
Here’s where I’m going to end up pulling on the cone of silence. I have a portable job. Otto does not. The tentative plan is that the kids and I will move next summer after school gets out. The kids’ father, my ex, is understandably having a tough time with this plan. And by “having a tough time” I mean “has already threatened to take me back to court.” I do not have the luxury of discussing my feelings about my ex here the way I used to before he found the blog. (Everyone wave to my ex. He is taking notes.)
It’s a difficult situation; there are children involved, and all three of us adults want what’s best for them. We happen to disagree on what will be best. We’re taking steps to work it out as fairly as we can. As frustrated as I may be with my ex’s reaction, I’m about as happy as I’ve ever been, right now, while he is facing the possibility of greatly reduced contact with his children. I have no desire to make it any harder for him than it already is. (Keep that in mind. I will edit/delete comments which I think he may find hurtful.)
For this reason, there may not be a lot of talk here about logistics for a while.
Please insert some comic relief from Otto here.
After attending countless weddings of photographers and being a photographer at some of those weddings, Otto has decided that cameras shall be verboten at our wedding. Instead, he is trying to sell me on the idea of having a courtroom sketch artist.
A courtroom. sketch. artist.
It’s a good things he’s cute.
Anything profound to add?
Yeah. “Everything works out okay in the end. If it’s not okay, it isn’t the end yet.”