Wednesday's Word: Adorable

Bonus word: Determined.

For her birthday, ViMae got this pretty dress from Nana Ellyn and Papa Kenny. The next day she was already wearing a cute outfit when she spotted the new dress and said, "Mommy, wear beautiful dress. Take off ViMae's pants. Take off ViMae's shirt. Take off ViMae's socks. Put on beautiful dress." She repeated her request in exactly those words several times, until, her Mommy says, "I finally caved." (The hat was strictly an afterthought.)

June 23, 1985: I could live here…

Having proposed June 14, Peter’s idea was that we marry in the fall. I wasn’t ready to commit so quickly (we’d only met in April). Besides, I was going to be much too busy to plan a wedding. I was chairing the YWCA women of the year selection process and would emcee a December award luncheon for 600 people. A few days later, I would head to Chicago, chairing three days of conference programming for college and university publications people. Both of these would require time and attention for months, on top of my busy job.

Peter pointed out that when Abby returned from her Mom's for the start of school we would have much less opportunity to see one another. With both of us so busy, our relationship might indeed fail. On the other hand, if we were together he could cook for me and give me foot-rubs while I worked on my projects. I had to admit that sounded nice.

"Why don’t I just move in?" I asked. “No,” he said. “I want my daughter to know you are special, that I respect you. You’re not moving in until we’re married.”

One night we were sitting in the living room at my house, the house I had just furnished. It had character and beauty, and it was perfect for me. It would even work for two. The living room and master bedroom were huge, and the bathroom had a long counter with two sinks, two mirrors, two sets of cabinets. But the second bedroom was tiny, and we couldn’t quite make the place work for three. Plus, it was in the wrong school district; we wanted Abby to stay in her grade school. I began to cry at the thought of leaving my house. “You know what that means, don’t you?” he said. “You’ve decided to move and you’re beginning to grieve.” I couldn’t argue with that. I let myself cry a while longer.

They lived in a townhouse in a first-ring suburb. While I hated the whole idea of townhouses and suburbs, I hadn’t yet been there! He invited me to come over on Sunday afternoon, June 23. He and Abby spent the morning cleaning and they showed me around; then he made dinner for the three of us. After she went to bed, he put on a mix tape he had just made. It started with a song about flirtation and worked its way through romance to something along the lines of let’s spend our life together.

The day was drawing to a close. “What do you think,” he asked. “Could you live here?”

The townhouse was plain; I didn’t love it. But we didn’t have to live there forever, and the question wasn’t really about the townhouse.

“Yes, I think I could live here,” I said.

The next morning at work I received orchids. I called to thank him. “Well,” he said, “It’s not every day that someone accepts my proposal of marriage.”

Omigod, I thought. What have I done?

One-Word Wednesday: Taekwondo

June 14, 1985: To the Lake (part 2)

I had been dating Peter about a month when I invited him to my Happy Place: our family’s rustic lake cabin in northern Minnesota. On the drive north, we had a long conversation about our relationship. Meanwhile, I pictured a quiet, romantic weekend of fishing, walking in the woods, relaxing, and listening to lovely loon sounds. His version included carefree gamboling and skinny dipping.

We were both in for a surprise.

As we arrived at the cabin, so did two of my brothers and their families! Oops. There went the quiet, and the, um, gamboling. We all laughed and agreed to make the best of it. We divvied up the three bedrooms (none with any real privacy), and a couple of kids slept outside in a tent. Peter and my sisters-in-law said they would take turns cooking for everyone. Dinner was loud and chaotic, as was the after-dinner conversation.

At about 10 o’clock, Peter whispered, “Let’s go sit on the dock.” It was a clear night, and in the darkness the Milky Way arched across the sky. We could hear small animals splashing at the water’s edge, and from time to time a fish would jump. A light breeze kept most of the mosquitoes at bay.

Peter sat behind me and pulled my shoulders so I was leaning back against him. He returned to the subject of the day. “I’ve been looking for someone for a long time,” he said, and then drew on a figure of speech (he may have used a washing machine as his metaphor; I don’t remember). “I’m a good shopper; I do a lot of research and when I find the model that has everything I’m looking for, I know it. I don’t have to keep looking.” He went on to say he’d been dating lots of women, looking for the right one. “Sometimes I could tell before I was in the door that this wasn’t a woman I wanted to spend even one evening with. But you have everything I’ve been looking for. You are the one.” He took a deep breath and said very deliberately, so I would know he was serious,

“Will…you…marry…me?”

I let the moment sink in for a long while. Then I told him I couldn’t answer yet. I had not been looking. I needed time—not just to get to know him, but to know myself in combination with him. I said he should ask me again in the fall—if we were still together. He asked what I meant. I said that with one exception, my previous relationships had not lasted that long, so I had trouble comprehending this rapid commitment. If we were still together by September, then it would make sense to talk about marriage.

He knew better than to press for a different answer. We looked at the stars and drank in the sounds until the mosquitoes began to bite. Then we went inside and won a rousing game of Trivial Pursuit.

There will be more to this story. Meanwhile, I wish to note that these photos are not mine.