Here’s to Sparkle Motion

Or, “How to Go on a Trip and Come Back Engaged.”

Bossyboots and I had been discussing marriage since about the second week of dating. If we would have had our act together the first time, we’d be married with six kids right now.

Or two. Two kids sounds much better to my uterus. And my tolerable auditory threshold.

Anyway. We started talking about marriage for serious when we hit twelve months of dating. I was definitely ready to actually “put a ring on it” before he was. I’ve done the long-term dating-that-turns-into-disaster thing already. For me, dating for bookoo years before commitment was not acceptable. I knew who I wanted to smooch until the end of time, and that smoochee was Bossyboots.

And so ensued six months of talking and talking and more talking. With a little ring shopping thrown in here and there.

Finally, we were at Christmas 2010. I had just returned from visiting my family for the holiday, and Bossyboots and I were out to dinner after he picked me up from the airport. We were supposed to have a lovely convo about the engagement rings we’d been checking out. Instead we proceeded to have the most ridiculous argument of all time. Cue crying behind the locked, bathroom door please. (with Bossyboots trying to get me to let him in. Um no – how can I make you feel bad for making me cry unless I torture you? Exactly.)

I’m not gonna lie, up until our huge argument, a teeny part of me thought that maybe Bossyboots was planning to propose over New Year’s. We had a weekend NYE trip planned to our favorite tiny Illinois town, at our favorite bed and breakfast. It’d be perfect, no? Alas, I knew that argument boded no good in the bling department.

SO, I let my little engagement hope die a dramatic death, and we set off in Bossyboots’ car for Galena the next day. No more tears.

After three hours on the icy road, we finally hit Galena – it’s admittedly totally for people who like to knit cat scarves, but we love its little tchotchke self anyway.

We spent a couple days there, visiting President Grant’s home…

Shopping...

And burning our faces off with hot sauce:

With all that walking around, we took a break with a cappucino or five (you know, so that we could subsequently induce a racing heart attack.)

Finally, it was time for our lovely New Year’s Eve dinner, which was delicioso.

Afterwards, it was about 9p, and we headed back to our room at the bed and breakfast.

This is where things got ridiculous.

So, we bundle into our room, and I find that Bossyboots and I have very different ideas about what we’re supposed to do on New Year’s Eve. Suffice to say, I wanted a fun New Year’s Eve, and Bossyboots wanted to watch Dick Clark’s Rocking New Year’s Show on TV.

I have been working on my compromising skillz, so I decided to be nice and go along with Bossyboot’s boring TV plans. We even played Clue. CLUE, people. I love Clue as much as the next lady, but… not on a national party day.

At 11p, Dick Clark decided it was time to go to bed – thank you, Jesus. I thought this meant I was free from crochet time on the couch. Nope. Bossyboots decided we need to watch the repeat because the first airing was not in our time zone.

OK, I will pause while you read the previous paragraph again, because really, it was too ridiculous to be believed. Bossyboots was turning 93 before my eyes.

Again, I summoned my skills of compassion (I had graduated from compromise to full-on compassion.) And we sat there and watched the repeat – every single second – until Bossyboots broke out the champagne at 11:45p!

He poured us both a flute o’ fancy bubbly, and at midnight we got all teary-eyed with the “I love you” and the “You’re the best thing that’s happened to me”. I knew things were getting weird when Bossyboots stood up and started acting really nervous and telling me he had a present for me. I didn’t put things together until the ring box (ohmigod) made its appearance, and that man was on one knee.

Much smooching, tears, hugs and phone calls ensued. He promises never to make me watch that Dick Clark show ever again.

Here’s a photo of us at about 3a, when the ruckus had all died down and we had alerted all of the appropriate friends and family members. Don’t judge our bedraggled appearance – I had been watching Dick Clark for three hours on repeat – you’d look a hot mess, too.

When Bossy Met Snappy…

…he was really scared.

Just kidding. He was only mostly scared – not all the way scared. There's a distinct difference between mostly and all-the-way, right college freshmen? ;)

I met Bossyboots a very, verrrrrry long time ago, back when we were chumps at a local (yet national!) theater here in Chicago. I was the fresh out of college Stage Management intern; he was the seasoned lighting tech. He showed me around the theater, swooped me off my feet, and we lived happily ever after.

OK that's a lie, too.

Bossyboots tells me that he spent our summer together with a raging crush on me. However, he neglected to clue me in to this fact. Consequently, there was a distinct lack of smooching. He says he even took me out on a date… a fact he neglected to explain. We went to a free show (as friends, I thought!), hung out on the free pier, and went to our respective homes sans romantic interlude. I don't think I am the only woman out there that assumes that if the guy offers to pay for you, that means it's a date – if he doesn't = not a date. Of course, the reality that our evening consisted of completely free activities requiring zero dollars has no bearing on this assumption. Nor the fact that I am generally clueless about these sorts of things. I was raised in a conservative home – I didn't go on a date 'til I was 18. Boys scared me; what can I say?

Anyway, the end of summer 2001 arrived. Bossyboots and I both moved on to greener career pastures.

Then, in 2008, I was walking the halls of my current employer to grab coffee from the dadgum [it's broken again] coffeemaker, and who should I spy? A tall, blonde drink of water, that's who. Out of all the companies in Chicago, Bossyboots decided to move on into mine!

We were both dating other people [while I was writing for a little site called (cough) WeddingBee], so nothing inappropriate was going to happen. Polite hellos were exchanged, but that's about it. However, the moment my Facebook status went "single" after I called off my wedding… that man was hitting me up on Facebook every week. Nothing too forward, but he was definitely making his presence known. He says that his heart dropped when he saw that I was engaged, so he "wasn't dropping the ball again", now that we had a second chance.

I wasn't ready to date right away, obviously, but when July hit, I let Bossyboots know it would be okay if he – you know – wanted to go out for a milkshake. Which he did. And we subsequently stayed out until 4:30am.

Date #2 – Out until 4a

Date #3 – Out until 6:30a

Date #4 – Out until midnight (a girl's gotta get SOME sleep – I'm not 22 anymore)

For the record, these were all PG-rated dates. P to the G, Mother!

At that point, we were both smitten, and the rest is the beginning of a great story. I still find him ultra-smoochable, and we still stay out until the wee hours, on occasion. Lack of sleep keeps you young… I read that in a book somewhere.

My Jimmy Choos Better Pack a Suitcase…

…Because Snapdragon and Bossyboots have a wedding date!

We had just a few hoops to jump through, namely, choosing a state in which to declare our undying love. "Undying", people, that's how serious our love is.

I'm nothing if not both acerbic and dramatic. It gets annoying – ask Bossyboots.

We had two realistic choices when it came to wedding locations: Option A) Chicago or Option B) Dallas/Fort Worth. Deep dish pizza or 8-hour brisket? Bell's or Shiner? Sauerkraut or habaneros? Bears or Cowboys?* 773 or 214? It's a tough decision, believe you me, and we went through the wringer.

Bossyboots grew up in Chicago, and though I'm a Texan transplant, I've lived "up north" for the last fourteen years. (That's fourteen. Motherloving. Winters. Thank you, Winter in Chicago.) Most of Bossyboots' family and friends live here, and most of my closest friend are Chicagoans. However, my family all lives down in Texas. My really, really big family. And since most of them are disabled… getting my family on a plane is not happening. You hear that? Unequivocally not happening. One of my sisters is the bionic woman, with a steel backbone. Etc etc. It's not happening – not by train, not by plane, nor by automobile.

So, then Bossyboots and I were faced with a decision – we could hold the wedding up here in Chicago, where his family and most of our friends would surely attend… but only half of my family would make it. OR we could throw our Celebration of Undying Love down in Texas, where our families could both be there, in their entirety – but fewer of our friends could make it, most likely. In our minds, immediate family members missing this particular shindig because they are disabled is a locale dealbreaker. I want my family there – all of them - so officially...

(Unknown artist illustration, modified by me)

We've just wrapped up several months of WEDDING STUFF – all of which I will surely share. Stay tuned, friends…

*I'm a Cowboys fan 'til I die, minus the convict years – don't tell Bossyboots.

Angry Days, Happy Days

The angry days. Anyone who's ever been in a romantic relationship of over a year knows what I mean - the days when you and your partner kind of want to send each other on a special vacation. By themselves:

Fighting used to feel like a bad sign to me. Like an omen that my relationship was doomed. Bossyboots and I rarely fight, but it does happen (because we're normal!)

Last year, I read the novel Freedom, by Jonathan Franzen. There were about 8,000 things in that book that were amazing, but one scene really hit home to me. There's a section where a mother is questioning her son about his relationship with his girlfriend. She asks (paraphrased) "Do you guys fight?" She goes on to explain that if they never fight, that means they aren't being real with each other; they're living in fantasy land. Being real and genuine means fighting sometimes.

That idea stuck with me, and I love it. Often, I think some of us don't say what we really feel (expressed with love!) Sometimes my efforts to be respectful of others' opinions/feelings means I overly squelch my own. And I know I want to know what my partner really wants - I don't need him to agree with me on everything. If Bossyboots and I agreed on everything... how would we grow? Part of why I believe in marriage isn't just for the cuddles, legal benefits, or tax breaks - it's because a valuable partnership is challenging.

Obviously the kind of fighting that involves name-calling or craziness is no bueno, and it's not good to always be fighting, but... a reasonable amount of fighting is nothing to be afraid of. In fact, maybe it's a good thing. It means we love each other for who we really are.

*All photos are personal

A Snappy Drive-by

Hi, Bees! The last time you heard from me, I wrote about starting over after calling it all off. I wrote about how the best days of your life are ahead of you when you walk away from a dysfunctional relationship that's no longer working for you. In that post, I also wrote about how I was SO excited to go on my first date with a new guy that I found super smoochable. Well, guess what? After a summer of dates where we stayed out until the sun came up, I knew I'd found Mr. Right. Summer turned into fall, which turned into winter... and months more of falling deeply in love. He went from my date to my boyfriend to....

...my brand spankin' new fiance!

I'm totally going to have 10,000 of his babies. :)

We have no idea whether we'll be throwing a full-on wedding or taking a trip to the courthouse, but as my best internet gals... I wanted to clue you all in to the good news.

I know there are those of you out there that have gone through divorce or called off a wedding, and I'm here to tell you that calling off my wedding was the BEST thing that I've ever gone through. Painful? Yes, to the point of excruciating. Valuable and completely necessary? Priceless. Life gets better. The Universe - and my gut instinct - saved me from making the worst mistake of my life, so that I could receive a priceless gift: true love.

On my personal blog, I call my fiance Bossyboots... because he is the opposite of a bossy boots (see what I did there? Irony!) So many people already know him as Bossyboots, it'd be weird for me to change it, so... that's what I'll be calling him here. His internet nickname has become so deeply attached to that guy, I don't think I could call him anything else. :) Ms. Snapdragon and Bossyboots, together forever - if you want to be cheesy about it. Which I do. Because I am cheesy, and I've learned to accept that about myself.

Once we figure out the wedding situation, I'll be right back here, dusting off my bedazzler and Hive-ing it up with you ladies! Until then, many smooches and much love.

Also, sparkles:

Love,

Snappy

*All photos are personal!