Prince Charming

After two unsuccessful marriages (An Ounce of Strength, Leaps & Bounds), one failed engagement, and a bevy of relationships in between AND after having found contentment with myself and my life, a friend of 20-some-odd years says to me, she has a guy she thinks I should meet.    

“His name is Keith“, she said, “He’s a total neat freak and he loves to travel.”  Hmmm … let me think:

Neat Freak.  Check.

Travel.  Check, Check.

“YES!”

After a phone call or two, Keith and I settled on lunch at Olive Garden.  It was President’s Day 2009.  I’m not sure that it was love at first sight for either of us; in fact, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t.  But the meal was pleasant enough.  And the company was decent too; although I’m not sure I could make a thorough assessment given that he was on the phone half the time doing business.

He had only gotten back into the dating scene a few months prior, so I knew he was dating around.  And it took him another month to ask me out on what we consider our true first date. 

We spent a wonderful afternoon in Gruene, a quaint little town outside of New Braunfels.  We had lunch at The Grist Mill, then popped into Gruene Hall for a cold beer and hot music.  Neither of us wanted the date to end, so we took in a movie (“Taken” – I still think he chose that movie so that I could bury my face into his shoulder!) 

And then there was “The kiss”.  And there were sparks.  And fireworks.  And maybe angels singing. 

And that’s when he stopped dating around. 

And thus began our long-distance relationship, he in San Antonio and me in Kyle, a simple one-hour drive apart.  We talked and Skyped regularly. And sometimes, we were lucky enough to meet for dinner mid-week (usually at The Grist Mill – which was half-way in between). 

Because he was on call every weekend with his business and because he had crappy cell phone coverage at the time, we spent most of our weekends in San Antonio.  On Fridays, when I finished my half-day at work, I packed up myself and the pups and headed south.    

For our first date in San Antonio, he took me for a motorcycle ride in the hill country.  It felt so natural to have my arms wrapped around him – because of course, I was only a little terrified!  

A few months in, he casually asked if I could get a week off work.  He had found a deal to Rome and thought we should go.  I went to another room, so I could call my manager and request the time off and only after I was out of (his) eyesight did I let my jaw hit the floor.

We had a magical trip (how could you not in such a beautiful city?) and after we returned home, he told me he loved me.  HE LOVED ME.  He really loved me.  Months later, he would tell me he was also trying to impress me and asked if it worked.  Well … mmmaaayybee.

Shortly before we met, he had had a pool put in; but in the course of doing so, the back yard became what we affectionately called “the mud pit”.  One of the first projects we took on together was to create a tropical paradise for us to enjoy.  With the help of some guys who had much bigger muscles than me, we installed the faux rock culping around the pool, built planter boxes around the yard (and filled them), planted several palms, sodded the yard, put in a waterfall, framed up the pool deck and then stained it once the concrete was poured.  It must’ve been love if the man managed to get me in the pool in March, when we installed the waterfall (damn, that water was cold!) 

We found we worked really well together. 

Looking back at it now, I’m glad things worked out – otherwise, he would’ve gotten a load of free labor and I wouldn’t have reaped the benefits of all my hard work!    

When I introduced him to my parents, my father pulled him aside and said he approved of our relationship (gee … thanks, Dad.  Because I’m only 44 years old).  My Mom said she had been praying for me to find someone who was the perfect fit for me.  And here he was.

But there was something holding us back.  Something dragging down our relationship.  He wanted to talk about it.  I tried to tell him.  He heard me, but he wasn’t listening.  And I shut down.  And we broke up.

I was devastated.

I couldn’t drag myself out of bed.  I couldn’t stop crying.  I couldn’t eat.  When I did make it to work, I could barely function.  I lost eight pounds in a week and looked totally emaciated.  I begged a “friend” to do something with me – to help keep my mind off of things; said “friend” refused to answer my calls.  Suffice to say we’re no longer friends.

And finally, I started to pull myself out of it.

I went to church.  And I cried through it. 

I went to a movie.  And I cried through it.

But at least I was getting out of the house.

One afternoon, I logged onto my computer.  And there was an IM Keith had sent the night before – something along the lines of “hey there”.  But he wasn’t online at that very minute.  I opened my email and my heart lept into my throat when I saw an email from him.

In it, he said I could obtain an airline credit for the next trip we had booked together, if that is what I wanted to do.  My heart sank, the lump in my throat practically choking me.  “But” … the email went on … he hoped I would go ahead and use it.  With him.  He talked of how the days without me made him realize he couldn’t live without me.  How he hoped I felt the same.  How he was sorry for not listening to me.  And he hoped I could find it in my heart to forgive him and give us another try.

For about the 352^nd time that week, I burst into tears.  Only, these were happy tears.  I immediately grabbed a bag and started packing.  Once packed, I called him.  He was already on his way to me.

We spent hours talking about our relationship and what we could do to make it better.  What caused so many of our issues and how to fix it.  And he listened.  And I listened.  And we talked some more.

Fast forward a couple of years and many weekends and home improvement projects later (both his home and mine).  We woke up one Saturday morning in July and he says “I think we need to go look at rings.”  If that was supposed to be a proposal, well then … okay. 

Five jewelry stores and one speeding ticket later, we found the ring.  He’s still pissed about that ticket to this day!

A few days later, it was time to put a ring on it and we sat down to dinner with my son.  My son who had witnessed all my failed relationships, who was old enough to comprehend the abuses that occurred in my second marriage, and who was fiercely protective of his mama.  My young adult son who sat across the table from my soon-to-be fiancé and clearly expressed his concerns (I think the words “if you hurt her, you will answer to me” may have even come out of his mouth).

That night, as he slipped the ring on my finger, Keith promised Evan that I would be taken care of – not only financially, but more importantly, emotionally.

And that’s the thing.

I can honestly say that this man, my Prince Charming, fulfills this piece of his promise every day.  He’s supportive of my goals and my passions; he loves that I'm focused on my health with CrossFit and our diet, he encourages my writing, and he even tolerates my love of the Disney Parks.  He compliments me in some way.  Every.  Day.  He shows me love in some way.  Every.  Day.

In his words, he wants me to have the life I’ve always wanted.  The life he thinks I deserve. What I’ve always wanted was the fairytale; an amazing marriage with just the right guy.  I just wasn’t sure I deserved it, but he assures me I do. 

Whether he knows it or not, he has repaired my low self-esteem. 

At some point during our engagement, his daughter, Courtney, said to me, she knew I was the one when her self-professed neat-freak of a father allowed my pug Dawson, into his home.  Dawson, who shed constantly, resulting in the need to run the Roomba three times over before all the hair was picked up after a weekend visit, and who, in his later years, could not control his bladder and regularly left puddles throughout Keith’s house.  That’s when she knew.

In June 2012, I became Mrs. Keith Miller.  We married at The Club at Forest Waters, a mere 3 miles from where I grew up.  Our reception held in the clubhouse in which my father installed the flooring – and I do believe the carpet he put down when the clubhouse was new, was the same carpet we walked on on our wedding day.  All that aside, it was a beautiful summer day, where we said our I Do’s amongst the beautiful Texas Oaks and a small gathering of our closest friends and family.

In his toast at our wedding, his son, Josh, said he knew (I was the one) when he saw that his Dad had someone to share in his (Dad’s) continual home improvement projects, with an equal amount of gusto and enthusiasm.

From my perspective, we just “fit”.  Just like our first motorcycle ride together.  We “fit”.

And what's interesting to us both is that there were a couple of times in our lives when we were running parallel to each other and never met; we lived in Garden Ridge at the same time and he thinks he even saw me when I was out for my evening walk.  We also worked just a block apart from each other at one point.  But we know our relationship wouldn't have worked during those times - neither of us were in the right place.  God's timing both interesting and amazing!

Even though there’s a 12-year age difference (yeah … let’s think about that … he was graduating high school the year I entered first grade …).  Whether it’s my old soul or his maturity level, I cannot say.  But it’s something we laugh about.  Regularly.  And that’s another thing.  We laugh.

I love his sense of humor, occasionally perverted as it may be.  The things that come out of his mouth, always a surprise.  Often leaving Courtney I only to shake our heads and say, “Step back ladies, he’s ALL mine!” 

His southern (Arkansas) accent, getting thicker as the years go by (and certainly thicker each time we visit his family, who still live there).

I love the way he sings.  Off-key.  And dances, though not all-together gracefully.  And I find it cute that he loves Britney Spears.

And then, there is my very business-like husband, who, believe it or not, has a soft-hearted side that he reserves just for me.  And for our grandchildren.  Our pumpkin girl and man-cub are, without a doubt, his pride and joy.  Seeing him with them, the joy on his face, the light in his eyes.  And I love him even more.

Do we ever disagree?  Absolutely!  (Show me a couple who says they don't, and well … they're lying!)  Does he drive me insane when he wanders off aimlessly without letting me know where he's going?  OMG!  Yes!  Do I ever tire of repeating myself three times over when he's not wearing his hearing aids?  Lord, help me!  YES!  

Is our marriage perfect?  No!  But we’re perfect for each other (yeah … I think I just stole that line from a movie).

How on earth did I possibly get so lucky?  I don’t know.  But I do know I am thankful.  Every.  Day. 

For the friend who introduced us.  For the love that we share.  For the life that we enjoy together.  For him.  

Cinderella should be so lucky.