Déjà Vu

Now if this isn’t the weirdest coincident…

So Friday, I basically told you that I cherish February 17th because it marked the day that I came to believe in miracles. Someone that I truly loved proposed on that day many years ago… that is first part of the miracle – someone would want to marry the likes of me. For the rest, just read the previous blog.

Now this blog is all my thoughts, not Mr. Right’s. Hence the name “Shalee’s Thoughts”. He can get his own blog if he wants to say something. (I told you that I’m pretty selfish. You should see me when I get a dessert I’ve been craving. BACK OFF!)

Anyway.

At 4:35 PM that afternoon, after not hearing from Mr. Right even once that day, which is a bit unusual for our routine, I get a call from him.

“Hey, Sha. I’ve only got a minute to talk. Will you be going by home after you pick up the boy from YCare (after school care)?” Mr. Right questions.

“Yep. I’ve got to sprint him into the house to change for the basketball game and pick up the girl, too. If we really hurry, I might be able to get him there in time for the game.” I say all this in one breath because it is late on a Friday and I am trying to finish everything so that I can run out the door.

“Oh, okay. Ummm, do you think you can get all dressed up for a date-date too?”

“A real date? No kids?!?”

“Yeah.”

Now don’t get me wrong. I love date-dates. Where you get to go out and finish a thought immediately, rather than start a thought, tell someone to chew with his mouth closed, answer a wild question about the migration of geese, take someone to the bathroom and then finish the original thought. I love getting dressed up, dropping the kids off at a sitter’s, enjoying a glass of wine with dinner and talking and laughing with the man I married opposite me.

But to get ready in three minutes flat kind of puts some pressure on me. I’ve worked all day (and no doubt look like it!). I have to hustle just to get the kids to the game on time and get ready.

It’s a good thing that I strive under a challenge.

“I’ll be the one looking good and ready for a hot time on the town!” I reply.

Now in all the running, acquiring kids, telling them to get dressed and finding basketball shoes, I was able to pull off finding an ensemble for the evening, recreating some sort of on-the-town face and my hair actually cooperated by looking good the first time through its transformation. Not bad in 4.7 minutes time! I’m sure that is some kind of world record; I’ll contact Guinness sometime and see if I could get my name in the book of world records…

I got the boy to the game and the girl ran the time clock. (By the way, the boy has actually learned to focus on the game. Well, mostly… At least he has quit rolling around on the floor when he doesn't have the ball. Another blog…)

Me? I sat there in a black “date” dress, with a beaded/sequined wrap and heels, yelling and cheering the boy on in the game. I was trying not to jump around (like I normally do) because I was not going to tempt the hair gods by needing to do fix it again. Most of the moms, who were in jeans and sweatshirts, kept glancing my way, trying to figure out why someone would get so dressed up for a game and sit there yelling like a coach, throwing my hands up and rolling my eyes and smiling at the kids. Let me just say that it is not the first, nor will it be the last, time that people have stared at me. I’m used to it by now.

Anyway, in the last few minutes of the game, Mr. Right showed up all decked out. Suit and tie and a huge smile.

Be still my beating heart.

When the game was over, we all piled into the car and headed over to the sitter’s. Now I was in the dark as to who was watching the kids, where we were going and when we would be back. Remember I didn’t plan any of this evening. Mr. Right did it all. He handled every last detail.

After dropping off the kids at a friend’s house, we hustled over to Ted’s Montana Grill. He had made reservations for us. (I didn’t even know they took reservations!) We were seated quickly, much to the chagrin of other patrons who had been waiting longer than we had. We had a nice quiet booth

I ordered a white wine and fresh cedar planked salmon with asparagus. Such a change from a quarter-pounder with cheese or pizza. A real adult meal. Wow!

Mr. Right requested a big steak with onion rings and parmesan creamed spinach and a wedge salad. I don’t know where he was going to put it all.

He then started to talk about what a special day it was. “Today marks a special anniversary. I proposed to you 14 years ago.” I swear I didn’t talk to him about how I felt about the day. I even asked if he read my blog that day. He said no. This was all him.

He recollected being excited about proposing to me. How he had to call everywhere to find roses (3 days after Valentine’s Day… everyone was out). He detailed our dinner, what I wore, where we were and what all followed. (We sat and watched Some Kind of Wonderful and then at the last minute, we invited his folks out for dessert. We were hoping that they would see the ring and figure it out on their own. They did… eventually. I mean how many times can you wave your left glittering hand in front of somebody’s face?!)

I absolutely love that he remembered all those things. (I thought only girls did that.) So maybe it’s not just me with a good memory in this marriage... I am so going to dread writing that. I am sure that is going to bit me in the butt sometime soon…

After dinner, we stopped at beanology for coffee and a chocolate muffin to die for! We just sat and chatted and laughed and dreamed of crazy stuff, as if we hadn’t just had a great meal together an hour earlier, doing the same thing.

After picking up the kids and hitting the hay – hey it doesn't take much wine to conk me out, you would think that our long extended weekend would be all lovey-dovey.

But alas, it was not to be… I went right back to griping, acting like he was the biggest dope known to man. (He wasn’t… It turns out that I am. I did say sorry.) Another one of those Do Over moments...

See, that is why I believe in miracles. He hasn’t left me and, believe me, there are times when he should.

I’m hoping that I’ll grow out of this some time. Or just grow up and keep the good kid part of me around.

Maybe there’s medicine for people like me… wouldn’t really help me because I wouldn’t want to take it. (Yeah, I’m one of those people.) Or better yet, maybe there is a really good bottle of wine. Now that I would take.