It is evident by the smile that comes across my face when someone asks me how Jason and I met, that it is one of my favorite stories to tell. (Although, listening to Jason tell it is even more enjoyable than sharing it myself). In a world rampant with divorce and single parent families, I am so grateful to have such a wonderfully devoted and loving husband and such a strong, consistent family backdrop to raise my kids in.
I don't claim to have the secret to a successful marriage. I consider us to be a constant work in progress. Jason and I both agree that it has just as much, if not more, to do with timing than love at first sight or finding your soul mate. (And this coming from one of the most ''love will conquer all'' attitudes you'll ever know). And more than anything, it takes A LOT of work. Patience, understanding, acceptance, and an ability to listen go a long way too, but without effort you got nothing...
The backdrop for when I met Jason can't be captured in words or pictures. Rather, it can only be experienced. No one can explain exactly what Bourbon Street smells like, how the reflections of the beads, lights of the neon bar signs, and stage strobes all dance gracefully together to create one of the most tasteless, tactless beautiful sights I've ever seen.
Our first encounter included deafening rap music, syrupy bar shots, a quick glance at a nice set of abs, and the inner feeling that only the essence of Mardi Gras can give a person. A concoction of hopes and dreams, pure enjoyment of the moment, and fear of the unknown. But hidden behind all of those pressing emotions is the rawest of all: Curiosity. He was a good looking guy with a genuine smile who seemed to have a couple really nice, and more importantly NORMAL, seeming friends with him. I was interested. Mainly because he didn't seem that interested at all. What I found attractive about him was that his intensions were so obvious. He wanted to have a good time with his friends without the interruption of girl problems or mindless chitchat. Early into getting to know him I realized he was a great conversationalist and also a bit of a control freak (another weakness of mind as I always enjoyed a challenge back when I was but a child).
Fast forward 5 months and two meetings later (we did the ''friends getting to know each other over the phone" for months before I had finally had enough and told him I was flying out to Philly for his birthday). Two weeks after that trip and he found himself back in New Orleans staying in the house of a couple crazy soccer chicks who didn't have a care in the world except making it to practice on time and finding out where we were going out the coming weekend (If you know Jason, you know this isn't really his speed). But it was during this trip that I knew he was the one.
It all started with walk around the neighborhood. Our house was only streets away from a MUCH nicer street lined with big oaks and historic million dollar homes that made it impossible to see and not fall in love with.
So what was it that brought us together? What sealed the deal? What was the icing on the cake? None other than a piece of trash. That's it ladies and gentleman. Isn't it romantic? Doesn't it just give you butterflies?
During our trip around the neighborhood, we walked by a plastic coke bottle laying on the side of the street. Now, New Orleans isn't exactly the cleanest city in the world, in fact, it might be dirty enough that just passing by would cause you to want to go home and scrub your house clean top to bottom, but he went over, picked it up, and carried it the rest of the way back to our house where he threw it away.
Yeah, isn't that special? It was enough for me. It was proof that he was a good person, not because of what he said or what he promised, but what he did. Actions speak louder than words.
I couldn't tell you what we talked about on that trip, but I will always remember that moment when I was smitten, and done for.
Trash brought us together, in more ways than one. Not much about our story would appear to have a lot of staying power when you look at it from the outside. Proof that it doesn't matter how it starts, but how you keep it going that matters.
Now if only I can figure out how I'm going to make our story ''kid friendly'' when Kylie gets old enough and curious enough to ask how we met. I'm pretty sure me answering, "Mommy was feeding Daddy's best friends shots from her waist" won't really be what she's looking for.
Knights in shining armor exist. Fairytales do come true. They're rarely conventional or expected, but happiness is happiness regardless of where its born.
A shot from the night Jason and I met.
Dampa helping Beck open his hockey stick.
Ky and I.
