The State of Our Union

So much to do this week, and so few days with which to do it!
Laundry, dishes, meals, work, homework, defend my marriage....the list is long and formidable.
 It seems that every time I log into Facebook I am learning how my friends feel about gay marriage. That's fine. I don't mind a bit. I like reading about the opinions of others, I am absolutely comfortable seeing differing opinions on the screen in front of me. I am well aware that not everyone shares my beliefs.
I am, however, baffled by the camp which keeps asking me to "Defend Marriage". OK...but are John and I under attack? Are there soldiers? What weapons will they be using? Am I going to need a certified copy of my Marriage License to "Defend Marriage"? Because I can not find my copy, and getting another could take up to 10 days. Is there some kind of color scale to inform me of the level of threat we are currently living under? (Def Com: Rainbow, perhaps?) And most importantly, do any of the 'soldiers' look like Gerard Butler in the movie 300???

For the first two years of our relationship, my attitude towards marriage could best be summed up by using the phrase, "Ehhh." And adding a shoulder shrug for effect. I didn't matter to me. It was a road that I wasn't anxious to walk. There are many convoluted reasons for that, but suffice it to say, it wasn't high on my priority list.
Enter the Tiny Baby Zoe.
Things changed. Our little daughter made me realize that I wanted to be a family. On paper. Legally and for always. In a haze of hormones about a month after her delivery, I openly said to John that I wanted to get married. I was suddenly uncomfortable being "Dad's Girlfriend" to the kids' teachers. I wanted to be "Step mom." I wanted a title, and a role in the family that didn't sound temporary. One that sounded less "Flavor of the Month" and more "This Is The Woman Who Is Responsible For Our Health, Safety, and Daily Vegetable Intake".
Two years passed before we got married. It was not a lavish affair. No professional photographer to document the day, no week long honeymoon in the tropics. But we were married. John and I, together, for better or worse, sickness, health, etc.
Did it change things? Not really. I still did all the things I had done the week before, as did John. The fact of the matter is, it took getting married to figure out that the piece of paper we were issued didn't cement our decision to become a family. That had already been decided years before.

The thing is, as with everything in my life for the past ten years, I am thinking of this particular topic with my "Mom Hat" on, and I can't help but hope that my kids have the right to solidify their family the same way John and I could, no matter who they love.
John is my best friend. He is the first person I call when something good happens. He is my first call when something bad happens. He is who I call when nothing at all happens and I just want to chat. I think when you are blessed enough to find another person with whom you can spend all of your ups and downs....well...I just don't feel comfortable condemning you if your picture doesn't look like mine. And I certainly don't feel as though giving other people the right to marry is somehow a threat to my marriage. I firmly believe there are only two human beings who can present a real danger to my marriage. One is me, the other is John. Because no matter what a third party does or says, ultimately, it is our responsibility to live up to our promises to one another and hold true to the vows we've made.

In closing, I would like to say that The State of the Abramo Union on this March evening is strong. And we are sleepy. And I will continue to pray to God, and ask that he give wisdom to those who have a decision to make, love to those who hate, and forgiveness for us all, because none of us is without sin, and all of us will be judged.

Ten Years

On an unseasonably warm March day ten years ago this week, I went on a date.
It was not your usual date. There were five of us. An uneven number. I will admit that I was the dreaded 'fifth wheel'. I knew going in that this was to be the case, and yet, I went anyway. I woke up that morning and dressed, not in heels, but walking shoes. I didn't apply makeup, I threw my hair into a ponytail. I pulled on a hoodie sweatshirt and jeans.
Ten years ago this week, I had my first "date' with my kids.
Ten years.
We went to the zoo.
We had Snow Cones.

And then....I blinked, and ten years went screaming by at warp speed.

I was twenty-five years old. I was living alone, in a studio apartment, and I spent an inordinate amount of money on my fingernails and shoes. I liked peace and quiet and reading and sappy, romantic movies. I spend weekends having drinks with friends and I didn't think twice about putting myself before absolutely anyone else.

And then I fell in love with a man who had three kids. Eight, six, and three.

I moved to a three bedroom, split level house. I spent a lot of time trying to paint the fingernails of a couple of little girls who could not sit still. I started spending an inordinate amount of money on other people's shoes. Peace and quiet started to make me very, very nervous. If I watched a movie, it involved Disney characters. I spent weekends playing dinosaurs, outside, in the dirt. I didn't think twice about putting them before absolutely anyone else.

It was not always easy, and still is not. Trust and love and loyalty are difficult, tangled paths down a long and treacherous road. We are still learning. I can not put pen to paper and come up with adequate words to describe what I feel for them.
They have healed me, all the while breaking my heart. They have tested me, exactly when I needed the test. They have helped me, and pushed me, and made me braver and stronger and louder and crazier and made me laugh so hard my stomach ached. I have wished upon a thousand stars on their behalf. I have said ten million prayers, per child, per day on their behalf. I have begged and bargained and made deals that involved candy and small amounts of money. I have considered attacking small animals and other children on their behalf. I have fought for them, with them, and against them. I have been wrong about them, dead wrong, more than once. I have been right about them. I have said, "I told you so" to them, about them, and because of them. I have danced in the rain with them. I have lied for them, to them, and about them. I have missed them, cried for them, and worried for them. I have sang out loud with them. I have been a fool, and watched them be foolish. I have made mistakes, and let them make mistakes. I have said "I am sorry" to them, and for them. I have given things up for them, and taken things away from them. I have grieved with them and for them. I have yelled at them, because of them, and about them. I have said 'yes', when I wanted to say 'no'. I have said 'no', and then cried because I couldn't say 'yes'.
I have loved them.

I do not know what their first newborn cries sounded like. I do not have memories of their first baths, or steps. I do not know if they will wish I was more, or different, or better. I do not know how the story will end, and what their graduations or weddings will look like. I do not know what will be on their resumes. I do not know what their children will call me. I do not know if they will remember all of my mistakes. I do not know if they will be as proud to call me 'theirs' as I am to call them 'mine'.
But I DO know where they were ten years ago this week, on a warm and sunny March day.
And I know that they were not at all what I expected, and so much more than I ever deserved.
And I know that the Snow Cones were grape.