Love Letter

NOTE: 

Ivey asked me (Matt, the husband/father guy) to write something for Durango Mom. She mentioned subject matter such as child psychology, positive reinforcement, discipline issues, or other self-help type stuff for which I am almost famous. 

"Actually," she said,  "you just write whatever you want." 

So here goes:

Dear Ivey,

I need to ask you something very important. I know you read your own blog, so I thought this would be a good place to leave this letter. I hope it is not too public a forum, but what I need to address truly demands that I shout it from the rooftops. There has been something on my heart for a quite a while now. You and I have discussed it on various occasions, but the time has come to put it out there, and make it real, once and for all. 

We did something 15 years ago that changed our lives forever. We met up in Edinburgh, Scotland, over a greasy basket of chicken Q (a bizarre fried chicken dish that is blood red in color and sold at all the finer fish and chip joints) at a Wharfside Inn (it was on the fourth at the firth of Forth), where you agreed to marry me after eight years of trekking together. 

We jumped into our rental car, evaded the angry grasp of the Eco-Pirates (’nother story), and scoured the Scottish Highlands for a kindly priest to marry us... but, to no avail. I recall us being told that we needed proof that we weren't  related…as in kin? Is that a big problem in Scotland?  So we returned Stateside and I called your Dad to ask permission ('GOD KNOWS  MATT, YES... AND IT'S ABOUT TIME!), and then we packed up the Ford Aerostar (our home away from home…complete with futon and a place for Ruby) and headed for the Big Easy. Louisiana offers the best and quickest means of elopement, as well as a fun place to celebrate, so that's where we went. It was St Patrick's Day, 1997,  and we arrived at the Judge's chambers In Metairie, 

and sealed the deal. I was so nervous that I forgot to look at you as I repeated my vows. It felt patently odd, looking at a strange man in a black robe and stating with full and utter solemnity that I would love and cherish you..him?, until death do us part. Awkward!  Anyway, it was fun, but incomplete. I realize,15 years and three kids later, what is missing. 


I think we should do it again, but this time we'll invite God. 

 So (clear throat, take a knee), Will you marry me? Again?  (wow, there goes the heart rate; and, oh, do I need another ring?)

The last thing your mom said to me as we headed off to New Orleans, was, "Matt, are you sure you won't consider having a simple church ceremony?"  So what do you say?  How bout we do a weekend of nuptial sanctification? (sounds mildly salacious, actually.)  Shouldn't we recognize and celebrate the divine intervention that inevitably takes place in a successful marriage? And wouldnt it be fun to eat wedding cake, and go on a real honeymoon?

I am pretty sure you will accept, but if you need to think about it, that's fine. I will tell you the truth; If, by some bizarre stroke of utter misfortune,  you were to decline, well, then, I would really be in trouble.(..even though technically, we'd still be married.) I have all my eggs in your basket, and would probably really struggle to survive (philosophically speaking, that is).  It would be the end of the world as I know it, and I am quite sure I would not feel fine. 

How I feel about you, about marrying you, is summed up in this great quote:

"You don't marry someone you can live with, you marry the person who you cannot live without." 

That’s me; that's us.

I am thinking a beach wedding…maybe in the shadow of our favorite oil refinery.... a quick honeymoon in Santa Monica. Maybe Houston's and the Doubletree? You ready?

Thank you, Baby, for all these good years, for all these good children. Let’s add on (years, that is…)

You are my gal, and I love you.

Matt