I won’t pretend to know what you were thinking when you slammed into the back of that Suburban and then careened into the truck my husband was riding in at the time. I don’t think I can wrap my head around the decision to get behind the wheel of a vehicle while drunk, drinking or even only “just had a few.” There is no excuse: You were in the wrong.

Now that we all understand that you were in the wrong, I feel the need to tell you a few things about one of the men you endangered with your bad decision.

He is, hands down, the most amazing man I have ever met. He is a devoted husband, a hands-on daddy, this house’s primary dish washer, a loving son, a helpful grandson, a loyal friend, a faithful believer, and a dedicated firefighter. I suppose if you’re going to get all willy-nilly drunk and slam into two cars that are stopped, hitting a bunch of firefighters was a good choice on your part, though I suspect that you had little to do with that aspect of the decision. But back to my husband…

He seems quiet at first, and honestly, he’s not as loud as me. He is the loud to my quiet, the relaxed to my high strung. He balances me. We’re one of those weird couples that simply matches. We are, if you’ll allow me a Sleepless in Seattle moment, MFEO. Fake gag at our sappy love all you want, everyone else does. But we’ve got a good thing going over here. And that quiet I mentioned? It disappears as you get to know him. While he’ll never be as loud as me, he is quick with a joke. The twinkle in his eye lets you know that even when he’s quiet, he’s laughing on the inside. He makes me feel like I’m the smartest, funniest, most talented, most beautiful woman on the planet. I would be lost without him.

Our two sons love him to the moon and back. About eighty bagillion times. There is no one as amazing as their daddy. I mean, what little boy doesn’t want a firefighter for a dad? He is a super hero in their eyes. He plays rough, but cuddles close. He can swing a light saber with the best of them, and has taught our boys how to cast while fishing. He’s patient when teaching them how to play baseball, how to kick a soccer ball. He does things with and teaches the boys things that I either can’t do or he just simply does better. Like vacuuming. He makes my sons feel loved, valued and important. They would be lost without him.

There are other people, removed from the obvious people like his mom and dad and sister and grandparents, who would be heartbroken without my husband. My daughter. My parents, brother and grandparents, all of whom seem to like him more than they like me. The Fake Husband. Countless others around this city whom he has touched, whom he has helped, whom he has bestowed his winning smile upon. His fellow firefighters, for whom he would lay his life on the line.

Which brings me to this point: I have learned to live with the fear, the worry, the anxiety that comes hand-in-hand with being a firefighter’s wife. Most days, I don’t think about it. He goes to work, and I busy myself with my work, our children, the home and life as it happens. I have forced myself to ignore the scanner, forced myself not to turn it on when he runs out in the middle of the night. Despite the fact that I can function even when I know he’s on a major fire, the fear always looms, lurks in the back of my head, my heart. It’s dangerous, fighting fires. It is. It makes me angry that you took something that didn’t cause me much fear — driving — and tainted it. I don’t want to live in fear every time that he leaves the house that a drunk driver will ruin everything we have with one bad judgment call.

Do you know what frustrates me most, Mr. Drunk Driver? I know nothing about you. The news media in Columbus doesn’t find a car accident caused by a drunk driver that involved three firefighters and two other civilians (of which, those two were transported to the hospital) to be news-worthy. The Ohio Crash Report doesn’t yet have you uploaded so that I can know your name, so that I can google you and figure out if you were set to lose as much as we were that night. So I can know who my enemy is. So I can say a prayer for that enemy, that maybe, God willing, the next time you get behind the wheel of a vehicle, you will think twice about those “just a few beers” that you have had. So that maybe you won’t put that car in drive. So that maybe you’ll think about families and fathers and mothers and children and sons and daughters and friends and co-workers and random acquaintances that would be devastated by the loss of one of their own. The good news is that, once the weekend backlog is officially entered, I’ll know who to pray for — whose name to pray never crosses our paths again.

Maybe you’re a great guy, Mr. Drunk Driver. Maybe you made one bad choice in the middle of a lifetime of great choices. Maybe you feel such remorse that it will never, ever happen again. I hope so. I hope no wife has to listen to her husband recount the moments that could have ended it all. I hope no wife has to experience worse than that — the unthinkable, the unmentionable.

I am thankful that my husband is okay. I am still praying that those in the Suburban that you slammed into first are okay. I spent most of yesterday thanking God and simply staring at my husband. The problem with that is that I’m always thankful for my husband. I didn’t need this near tragedy to open my eyes and show me what an amazing man I married. I always knew that; I didn’t need your help.

We love this man.

So, in short: Keep your drunk-driving, bad-choice-making, family-endangering behind off the road and away from my family.

Sincerely,
The Wife of the Most Amazing Man Ever

(PS: I didn’t cuss in this letter, but let it be known: I have thought all of the letter words since the accident happened. Just sayin’.)

…sushi with my daughter in April.

…wishers with BigBrother in May.

…flutes with LittleBrother in June.

…ice cream with super heroes in July.

…fun in San Diego at BlogHer in August.

…funny faces with Booey in September.

…leaving NYC in October.

…riding in the Christmas parade with my boys in November.

…anniversary date night with my husband in December.

…100 days of school with BigBrother in January.

…a bid on a new house in February.

…St. Patrick’s Day fun (right after buying a house) in March.

…kite flying after supper in April.

30 happened. And it was good. 31 begins in the morning, and I honestly can’t wait to see what it brings.

Sometimes those friends disappear, not out of malice; it is what it is.

But sometimes, even though the distance is far and the tweets are few and far between, a car pulls into a driveway, a family piles out and you pick up right where you left off. Just with more kids than last time.

We were so happy to spend some time with old friends today. Our best man, his wife and their two beautiful daughters stopped by for a couple of hours on a road trip. I snuggled one baby girl and watched as my boys flitted over the other. I felt that tug of the wish that they lived just a bit closer as I watched my husband and his old best friend talk while two little boys and two little girls ran around and around, or, at least sat cuddled in arms. I watched LittleBrother climb all over our friend. I watched my husband hand the older girl a frisbee. I cleaned baby puke off of my friend’s arm.

There are friends that will simply always be.

Today we laughed at how things have changed as the kids ran about and spilled water and maybe almost flirted with one another. We’re different people, that’s for certain. But there are friends for whom that difference doesn’t matter.

I know that every last one of us is thankful for every last one of them.

Putting the boys’ rooms together has been a highlight of the new house. Their spaces are so much bigger. BigBrother had a half-way finished decor redo for his sixth birthday, but I had never repainted because, well, we were looking for a new house. I didn’t want to paint twice! It has been a joy seeing their new rooms come together with all of the things I have wanted to do for so long.

Well, it turns out that I didn’t know I wanted to do something until Dee recently sent me to Etsy. So, this is all her fault.

She sent me to a LEGO Firefighter Switchplate. I died. Put it in my cart immediately. Purchased it. Then pinned it so no one else could buy it first. Contacted the shop owner, named Val, and said that I needed a pirate boy (she has a girl listed) as BigBrother’s new decor is all about pirates, arrrr! Val is super fast and both arrived today.

Oh my word, they’re perfect.

First and foremost, my sons think that LEGOs are the be all and end all right now. Secondly, holy moly. Thirdly, don’t we think this smug firefighter looks a little like FireDad if he was allowed to have that much facial hair?

Lastly, how perfect? How stinkin’ perfect?

I will say that LittleBrother’s firefighter LEGO switchplate is a little more difficult to turn off because of the yellow ledge directly above the switch. It’s fine to turn on, though you usually whack the one guy’s hose (…). BigBrother’s pirate LEGO switchplate isn’t difficult at all. It’s perfect.

The boys are, understandably, enthralled. I told LittleBrother there was a surprise in his room, but that he needed to turn his light off. He turned to turn it off and his face just lit up so bright, so big, before he exclaimed, “MOMMY! That’s AWESOME! Did you do that?” BigBrother was equally amazed when he got home from school. They stood around and looked at them for a good ten minutes.

Mommy decorating win.

I really kind of want one for our room… like the C3PO & R2D2 … but I’ll hold off until the boys out grow theirs and then I’ll put one in our room and one in our bathroom. Total win.

I’ll be slowly sharing more of what the boys’ rooms look like in the new house over the next few weeks. I have a few project left (spray painting old letters new colors, new picture frames, and so on). Until then you should follow Val on twitter (@valglaser) or like her Facebook page. Most of all, go check out her Etsy store. She does have another firefighter switchplate in stock which is also awesome. That’s one of the best things — each product is unique!

I have two very happy boys right now which makes me a very happy mommy. Hooray for the little things in life — little this time meaning LEGOs that are glued to something and thus can’t be stepped on in the middle of the night. Hooray!

That’s good, because we live there whether he loves it or not.

I had been worried about the boys’ transition to the new house. In the weeks preceding our move, they asked lots of questions. Like, “Are we going to take our toys?” And, “What about our beds?” And one that LittleBrother kept harping on, “Mommy, please don’t forget my toothbrush, okay?” It’s hard to explain that, yes, you’re going to move everything to the new house. BigBrother didn’t remember the last move; he was three months old and had a crib, a bouncy seat and some basic toys. Since then, he collected a bit more stuff… to put it mildly.

Thankfully they really do love the new house. They have more space in absolutely every place they could have more space. More bedroom space. A longer hallway to run up and down in their underwear, yelling, “Tra-la-LAA!,” thus channeling Captain Underpants. A much, much bigger playroom. Bigger rooms that they don’t care about (read: kitchen, dining room, and so on). A big front yard and a huge back yard! Even their closets are bigger and I have found them, on more than one occasion, huddled in a closet, playing and giggling. The transition hasn’t been much of a transition for them at all.

Maybe it’s because they’re kids and they adjust to change easier than adults do — or, uh, easier than I do. Because why can’t I remember where the cups and glasses are? Or the microwave — it’s not like the microwave is hard to see. There it is! See it! It is not over there! Why do you walk over there? I don’t know. The kitchens aren’t even remotely shaped the same, so why do I wander around aimlessly opening cupboard doors? Also, I keep reaching to the right for the toilet paper; it is not there. It is on the left. In fact, it was on the left at the old house, too. What is my problem?

But maybe it’s also because of their outlook on life.

We were heading home today after running a few errands.

“Home, home, home we go,” I chanted from the driver seat. Mostly I was trying to keep LittleBrother awake as he looked particularly dozy. As a rule, if he falls asleep in the car, he will be a bear for the rest of the day. We try to avoid this at all costs.

There was a pause. I was afraid he had fallen asleep.

“Home is where your heart is,” came his little voice from the back seat. I was kind of taken aback.

“What?”

“Home. is. where. your. heart. is,” he slow-spoke in a louder voice than before, just in case I was either losing my hearing or just not very smart. I craned my neck at the stop sign to see him in the back seat.

“Well, that’s true. Very true. So is our new house a home?”

“Yes, Mommy. You’re silly.”

And there you have it.

Maybe he didn’t have a transition or adjustment period because it wasn’t about the house or the space or finding the freaking microwave or the bathroom in the dark (though that was an interesting first night which caused us to purchase a night light for the hall the next day). Our home traveled with us from one house to another. The heart of our family didn’t change, just the place where we live.

My four-year-old is wiser than I am — and I’m okay with that.

I just hope to stop wandering around the kitchen sometime soon. You know, before I rearrange it and cause further confusion and delay. That’s just how I roll.

Because the following exchange would only happen in our house. First let me set the scene, and to do so, we have to back up a little bit. And talk about poop.

BigBrother demands that after a bowel movement but prior to wiping, he must flush. He was always panicked about “clugging” the toilet. A plunger had to be in plain sight. In our old house, he had gotten used to everything — himself, the way our toilet flushed, plunger in plain sight, and so on — and the panic subsided. It was just the norm to hear two flushes when he was in the bathroom. Life with boys. Or, at least, life with that boy.

On our first day at the new house but prior to the big move, he posed a question.

“Do we have a plunger here?”

We did, but we did not yet know that it was in the bathroom closet, so we told him no. He internalized that fact and decided not to utilize the facilities for the purpose of number two. Eventually, as we moved in, we found the plunger that came with the house and moved in our own plunger. Two plungers for two bathrooms. Life sure is good around these parts!

On our second day actually in the new house, he went off to do his business. He asked a few questions about the presence of a plunger ahead of time and seemed okay with it.

I heard the sound of the toilet flushing the first time, and then a panicked voice.

“Ahhhhhh! PLUNGER! PLUNGER! THE TOILET IS CLUGGING!”

And so I left whatever box I was unpacking and went running down the hall. By the time I got there, the toilet was done flushing and BigBrother looked slightly sheepish.

“But the water came UP before it went down.”

I explained that it’s a weird toilet and that’s just the way it works. It kind of looks like it’s going to “clug,” but then it doesn’t. He gave me a raised eyebrow, untrusting of this strange new toilet. I assured him that it would be fine and left him to finish up his business.

Every morning for the next few days, we had to stand there with him while he flushed because he was too scared to do it on his own. And not just stand there: coax him and tell him it would be okay and eventually say, “OMG! JUST FLUSH THE DANG TOILET!” Or not. But maybe.

Despite flushing drama, the two full baths, one being the master bath, just so happen to be one of my favorite parts of our new house. They’re horribly painted — and we can’t repaint just yet due to paint on the tiles. They really are the bane of our new house, though the carpet in the finished side of the basement (aka, playroom) comes in a close second). One day they will both be peaceful places for us to flush toilets.

So less this:

And something far more… us. And less tropical. Like the green accessories in our bathroom and the gray in theirs. Both with plungers in quick reach, obviously.

It started out like this:

Over the years, it evolved into this:

There was no rhyme or reason. It wasn’t bad. It wasn’t great. I knew I wanted to go about it differently when we moved into our new home. I had pinned some good ideas, but have yet to unpack the wax paper. So I grabbed a roll of the kids’ art paper, traced absolutely every frame I wanted to hang, marking their nail holes and got to taping it on the wall. I measured and removed and replaced and cussed and moved a couch I shouldn’t have moved by myself and eventually came up with this grouping.

I was quite exhausted by that point, but I got to nailing. I only had one goof up where I finished hanging a photo and then removed the next piece of paper before nailing. I had to remeasure and tape and cuss some more. But it’s done.

It’s not 100% perfect and, when little feet run, pictures that were hanging straight are tilted ever so slightly. But it’s done. For now. And, having a much bigger living room, there’s room to add more photos as we see fit. Also, I still haven’t updated a number of photos on the wall to reflect the past year. I’m sure I’ll get there at some point.

Adding the photo wall, our art wall, the normal nick-knacks, drapes and the Easter decorations really made the living room feel like “ours” today. We’re making this new house our home. It’s rather exhausting, but I’m enjoying the process.

We bought a new house today! The closing was at 4:00pm and by 6:30 we were painting.

As some of you know, we’ve been looking since August of 2011. We originally saw this house in October, but FireDad wasn’t sure about it. We originally were dead set on a house in the country. I grew up on nearly 90 acres. He grew up in a tiny town on a large lot. We learned very quickly with our first home purchase that city life, however small our city is, wasn’t right for us. However, with the oil and gas coming to our area, no one was selling houses in the country. There were a few — no, only two — neighborhoods (read: houses without lots of land) that we had on our list of acceptable. This house was in one of those neighborhoods.

In late January, after we were outbid on a house in the country, we decided to see this house again. The timing was right because the previous owners had already moved and were willing to deal. Once we got it under contract, it was a long process as we were using my husband’s VA loan. That’s a post in itself for another time because, good gravy, that’s a difficult process to get through. But we did.

The first thing the boys did when we got to the new house today was climb the tree in the front yard.

It’s a lovely ranch style home (also a post in itself) in a lovely neighborhood with children and normal people and homes that are well cared for and, beyond our street? Is nothing but a field and trees. It’s quiet. It’s lovely.

It’s home.

I have wanted to talk about it for weeks. But with the VA process, you never quite know if you’re going to close until you get the call that says, “Bring x-amount of dollars at x-time.” That call came today and a weight lifted off of my shoulders. I could breathe. I could smile. I could write.

Today we begin a new chapter. There’s lots of painting to be done. And carpet cleaning. And new windows. And making it our own. At some point I’ll be refinishing a hutch my grandfather built with bright yellow paint. But however long it takes, I’m just so, so happy.

Welcome to our home and the next chapter of our lives.

We fell in love with a property, but not the house. We found out that properties in Ohio can lack a well. I received paperwork for an appointment with a neurosurgeon without warning that said paperwork was coming to my mailbox. We had a wonderful group date night with wonderful friends. An old friend of mine lost his father. I learned that surgery was probably going to happen. A friend died. We fell in love with not one, but two houses. A friend experienced a horrible loss that broke my heart into a thousand pieces. We chose a house. We made an offer. We waited. Our offer was accepted! We began the long, arduous task of cutting our way through the red tape of a VA loan. I learned that I wouldn’t have to have surgery, but a dorky back brace was a must as well as some butt-kicking physical therapy. We found out that we’re getting a nephew! I found out that the back brace makes my back feel worse.

Up and down and up and down and up and down. And up and down.

This is life, I suppose.

These are the moments — these juxtaposed moments of happy and sad and busy and confused and angry and what-now? and heart-breaking and heart-bursting — that remind me adulthood is a mix of responsibility, faith, luck, triumph, loss, failure and love. Being an adult is hard. I get that. I accept that. But sometimes, I miss the not knowing. I miss the ability to just go along with the flow because that was your only option. The being in charge of the flow… or, no… the understanding the even though you’re in charge of the flow that you’re not really in charge of the flow is what gets me the most.

If I had my way, my friends would all be happy, healthy, cancer-free, and never side-swiped with unimaginable loss. If I had my way, my back would function properly and my son wouldn’t ask me, “Mommy, does your back feel good enough to pick me up today?” If I had my way, the red tape would fall away and we could pick and choose our place of residence without worry, without confusion, without second guessing ourselves. If I had my way, it would all be up for everyone that I loved.

But that’s not the reality of life. I accept it for what it is… I suppose.

I’ll put on my dorky back brace and make my way through red tape and visit friends who need a friend and pick up my not-so-baby boy even though it hurts and smile through the pain of it all. I’ll paint pin rainbows and pray and wish and hope and plead and shake my fist for happier times for all. And do laundry. Lots of it.

Because, when I stop and think about what stepping off of this roller coaster called life means, I would rather stay on it indefinitely than step off. I don’t want to miss any of the good just to miss the bad. I don’t want to give up the responsibility just because I don’t like the gunk that comes with said responsibility. I mean, I’d like to miss the gunk; I would. I really, really would. But I don’t think that’s what living life is about.

So I’m on this roller coaster for life. It’s just a shame I’m afraid of heights.