Want to hear the story?

Well.

It started off with me being in a mood. Someone who worked for an airline, which I shall not name, put me in a bad mood. I didn’t call names, and I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true, but I did throw my sandals down on the ground in a cold fury (they were in my hands because we’d just sprinted through the airport, shoes in hand, all for naught). And I wished such horrible things upon this person. I wished that she would trip and fall and knock all her teeth out of her head. Oh, my thoughts, they were terrible. This is why the universe in its infinite wisdom has made sure that I have no worldly power, none at all. I command neither armies nor ants. Anyway, I was livid. And poor Nick, my beloved epicdanger, had to be good cop because I was very much NOT being good cop. And then from rage I quickly went into self-flagellation because I was getting on that plane to GO TEACH A LIFE COACHING WORKSHOP. OH THE IRONY!!!

Southwest Airlines and a little New Orleans cafe in Phoenix helped us turn things around, though, and we bought glasses of bubbly to celebrate everything in spite of the crummy kink in our plans, and we were giddy and happy again by the time @Brybear snapped this pic of us in the airport.

So a thousand dollars, an overheated plane, and a three-hour layover later, we finally get to our hotel in Austin. There are beloved people to greet, there are packets of papers to manage for our workshops the next day, there are bags and elevators and oh hey we forgot to eat dinner and we go up up up and into our room and–

weird–

it looks like there is a vase of peonies in our room.

But that can’t be, they must be fake peonies, because peonies are such rare, delicate, expensive miracles.

And then I turn my head and realize the whole room is filled– just FILLED– with masses and masses of beautiful white peonies. And little glimmering tealights. And there is a pillar with an ice bucket and a bottle of Veuve.

And my beloved is down on one knee.

OHMYGOD.

~~~!!!!!heartleap!!!!!~~~~

Well, I said yes, of course. My answer to EpicDanger has always been yes.

~~~~~!!!swoon!!!~~~~~~

It took me a while to come back down to earth, but Martha Beck and her team were kind enough to throw us an AMAZING engagement party all weekend. LOL.

(And thank you, thank you, for all your kind and sweet notes and good wishes and congratulations– we are over the moon!!!)

And no, we don’t know yet when the wedding will be, and no we don’t know which girls will be flower girls yet. We also don’t know much of anything except that we are getting MARRIED.

I didn’t think it could even GET more official – when you have as many children as we do you’re not going to just get involved with someone in another country unless it’s REALLY SERIOUS– but something about this big beautiful romantic rite of passage just thrilled me down to my toes.

And here’s the best part of the story. Remember last year when I bought myself a diamond ring? I did.

So this posed a problem for my poor beloved, because how can one propose when every finger on your woman’s hand is already taken?!?!? So we went round and round; should we buy a new ring? should I sell my EFBA ring? Should I wear it on my other hand? But that’s where I wear my grandmother’s ring…

Now my beloved is a proud human. A total dude, even. And the thought of NOT giving me a traditional engagement ring– bought with the traditional two months’ of salary– because obviously we are VERY traditional people– well, it STUNG.

And here is the most loving thing Nick has ever done for me. It was a conversation we had a little while ago.

“Is there any ring on the planet that you would like more than the one you already have?”

“No,” I admitted.

Big sigh and eye roll.

“Keep your ring. It should be your engagement ring.”

I got very quiet. “Are you sure??? You won’t resent it??”

“I’m sure.” And then Nick smiled that smile that melts me all the way down to my silver-polished toes. So I handed it over.

And then last weekend, surrounded by peonies, Nick put it back on my finger in that time-honored tradition of claiming your woman-property as your own. JUST KIDDING! In our time-honored tradition of buying a woman for the price of a shiny mineral. JUST KIDDING! Ok, look, I’m a feminist down to my bones AND?? You know what?? It was SO ROMANTIC.

And all weekend my beloved has put up with people exclaiming about the amazing ring. I think that the most gracious, loving, BIG thing I’ve ever seen is this consistent, peaceable response: “It’s a good one, isn’t it?”

Oh, how much tongue biting. How much pride swallowing. How much true, tender loving is tied up in that sentence.

And that, folks, is why I’m marrying that marvelous human. At least, it’s reason # 476.

So there’s the story! (I mean the part that’s fit for public consumption.)

And what’s funny is that the whole reason I bought myself that ring was because I had finally decided, deep down in my heart, that I was just destined to be alone in this life, and that I could be very very happy with that. And part of being happy was having a beautiful sparkle. So I made that happen. I made my life alone as beautiful as my heart desired.

And then a few months later I fell in love.

So just remember, dearhearts. When you make a big declaration, watch the universe chuckle its most loving chortle at you.

And if the love of your life still wants to marry you, even on your very most worst asshole day, say yes.