#WeddingWeek: Finding Love…

This is an exciting week for my family. My youngest brother is getting married on Friday!!! The day has finally come!! 🙂 And yes, I promise to post a few highlights of the big event next week sometime… provided that my camera stays in my hands and that I record the events of the day/night (which I really plan to!)

Anywhoo… In celebration of this, I have invited some of my blog friends to share about their love stories. I hope you enjoy the #WeddingWeek stories!!

The first is from Jennifer from Momma Made it Look Easy. I’ve totally enjoyed getting to know her on twitter and reading her blog — and totally wish that I would be going to the same Bloggy Boot Camp that she is so we could meet. But alas…someday.

Until then… here’s her story on Finding Love.

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Finding Love

My parents separated right before my twelfth birthday. Twelve is a pivotal year in a girl’s life; right as she is entering into puberty and is maturing and is seeing the world in a different way. At 12 a girl is putting down the toys and picking up the teen magazines, wondering when she will get to wear makeup and worrying about how her hair looks.

Needless to say my parent’s divorce had a profound impact on me. It wasn’t pretty. There was a lot of back and forth and discontent and tears and anger and unhappiness. I determined right then and there that I would never get married. I would never fall in love. I was going to be smart.

I held my heart encased in a layer of stone. I dated several boys in high school, but I had their number. Boys only wanted one thing, and they would lie to get it. I can’t even begin to tell you how many “I love you’s” I heard. All of them were empty. I was convinced that boys (men) never meant it. Love wasn’t a real thing. Men never stay.

Then I met David.

He worked with my Mom and I met him at her company Christmas party. We had this instant connection. I was so giddy when he asked me out that same day. For our first date we saw Cinderella at the dollar movie theater. It was my choice and he didn’t laugh when I picked it. I should have realized right then that we were meant to be together, but I was stubborn.

By our third date he told me loved me. I told him that he was wrong. Love wasn’t real. He promised to prove me wrong. And he did.

He helps me to smile when I’m sad.
He makes me laugh when I’m angry.
He supports me when I’ve given up.
He takes care of me when I’m sick.
He brings me down when I’m crazy.
He waits with me when I’m depressed.
He holds me when I need to cry.
He shares two beautiful children with me.
He holds his own with me when I’m being mean.
He is selfless when I’m needy.
He mourns with me when I’ve lost.
He is steadfast when I feel like I’m slipping away.
He is steady when I’m rushing.
He is the other half of me.

We were married July 28, 1990, about two and half years after that first date. We will celebrate our twentieth anniversary this year. And he continues to prove me wrong about love every day.