Skip to main content

The Mother’s Day Gift ...



My second husband and I, were married June 23, 1989. He and I both shared the same love language of “gifts“. 

We each gave gifts for the most part that could also be considered “acts of service”. 

Most of the times our gifts to one another were very practical. Other times they could be eccentric.

I remember for our second anniversary he had given me a bonsai tree and then for Valentine’s Day one year he gave me a patchwork leather jacket that I had had my eye on for quite some time. Those were special to me. 

Some of our favorite gifts to one another were our spontaneous trips, whether they were weekend getaways for the two of us or with our children.

Even though we were never in competition with one another, we did jokingly tease about the both of us trying to “out do” the other. 

Mother’s Day of 1998 was approaching. He had become giggly, playful and just so extremely excited that I knew something was up. Then, the Friday before Mother’s Day he picked me up from work and drove me across town. He told me that he had something very special for me for Mother’s Day and there was absolutely no way that I could out do that!

When we pulled up to our destination I could not believe my eyes. It was a pontoon boat. It was my pontoon boat. He knew I loved the water… (but so did he). He had included the coolers, the lifejackets and a grill for the front of the boat.

This was something that our whole family enjoyed every weekend and sometimes during the week. We took our families and our friends on boat rides and it just became a part of our way of life.

He certainly spoiled me in the giftgiving department, but never to the point that I was unappreciative or always expected something.


He was a good “gift giver“ but the absolute best gift he had ever given was the gift of himself. He was a good father and a good husband. His time with us was always cherished and will never be forgotten.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

✨ The Rooms That Remember✨

I have stood through many winters, but Christmas has always been my favorite season—because that’s when I came alive. I remember the 1970s first, when the walls were young and so were you. Three sisters, one brother, Mom, Dad, and Grandmother—all of you packed inside me like laughter in a gift box waiting to burst open. You didn’t have much, not in the way the world measures things, but my floors never felt poor. They felt rich with excitement. On Christmas Eve you children would run circles around me, whispering plans to catch Santa Claus in the act. I watched you wiggle in your blankets, wide-eyed, too excited to sleep. I could almost feel your heartbeat in the quiet hours before dawn. And then—morning. Daylight barely breaking through the curtains before little footsteps raced across my boards. Stockings filled with candy and fruit, gifts being ripped open, squeals of joy bouncing off my walls. Wrapping paper flying, giggles echoing, the smell of breakfast drifting in from the kitch...

Running on Empty (and my husband’s last nerve)

One factual thing about me … I never look at the gas gauge. The only time I think of putting gas in my vehicle is when the gas light and alert goes off. That’s exactly what it’s there for … Just like the alarm clock or timer; a reminder that it’s time to do whatever it is that it needs to be done.    When we go somewhere together, my husband is always asking if there’s gas in my car. (He should rightfully ask, knowing that there’s probably not). He’s warned me numerous times that one day it’s gonna happen; one day I’m gonna ride those fumes home and I’m not gonna have enough time to stop and get gas on the way to my next destination. One day.  So there I was, on a Saturday afternoon, cruising along, singing at top of lungs, arm out the window, bobbing my head back and forth to some questionable 80s pop, completely oblivious to the fact that my car was running on fumes and good intentions. My destination? The nail parlor, about 12 miles away.  Suddenly, I felt a sputt...

The Proposal

Thursday, February 16, 2023, will be a night forever stuck in my head. It had been cold that day; the aches and pains of fibromyalgia and arthritis had been tormenting me all day. I couldn’t wait to get home and curl up in front of a fire and do nothing for the rest of the evening. Kevin, my boyfriend, had come by the shop to get his haircut that afternoon. He told me he bought me a new pistol because he didn’t like the one I had. It was an old Charter Arms .38. The trigger was a little stubborn, for sure and the site was certainly off. I consider myself to be a little “sideways“ most of the time anyways, so if the pistol was a little off, no big deal but good thing I never had to use it! I was just super impressed that he was concerned enough about me and my safety to even purchase something that significant for me. After all, we had only been dating just over 10 months. I arrived to his house about 6:30 PM. He greeted me and led me to the kitchen where my surprise awaited me. He was ...