Critical Thinking Is Rarely Involved

My husband has been making fun of me for the same thing for eleven years. And unfortunately, I deserve it.

Honestly, this story probably tells you more about me than I’d like it to. Especially considering I’m now trusted with children, bills, and other things that probably should’ve required some kind of background check.

Anyway..

We were still pretty early into our relationship when I went to New Mexico to spend a couple of weeks with him. We’d known each other long before we started dating, life had taken us in different directions, and somehow we eventually found our way back to each other.

We were long distance at the time. This man had once driven 24 hours straight just to get to my house, so naturally I thought, yeah. This seems like a reasonable person to trust.

That was my first mistake.

We were driving through New Mexico one day, and if you’ve never been there, there are places where you can see for approximately 47 years in every direction. Just land. So much land.

My boyfriend pointed out the window.

“Over there is Oklahoma.”

And I believed him.

There was absolutely no critical thinking happening inside my head. I didn’t ask how far away it was. I didn’t consider whether Oklahoma was actually anywhere near us. I didn’t pull out a map.

I just looked out the window like, huh. Oklahoma. Neat.

And do you know what this asshole did?

Nothing. For five whole minutes.

He sat there driving, knowing damn well I believed him, until he finally couldn’t hold the laughter in anymore. Five minutes is a really long time to knowingly let someone you supposedly love remain that stupid.

He still brings it up. Frequently.

Marriage is beautiful.

The weird thing is, when I think about that story now, I don’t just think about the fact that apparently I had the geographical awareness of a houseplant. I think about us back then and how little we knew about the life we were about to build.

I had no idea he’d become the person who puts gas in my car more often than I do, or that I’d tell him I was having a shit day and he’d sometimes come home with a Dr Pepper and a Midnight Milky Way.

I also had no idea that if I slammed my shoulder into a wall hard enough to briefly consider whether I needed medical attention, my loving husband’s immediate response would be, “Well, that was dumb,” followed by hysterical laughter.

So don’t worry. He hasn’t gotten too sweet.

He knows every gross thing about me and has somehow survived all twelve personalities I apparently have. Personality Number Four has definitely pissed him off more than once, but he doesn’t actually judge me.

He just knows me.

And after this many years together, that means a lot.

We’ve had screaming matches. There have been times I’ve left our home for weeks. There have been times I genuinely didn’t know if we were going to make it.

We have been really bad at this sometimes. I’m not going to pretend otherwise just because we’re still here.

But somehow, after all of it, he’s my person.

If something goes wrong, I look for him. If I need help, I look for him. If I’m sick, I want my husband. He might cuddle me and then tell me my hair smells like barbecue because he cooked dinner, but still.

Him.

Then there’s my daughter. That one gets me.

Because the girl sitting in that car had absolutely no idea that the idiot beside her pointing toward imaginary Oklahoma would eventually become her daughter’s dad.

But he did. He showed up, and then he kept showing up.

Watching him become her dad in a way I never could’ve imagined back then is probably one of my favorite parts of the life we’ve built.

I’ve already informed him that if he ever divorces me, 50/50 custody of my daughter is mandatory. He can leave me. He cannot leave her. Those are the terms.

Apparently I do make the rules because I just made that one.

Sometimes I think about the girl sitting in that car all those years ago and what I’d tell her if I could.

I wouldn’t tell her everything that’s coming. I’m not sure she’d believe me anyway.

I mean, look at her. Someone pointed vaguely into the distance and told her Oklahoma was over there, and she just accepted it. And somehow that same woman is now responsible for a whole family.

No one seems concerned about this but me.

I’d tell her it’s going to be hard sometimes. That guy sitting next to her is going to piss her off in ways she cannot currently comprehend.

But I’d also tell her that someday, when something goes wrong, he’ll be the first person she looks for. He’ll become a dad to her daughter. He’ll know every gross, weird, ridiculous version of her and still be there.

And the life they eventually build together?

It’s going to be pretty damn extraordinary.

Not perfect. Not even close.

But theirs.

Of course, I’d also tell her that Oklahoma is nowhere near where he’s pointing.

Because eleven years is entirely too long to hear about this shit.

Asshole.