When (I thought) my Parents Ruined my Life

I tried to have a blog several years ago. I just didn't make the time to do it. I don't even remember what I called it. I had a few posts, probably no more than 3 or so. The Milkman didn't know I started it and someone read it and told him about it. He just wanted to know why I wrote something about how hard I had it as a stay at home mom. I almost knocked those teeth of his out. The blog had nothing to do with that...as I recall it just reviewed one of my days in humor form. I wonder if I could find it. Anyhow, when I told him I started blogging again and that I refer to him as "the Milkman" he wanted to know why that was his name??? Why wasn't I calling him "the 'Coon Slayer" or something cool like that!?! Well, probably because that is not nearly as cool as he thinks it is, and because he milks cows more than he slays 'coons.

We have a unique relationship. We pretty much get along except when we don't. And if we don't it's usually because he's buying something he's "always wanted." Or because I wanted him to stay home and help me and he wants to go boldly into the night and slay 'coons. We've been married long enough now that our fights aren't usually too exciting. I once threw a boiled egg at his head because he made me so crazy. That's normal, right? I'm probably the one that would require anger management. He would require a class on "how to talk through you anger and not pretend the person you are mad at doesn't exist." Whatever our flaws...it works.

I really can't imagine living life without him. Don't get me wrong, there are days I imagine laying on a tropical beach all by my lonesome reading a book sipping an umbrella drink and he imagines (and once a year lives) traipsing the mountains in Colorado, without me, being a mountain man/elk slayer. And that's why we work. While our identities are fully tied to each other, our kids, families, and our farm, we still are our own people. Even if it is just a few days a year.

We grow up with fairy tales and happily ever afters and tv families. They make it look easy. Then you grow up and realize...it ain't! It's hard and gritty and messy. I can't imagine how people say things like "we've been married 5 years and we've never had a fight" and mean it. I would be willing to bet that someone in that relationship ain't all that happy! 

Fighting is normal. It grows relationships. It makes things change and evolve or dissolve. It can be like a stormy spring. Sometimes fights tear down a relationship like a tornado and you can either decide to leave it torn apart or you can rebuild. Depending on the subject matter that can be tough. I've seen friends and family members go both ways with that kind of storm. But after a tornado there is always something you can find breathtakingly beautiful. It might be a flower or tree still standing, or a treasure not destroyed. Sometimes it's just the spirit of those affected an the determination to keep moving forward. 

We've had some stormy times probably a F1 tornado a time or two but we came out finding the beauty in making it work. I owe that to God. I'll tell you my little story. 

I picked the Milkman out. When I was 11 my parents (and God) decided that we were moving 250 or so miles from everything and everyone I'd ever known to some no-name Arkansas town. I hated them, my parents, and I wasn't too happy with God either. I remember that it was stay where we were, go to God forsaken Arkansas, or there was a Fresno, CA option in there somewhere. Thank The Lord we didn't go there. That would have been a train wreck. Rednecks and California, doesn't seem like it would end well. Anyhow, God knew what he was doing. My dad took this church in Arkansas and I hated it too. Even with my crying, screaming, begging, refusing, and logical arguments (11 is a very intelligent age) they still drug me here. 

I met a few people. I mostly hated them because they lived in Arkansas and I was being held hostage here. One of those people was the Milkman. But at the time he was a pain-in-the-butt 13 year old brat. I wasn't overly fond of him but he was kinda cute. That little brat stuck in my head for years. I married him in the game of MASH so many times I lost count. Gross. 

We grew up. He was a wild child redneck, confederate flag flying, Dixie horn having brat. But he was kinda cuter than before. I had a couple boyfriends and he had a girlfriend or twelve and it never really mattered. He went to college in the yankeeville north and came back after a couple years and I was a senior. When he got back....he was way cuter and a little less of a brat. Somewhere along the way I learned to love this little no name town. And then I chased the Milkman around like a 17 year old girl would do. 

I'm pretty stubborn and hard headed. (You never would have guessed, huh?) When I go after something I kind of make it a mission. And going after the Milkman wasn't one I was going to fail. I didn't. And there were more obstacles and tornados than I can count. But somehow I knew that God moved my family to this place, against my will, so I could spend my senior year chasing him and then spending the rest of my life loving, fighting, and living our dream, doing what we love. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't thank God for what he's given me. I'm blessed beyond words to have the life I have. None of them would have happened if I always stayed comfortable. My parents made hard decisions that put me where I am today and I am so glad they did. It caused them enough tornadoes to tear a town apart. And we've all been better off for their commitment to follow God. He knows what He's doing even if we can't see it. The benefits might not show for 10 years. I can see a little more of the picture today than I could when I was a miserable 11 year old. I wouldn't change a thing.