I was expecting to love holding hands and kissing and preparing meals together. I was expecting to agonize over wedding details, wanting it to be just perfect, and then feel a little thrill of fear at the huge commitment. I was expecting to smile every morning when I woke up next to him. I was expecting that we'd talk excitedly about the future and share our dreams that now include each other.

I wasn't expecting how deep it goes.

I wasn't expecting that I'd feel a need, a yearning, for him. I wasn't expecting that, while watching people kiss in a movie, I'd long for his lips pressed against mine. I wasn't expecting that this would be the easiest decision for me to make, a firm, solid pillar of stone knowing that he is mine and I am his no little thrill of fear could make me question. I wasn't expecting to feel so hurt, so deeply hurt, and still want to be with him, still curl up beside him for comfort. I wasn't expecting to feel his pain as my own, sharp, cutting pain, even when I'm the one who inflicted it. I wasn't expecting that I could learn to depend on someone else so quickly and so entirely. I wasn't expecting the way the future could be so unseen and uncertain and that I'd be so willing to take steps forward into it because I'm not alone.

I wasn't expecting that I would look at this man sleeping beside me in wonder that God loves me this much, that this is how he compares himself to us

and my breath is knocked out of me

and all I can say is


thankyou.

Well, school is winding down and I'll soon have to say goodbye to my favourite little student, Angel. Sigh... I'm gonna miss that sassy, cool, little girl. So I thought I'd post a few last Angelisms.

As I'm reading over her work I notice she's spelled loud L-O-U-N-D. "Angel, listen to loud, what do you hear?" She says loud. "Do you hear an n in it?" She says to me with full confidence (and not joking at all), "Well, it's a silent n."

We had a little award ceremony at school and Angel won the award for most improved student (little pat on my back as I'm the one tutoring her most of the time) and as she headed back to her seat I see her say to the girl sitting next to her, "What's most improved?"

The kids at school were looking at my ring (suddenly it's exciting because now I'm married, little do they know that I've been wearing the same ring all school-year long) and they asked if I wear it ALL the time. I answered no, because I get a little rash if I sleep with it on so I have to take it off at night. Angel thrusts out her hip and says to me, "Well, you have to choose, do you want to be married or be with your husband?" I honestly didn't have any clue how to respond.

Goodbye little Angel, your sassyness will be an inspiration to me for years to come...

It's Friday at 3:30 and everything's coming up roses...

Sometimes I don't know if working in a school with kids is worth it. Some days it doesn't feel like it...

"Yes, I know you hate math, but you not doing it is not only agonizingly painful as I sit here with you for the last half hour trying to get you to do more than one question, but... you *still* have to finish and *I* still have to sit here with you."

"Be sure to thank your mom for sending along a can of chicken noodle soup for lunch. I really enjoy making it in the microwave for you while trying to control a whole classroom of children."

"Wow, this is exactly what I wanted to do for recess, turn a skipping rope and never get to jump."

"I know, let's all tattle about every single little issue that comes up. That'll make me happy this afternoon - thousands of whining children complaining about nothing."

Sigh...

I went to the dentist yesterday and everytime I go to the dentist (every four years or so) I have the distinct pleasure of visiting my dentist.

It's kind of an odd feeling. He and his wife were good friends of my parents when we all lived in Dauphin and they moved away sometime after (my memory as a two year old is not so great). We have pictures with them after they returned from a trip to Holland (I think?). Kurt's wearing some kind of Dutch boy thing and I'm wearing one of those little, white Dutch girl hats. You can tell by the smile on our faces that we were genuinly happy to see them again, and very comfortable with them. There's none of that forced-to-be-in-this-picture-with-adults-we-don't-really-remember-look that kids often have with people they don't really remember but are forced to be in a picture with anyway.

Anyhow, this all comes flooding back to me as I sit in the dentist chair with his fingers in my mouth. He's known me since I was born. He knew me before I knew him. Does he remember the Dutch hat? Does he remember the little boat cake we made for them that had mint lifesavers on it? Does he remember the time I stayed overnight at their place after my parents and brother had left and I was so proud of myself the next day because I hadn't wet the bed? Or on that same stay when I asked his wife to ask him if he could check my teeth for me when he got home from work and he did, while three year old little Corrie lay on the couch under the light of a living room lamp?

If he does remember, he doesn't let on. He casually asks me about how things are going, warns me about the health issues that are the result of gum disease, and tells me not to worry about it when I apologize for the profuse bleeding of my gums during the cleaning. He reassures me in his mild, gentle way, and sends me off. I walk to the front desk, half expecting my mom to be waiting in the waiting area. She isn't because I've long stopped having my mom drive me to appointments. I walk out into the snow and slush - a bizzare mixture of a three year old and thirty year old that only happens around people who have known you longer than you've known yourself.

I just realized this morning when I woke up at 6:43am that I have a recurring dream whenever I start to feel stressed out. When things kinda get beyond my control in real life I have a dream about being a server again. I either have irate customers, have lost my order pad with all my orders on it, don't know the specials or the menu, or some form of all three throughout the dream. It's been happening for years, I don't know why it took me this long to clue in to it.

But what sweet relief when, woken by the intensity of it all, I realize, even if it takes a few minutes, that it was all a dream. There are no customers, no order pad, not even a menu or specials to worry about anymore.

It somehow makes everything else easier to deal with.