We lived in Boulder, Colo., in a townhouse along a narrow creek. My boyfriend, Brian, and I, along with my three children, our dogs and cat, were shoehorned into the three-level home, with the children’s bedrooms in the basement.
The townhouse was too small for us, but moving presented problems I couldn’t predict, and because staying seemed so simple, we stayed. Then on Sept. 12 at 1:45 a.m., after more than a year’s worth of rain had fallen in a week, that narrow creek became a raging wave of debris. Thanks to the police scanner, we had a few minutes of warning.
My first response was to save what I could from the basement. As I stuffed clothes into bags, I could see the pressure building behind the big basement window, and water was pouring through the frame. When the glass exploded into the room a moment later, an airborne shard sliced into my calf. By the time I reached the stairs, the water was ankle deep. Within minutes, the basement had flooded to the ceiling and the cat litter box bobbed next to the washer and dryer.
Brian and I had met in the stands watching our sons play lacrosse. Brian’s son was like him, playing offense with such a lack of effort that it looked like play. My son was like me: intense, focused and driven. He wanted to understand and control the field.
I looked forward to seeing Brian in the stands, and knew I was falling in love with him, but I was playing it safe, keeping my emotions hidden.
Brian is a mechanic. He drinks beer. He hunts, butchers and eats elk and deer. I am a vegetarian health nut who prides myself on planning and articulating. He is the one at the party who starts the water-balloon fight that rages for hours and turns into a full-on soak down. I am the one who grabs all the cellphones and takes them inside.
When he first asked me out, I said no. I was too worried about how our relationship might affect our sons on their team. Instead I said, “Ask me again when the season’s over.”
We started talking on the phone every day. Eventually I said yes to a date, but I remained cautious. When we kissed the first time, it was behind a restaurant in a dim alley. This was my strategy: no one should find out. I was worried my children would have a hard time accepting a new man in my life, and I needed to be sure. I convinced myself that I could plan and then play it all out safely.
When Brian wanted us to move in together, I flipped out.
“What does this mean?” I asked. I wanted him to show me how it would work. I needed to find the flaws in the plan so I could prevent horrible things from happening. I needed the complete playbook for blending families.
Brian allowed me, with good humor, the time to worry, and he still made life fun. I saw where we were headed, and I was hoping to forestall the M-word for a while so I could get all my ducks lined up in a tight row. But when he asked me to marry him, I couldn’t say no. He’s the one who makes me laugh, makes me enjoy life — even vacuuming.
I said yes but asked, “What made you want to do this?”
by Michelle Auerbach, NY Times | Read more:
The townhouse was too small for us, but moving presented problems I couldn’t predict, and because staying seemed so simple, we stayed. Then on Sept. 12 at 1:45 a.m., after more than a year’s worth of rain had fallen in a week, that narrow creek became a raging wave of debris. Thanks to the police scanner, we had a few minutes of warning.My first response was to save what I could from the basement. As I stuffed clothes into bags, I could see the pressure building behind the big basement window, and water was pouring through the frame. When the glass exploded into the room a moment later, an airborne shard sliced into my calf. By the time I reached the stairs, the water was ankle deep. Within minutes, the basement had flooded to the ceiling and the cat litter box bobbed next to the washer and dryer.
Brian and I had met in the stands watching our sons play lacrosse. Brian’s son was like him, playing offense with such a lack of effort that it looked like play. My son was like me: intense, focused and driven. He wanted to understand and control the field.
I looked forward to seeing Brian in the stands, and knew I was falling in love with him, but I was playing it safe, keeping my emotions hidden.
Brian is a mechanic. He drinks beer. He hunts, butchers and eats elk and deer. I am a vegetarian health nut who prides myself on planning and articulating. He is the one at the party who starts the water-balloon fight that rages for hours and turns into a full-on soak down. I am the one who grabs all the cellphones and takes them inside.
When he first asked me out, I said no. I was too worried about how our relationship might affect our sons on their team. Instead I said, “Ask me again when the season’s over.”
We started talking on the phone every day. Eventually I said yes to a date, but I remained cautious. When we kissed the first time, it was behind a restaurant in a dim alley. This was my strategy: no one should find out. I was worried my children would have a hard time accepting a new man in my life, and I needed to be sure. I convinced myself that I could plan and then play it all out safely.
When Brian wanted us to move in together, I flipped out.
“What does this mean?” I asked. I wanted him to show me how it would work. I needed to find the flaws in the plan so I could prevent horrible things from happening. I needed the complete playbook for blending families.
Brian allowed me, with good humor, the time to worry, and he still made life fun. I saw where we were headed, and I was hoping to forestall the M-word for a while so I could get all my ducks lined up in a tight row. But when he asked me to marry him, I couldn’t say no. He’s the one who makes me laugh, makes me enjoy life — even vacuuming.
I said yes but asked, “What made you want to do this?”
by Michelle Auerbach, NY Times | Read more:
Image: Brian Rea
