Stacie Sherman

Ten years ago, I met the jackpot of men. I didn’t know it at the time. He was just a guy from my town, a friend of a friend. I was a single mom of two kids with special needs, tired of speed dating, tired of mating games, fed up with trying to be something I was not.

Then my now-husband asked me out to dinner. He had very recently filed for divorce, was just looking for a night-out companion. I had never really thought of him as dating material, I don’t know why. But I had no plans, and my kids were away with their dad for the weekend.

Thank God I said yes.

On March 10, 2007, over Italian food and red wine, we enjoyed each other’s company. I could tell he was a “what you see is what you get” kind of guy, and it was refreshing after a long string of players and liars. He entertained me with light conversation, a few jokes, even a magic trick with a quarter pulled from behind my ear. As I looked across the table at him, I thought to myself, damn, this guy is handsome! How come I never noticed that before?

Slowly, surely, we fell in love.

Over the years, he grew into my everything. My rock, my partner in crime, my travel buddy, my cooking critic, my babysitter on girl’s night, my dance partner, my kids’ homework helper, my  volunteer event co-chair, my designated driver.

He thinks I’m hot when I’m not wearing makeup. He sings old songs along with me in the car. He comforts me when I’m having a rough day. I don’t know how I would have done these past 10 years without him.

Our relationship has had its share of bumps. That’s what happens when you have two very different, not-so-young people with lots of history and butt-loads of baggage.

Between us, we have six kids. He has four “typical” children; I have two special ones. He and his kids are all dark-haired, me and mine are blondes. We are a modern-day Brady Bunch.

When we met, the children ranged in ages from 3 to 15. They’re now 13 to 25. Some are with us full-time. Some are part-time. Some are temporary inhabitants. No two are alike! Not one is perfect. Each one is amazing and exasperating in their own special, beautiful way.

As much as we love our kids, we love our kid-less weekends. Without them I don’t know if we would have made it. The weekdays are chaotic, stressful. We both work full-time, there are tons to juggle each day. I am not ashamed to say we need just-the-two-of-us time, to decompress, reconnect.

As the kids grow up, graduate high school, go to college, get jobs, the crowd in our house slowly dwindles. Most parents dream of the day they are empty-nesters. They downsize, or move south. They travel more, cook less.

For us, it may be many years until it is just the two of us. It may be never.

That is my reality, and his. My youngest child, 15, will never be independent. Whether she lives her adult life with us, or somewhere else, is something I haven’t decided yet.But no doubt, it was something my husband had to think about before he decided to marry us.

There are days I forget how lucky I am. I mean, don’t get me wrong. He’s pretty lucky too, if I do say so myself. :). But he is truly one in a million.

As we make our way through this crazy life, the day-to-day often clouds the bigger picture. My husband and I are very different. He’s brutally honest, I’m ridiculously sensitive. I’m a crier and have a temper; he’s painfully sarcastic and laughs in the midst of an argument. Our blended family doesn’t always blend.

I have developed a bit of OCD in my 40s, a product of being the only adult in my household before he came along, and of having two special kids who thrive on order and schedule. My husband is far from OCD, as are his children. Mess drives me as batty as my nagging drives him. I am always urging him to clean or cook; he is always urging me to relax and sit down.

Somehow, somewhere, we meet in the middle.

On our wedding day 4 1/2 years ago, we read hand-written vows. Surrounded by friends and family, at our favorite restaurant, I quoted from a Rascal Flatts song that I think they wrote for me:

Love you, babe.