The back story, or rather, how I got to this point in my life.
I grew up in a divorced home, one of four, didn’t grow up in the best neighborhood, was shuffled back and forth between homes and was kind of lost in the hustle and bustle of everyday life, not intentionally, just a lot was going on. I didn’t have a bad childhood, at all, and I don’t blame my parents for a darn thing, they did the best they could in every situation.
My dad died when I was a freshman and I was quiet/shy in high school; I didn’t have a strong sense of self and really had no clue as to what was going on. Totally naive. Soon after I graduated my mom married an amazing man and moved us all to the country. I became one of five.
Fast forward through a lot of my 20’s…moved out to spread my wings, a broken engagement due to infidelity, and a car accident in which a driver blew through a stop sign and left me in the ICU for a week, killed my sister (who I basically lived on the same nonsensical wavelength with), and impaired my memory functions. Now I’m one of four, again.
Life. “Nobody said it was easy.”
Oh, and I got a BS in Business Management in my 20’s, too.
After recovering from the accident, I decided to move to Santa Cruz, to live an easy breezy life on the beach and meet like-minded, “eco” friendly individuals. I didn’t date while I lived in SC, I “interviewed,” and had a blast doing so. I had all kinds of rules I followed, and my friends had a good laugh at the stories I’d tell about my (mostly) coffee interactions. It was here, at a cute little coffee shop called, “The Abbey,” that I met the love of my life.
Our first date was pretty magical, we met at the coffee shop, sneaked into the back yard of a home that was being build on the ocean in Pleasure Point, went slugging on a mini hike in Henry Cowells, then had dinner at a little burger place named, well, Burger. He was a quiet gentleman with a crooked smile, a charming scar across his nose, and whose eyes sparkled whenever we were outdoors.
Our second interview I went to his place, he made me a GF pizza and we watched the documentary, Marley. The third interview, he came to my tiny beach bungalow with beamed ceilings and my colorful paintings on the wall; I cooked dinner and we sat opposite each other, Indian style, with a cup of tea, and chatted about hopes/dreams, financial situations, past relationships, etc. I knew. Three interviews in, and I knew.
It had been dating just six months when he asked me to marry him, and three months after that we sealed the deal – barefoot on the beach in front of 40 of our closest family and friends, followed by a short walk to a lovely dinner at Cafe Rio. Interestingly enough, it rained the day we got married; not just a little rain either, a downright out pour. No backup plan, of course, but it cleared up one hour prior to the ceremony and right above where we were married, there was a halo where the clouds parted … I like to think my sister was watching from above that day.
We loved, absolutely LOVED living in Santa Cruz, but the cost of living to the paying down debt ratio was not in our favor; darn the student loans on a Masters Degree. We decided to put aside out wants of living in a rad place and moved inland where rent was half the price for a house that was twice as big and, surprisingly, the wages were the same.
In a financial sense, it was the right move. We followed Dave Ramsey‘s method of paying things off and put a good dent in what we owed. Fast forward to December 25, 2014, when we found out we were pregnant, and it’s a good thing we had bettered our financial situation before bringing kiddos into the world as there was (ever so slightly) less stress.
You can read my first post, Times They are a Changin’ to read about our birth story.
Moral of the story: Let your past make you better, not bitter.