This last weekend in Chicago ushered in our first snowfalls and the freezing temperatures. I had to work early on Sunday morning to play at Mass, so the snow was still freshly fallen on the relatively short distance (~2 blocks) between my parents’ house and the church. I was prepared to walk the way (nothing like shock to your lungs to wake someone up for singing). When I drove up to my parents’ house, Dad was already out shoveling the back walk-way. After some exchanged pleasantries, Dad casually asked if I was going to walk or drive to church; I didn’t really think anything of it when I told him I’d be walking. I went inside the house to wrap my fingers around a warm cup of tea. Even though I just left from my home, there’s nothing quite like coming home to Mom and Dad’s. I think even their lemons make the tea sweeter.
When I walked out of the house, Dad smiled and said, “Well, that’s the best I could do with my back.” When I looked, I wanted to throw my arms around him and tell him how amazing he was, but we’re European and have a hard time saying “I love you” so I just thanked him and told him I’d see him later.
The man had shoveled a straight path as far as the eye could see from our house to the church, so that my feet could have a clear way to Jesus.
And now tell me again that my expectations for my husband may be too high? It’s my dad who gave them to me. He has been my first (and, in many cases, only) example of what it means to be treated with dignity, respect, and worth – as if I’m worth a cleared path on a cold Sunday morning when he should definitely be sleeping in instead. But, thanks to my dad, I feel like I am.
So when Cody went outside to shovel without any prompting from me, I knew the adage is true – A girl finds a man who reminds her of her father. And what’s so exciting for me is that Cody only shows glimmers of what he could be – what I know he will be – and that’s pretty darn remarkable.
We were about a year into our relationship, and I knew Cody would be flying in for our once-every-three-months visit while I was still at work (playing the piano at church). I asked him if he wouldn’t mind taking the bus from the airport to the church so that I could give him a big hug the moment Mass was over instead of him waiting at the airport and waiting for me to come get him. I also secretly wanted him to be part of something that made me happy; he had never heard me perform in “that” capacity before (leading ~100 people in song) so I was really excited and nervous to have him kind of just walk inwhile I was doing something I loved.
I wanted two things from his presence: to get a glimpse at why this was an important part of my life and to share the experience with him.
In equation form, this looked like:
Doing something that made me happy
+
sharing what made me happy with someone who made me happy
=
happy happy joy joy
Let’s fast-forward about six years from that day to February 2016.
If you want the long version, keep reading! (if you want the short version, just find the bolded phrase below): My colleague encouraged me to think about participating in an improv class during the summer. He outlined the differences between short-form improv, long-form improv, stand-up comedy, and the price tag differences on the various theaters around the city (ComedySportz, Second City, Improv Olympics, etc.) In the end, I chose ComedySportz, since they pride themselves on performing shows that are for the whole family – and they specialize in short-form improv (short, spit-fire games run competition-style between two three-person teams that keep the show moving along really nicely). Unfortunately, however, even the least expensive camp was pretty expensive.
Cody and I (try to) run on a tight budget so that we experience more cool things instead of buying more things.I wasn’t sure if my financial partner would be cool with me spending the equivalent of one month’s food budget for an improv comedy class that lasted only one week.
So here’s the SHORT form of the story (Haha, get it? No? You shouldn’t have been lazy then.)
I was encouraged to take an improv class this summer. It sounded like fun.
I told Cody I’d like to take an improv class. I don’t think he took me seriously.
I looked up the ComedySportz summer class information. I told Cody about it. I think he started to take me seriously now.
“Hey Cody, you know how you took an online course that cost a few hundred dollars? Well, this improv class is something like it.” I think I saw his hand reach in protective instinct for his wallet.
I went on a school-sponsored trip to Browning, Montana the same day early-bird registration ended. I didn’t have a chance before we left to discuss how my choice to attend this class would affect our financial goals and I couldn’t reach Cody while in Montana, so I neglected to register for the class. I was going to miss the deadline and I slowly allowed myself to realize that this class might not work out after all. All these realizations made me sad.
A couple days later, a text message from Cody appeared (Whoa! Service in Browning, MT? Yay!): “Alright! You’re all signed up for the improv class!”
Ridiculous smiling and slight shock ensued. This wasn’t part of the plan, but he did it anyway. He’s a good husband.
Class was attended! I became a little funnier. I believe I’ll be an even better English teacher now that I know games that disguise learning.
Teacher of class tells me there’s a show I get to be in?! Amazing! Show time is set for 5pm on Saturday.
How are all the people I know allbusy on the day I most want them there? Whattabummer.
Cody’s capture of the show’s beginning. Here’s me pointing at all the people who weren’t able to make it but were cheering me on from a distance <3.
Hey! My brother and sister-in-law came! My old roommate and his brother came! And, duh, Cody is here.
Cody always shows up. He has shown his support for things that make me happy for as long as I can remember. How is this just hitting me now?
So – for a final review:
If it’s important to you and hemakes you happy.. then the one who shows up should be the one you marry.
