Was it fate? Or maybe the switch from a sweaty baseball hat to a clean one that caught my eye? This definitely isn’t your cliché “we met at a bar” story. In fact, I probably wouldn’t have shown up at a bar looking for a date in workout shorts and an oversized shirt, sweaty from a sand volleyball game—but when your girlfriends want to celebrate a win with drinks, you go. Especially to the same dive bar you’ve been to a hundred times, even if it’s 30 minutes away from volleyball. And while I knew there was some background drama involving a good friend of the cute guy at the bar and one of the girls I came with, I had no part in it—at least, not before I even knew the drama existed. Sitting alone at the bar rail, minding my own business, a cute guy I’d never seen before plopped down beside me—also freshly sweaty, but from a beer league softball game across the street. As we started talking, the irony of not knowing who he was became pretty shocking. No matter how many times he tried to impress me with who he was and who he knew, we both now agree it was better I had no idea! We knew so many of the same people, grew up in the same town, had probably been in this very bar on multiple Thursday nights, and his cousin was one of my best high school friends! The man upstairs really saved the big reveal for this night. The night flew by, and when it was time to go, no numbers were exchanged—no friend requests sent. That was it. At least I stayed out of trouble, right? Wrong. As I pulled out of the parking lot, Jerald’s truck pulled in front of mine. He hopped out, came to my window, asked for my number, and made sure I got home safe. I wasn’t looking for love that night, but I wasn’t about to ignore the possibility that something real was there. Conversations continued. By Monday, we had our first date. Then came many more, the cutest dog, selling a house, buying and renovating another, having two beautiful babies, navigating parenthood—and, best of all, celebrating that random night at the bar that brought us here today to celebrate our FOREVER.

After meeting at the bar on Thursday, we spent the entire weekend texting, getting to know each other, and eventually making plans for a first date on Monday—Mexican food at Arturo’s (my favorite!). That morning, I got ready for the day knowing I had a date that night. I did my hair and wore the expensive long-wear makeup—ladies, you know exactly what I’m talking about! I wasn’t quite ready to tell my friends or my sister (who lived with me) about this guy just yet. I needed to see if this was actually going somewhere. We had been texting constantly, so when all I got was a 6:30am “have a good day” text and then radio silence, I started to get suspicious. A few dry texts came through around lunchtime, but something felt off. Hours passed with no response, and by the time 6:00 p.m. rolled around, I had fully convinced myself he was ghosting me. Whatever. No love lost. But come on—at least say something. Don’t just disappear. I hopped in the shower, threw on my comfy clothes, and accepted that I’d be spending the night watching Netflix. No sooner had I slid into my slippers when my phone rang. I figured it was a client—but nope, “Jerald (Baseball Tap)” lit up across my screen. My heart sank. Why is he calling me?! I hesitantly answered, and in the most casual tone, he goes: “Sorry it’s a little late—today was my first day back, I was in training. I can run home to change quick and pick you up for dinner.” Oh. My. God. Here I was thinking he’d been ignoring me, when really, he was just focused on learning a new position on his first day back. Obviously he was not going to be texting all day... What a brat I was for thinking that. I told him I thought he’d blown me off and that I had already showered, but I was totally still down to go. “I’ll be there in 30 minutes!” Now I’m scrambling to find an outfit with no time to redo my hair or makeup (thank god for lash extensions). At this point my sister had gotten home from work and immediately knew I was headed somewhere. I panicked and said: “I’m going to dinner with Eliza.” She replied, “Why is she picking you up? We aren't even on the way.” I pretended not to hear and headed back to my room. My plan was to sneak out through the garage when he texted “here.” That plan failed when he knocked on the front door—right next to my sister’s room. Lovely! I couldn’t even be mad, though, because how sweet is it that he came to the door like a true gentleman? Chivalry isn’t dead! Conversation was easy on the drive to Arturo’s… until we pulled into the parking lot. Closed. No big deal. We laughed it off and headed to De Juan’s in Belvidere. They have the best margs and Lord knows I was ready for one! Also closed. Third times the charm, El Molcajete. Closed. Again. At this point, we finally realized: most Mexican restaurants must be closed on Mondays. Who knew!? But we weren’t ready to give up. We landed on Dos Reales in Rockford, confirmed it was open, and off we went. Jerald ordered two tacos—a meal I’ve never seen him order since. Clearly, he was trying to keep it cute and light (he later admitted he avoided the burrito out of fear it could make for a long ride home). Smart man! After our “Tour de Find an Open Mexican Restaurant” and great conversation over dinner, we both left knowing this was something special. Something worth pursuing. And while I didn’t have much choice, when I got home I was happy to tell my sister where I was and who I was actually with.

I’ve always joked that if Jerald ever proposed while my nails were grown out or undone, I’d have to say no. Obviously, I’d still say yes — but there would be no way I was posting a cliché ring pic with busted nails. Luckily, one thing about me: my nails are always done. And if one breaks? Fire drill mode. Immediate repair. It was the week of my very first Mother’s Day, and Jerald kept asking what I wanted to do. Honestly, I didn’t have any huge plans in mind — just wanted to wake up to some pretty flowers, have brunch with my boys in Lake Geneva, and maybe browse a few shops. A simple girl at heart (Jerald would probably disagree, lol). But he kept asking, like brunch and flowers weren’t enough? This should have been red flag #1. During this time, we were also spending all our spare moments cleaning up our wild yard — Bryce’s 1st birthday was just a few weeks away, and we were hosting. (Pro tip: don’t buy a house in the winter. But if you do... call me.) While landscaping early in the week, I broke a nail. I wanted to get it fixed, but there just wasn’t time. By Friday, I had broken not one, not two, but three nails. Still no time to fix them before Eliza’s graduation dinner on Saturday. Around 2 p.m. that day, Jerald told me to stop helping outside and go get my nails done. I figured he was just tired of hearing me complain — fair! But, let’s be real: what kind of time math was he doing? How was I supposed to get my nails done, then come home, shower, do hair and makeup, and be ready to leave by 5:30? This should have been red flag #2. So instead, I went inside and did the unthinkable — picked. them. all. off. (Ouch!) I came outside to show him, and he told me they somehow looked worse (thanks?) and that I still had time to go. That should have been red flag #3. Again with the time thing... NO, I did not have time. Desperate, I called my sister (our babysitter for the night) and begged her to pick up some press-ons on her way. Without argument she showed up — not with one, but two options. This should have been red flag #4. (Maybe I am as naive as my dad has always said?) I slapped those bad boys on in the car on the way to dinner. It ended up being a great night, and as we drove home at 11 p.m., I thought, hmm... when is this man planning to get me my flowers? I didn’t say anything — I figured he had a plan. Surely. Sunday morning, Mother’s Day, we woke up slow-moving and slightly hungover... and still no flowers. No brunch reservations. No plan. Just a lot of apologies and a vague suggestion to head to Lake Geneva and grab brunch somewhere. I was bummed, but I let it go. We ended up strolling around Lake Geneva and popping into a few shops. The day was turning out just fine. Still, Jerald felt bad and suggested we stop in Delavan for a boat ride and to see Amy for Mother’s Day — a win in my book. I love a boat ride. But once we got there, Jerald basically avoided Bryce and me. He ditched me during dinner. Was weirdly distant. Left me to swing and play with Bryce alone... I was now officially pissed. No flowers, no brunch plan, no boat ride, and I was doing all the parenting duties solo on Mother's Day!? Looking back this should have been red flag #5 but the only thing red at the time was my attitude. I finally gave up, threw on my sweats, and decided to take Bryce down to the dock — maybe then everyone else would follow for this boat ride or maybe that would not be happening either. Jerald was at least smart enough to follow us down to the dock! We got down there alone, and I vented to Jerald about how frustrated I was with the day. Instead of saying sorry... he said some words I wish I remembered and got down on one knee. And just like that, it all made sense. The easiest YES of my life! And also a Mother's Day I'll never forget.