My Number Two

Last week I had a terrible dream.  I was forced to take DB to my high school reunion, as my date.  For some reason, I was not allowed to bring ND.  I had to publicly declare my choice in first husband, and try to enjoy his company for a night (an overnight, even.  Ew)  It was a terrible feeling having to own up to a bad choice that I could not deny or erase.  I was mortified to have to bring him around as a public declaration of my failure.  And I felt stuck with him, forever.

For those of you who don’t remember, my future second husband (ND) and I went to high school together.  So, I think this dream completely reflects the feeling I have about ND.  I feel like he is my husband, and should be, and always will be.  But I gave that title away to someone else, and I wish that I could give him something better or more precious so that he’s not always known as my “second husband.”  My number two.  We both know we’re stuck with DB forever, or as long as he is in D’s life.  And it’s a weight we acknowledge sometimes, though we both know that lamenting it is futile.

To make matters worse, I finally had the nerve to ask DB (in the dream) if he had been unfaithful before WT.  Recently, I’ve become obsessed with asking him this question.  As my second wedding looms, I have these very small moments of panic where I convince myself to doubt my own instincts.  I worry that there’s something about ND that I’m missing, or something that I’m ignorantly repeating that will cause my second marriage to destruct.

I perseverate over the idea that, if I could just understand DB’s infidelity, explain it, diagnose it, or rationalize it, then I could know how to be a better wife this time and I can guarantee not to feel that pain again.  And that’s when I have to remind myself that I did not cause DB’s affair.  He chose his affair because something was broken in him.

And that ND is my number two.  Two is not One.  He’s a different person and we are a different couple.  Affairs are not inevitable… and if I continue to live in fear of one, or behave as if it is possible/probable, I’m far more likely to find one in my future.

Soft hands

I know, it’s been forever.  I have nothing and everything to say.

My ex continues to fight with me about what parenting schedule is best.  His arguments always revolve around himself, and it’s exhausting because he doesn’t see it.  I fear that this will just become an exercise in conflict stamina and I hope upon hope that I will outlast him.  I remind myself daily that I cannot “protect” D from her father, and that my concept of protection may even further galvanize her negative feelings (for both of us).  I have done what I can.  I left the toxic situation.  ND and I model unconditional love and teamwork.  I affirm her feelings and continue to give her the language to express them.  While I cannot say I’ve made peace with the situation, I can at least say that I’ve made progress in that general direction.

In other news, my wedding is quickly approaching.  I have done everything I can to embrace this notion and to own it.  Honestly, when deciding to plan a second wedding, my initial feeling were shame.  I didn’t want anybody to witness it, to judge it, or to compare it to the previous one.  I felt selfish and boastful for even having one.  And I enabled other people to feel that way about me, too.

My second set of feelings were flippant and playful.  I pitched wacky themes, protested all traditions, and dismissed my co-workers emotional gushing.   I tried to harness my inner-Taoist, as I waited for everything to just fall into place. I comforted myself by blowing up the entire concept of a wedding and deciding, instead, that we’d just roll with whatever structure or shrapnel was left.

Stage three was complete panic.  I was forced to take 4 days off of work to rest an old injury, and that amount of idle free time is just not healthy.  I binged on wedding-related propaganda and found myself at an all time low:  A Hallmark Movie.  Really.  ND got home and had to double-take, since I had been stricken ill with a 24 hour Bridezilla bug.

But as usual, nomatter what I threw at him, he just absorbed it with patience and love.  He reminds me of this scene from The Mighty Ducks, where the hockey coach is rolling raw eggs across the ice to the players.  He teaches them how to cradle the egg with their hockey sticks, repeatedly cooing “sooooft hands.”  The brute ogres on the team don’t get it– they stand there, unwavering, as the eggs explode upon impact.  DB was like that…. an ogre who was used to taking slap shots, or at least becoming a wall.  Nomatter how many eggs I hurled at him, he just watched them explode.  And I think he kindof enjoyed it.

ND is different.  He’s got soft hands.  He won’t let me pepper him with eggs and create an explosive mess… he just cradles my feelings carefully.  It’s noble and kind of him and it has helped me grow immensely.  Because looking at that egg forces me to recognize what that feeling was, and to think about the act of hurling it.  I don’t get distracted by the explosion, the mess of it, or the hurt that comes from it.

Instead, I learn to gently send it forward, packaged with truth, honestly and vulnerability.  And to expect one in return.  ND knows I’ve got my demons, but he’s not about to let me use them as a scapegoat to explode this union.  And I am so grateful for that.

With This Ring

I’ve known for a while…. don’t be mad because I couldn’t tell you.

A few weeks ago, ND and I enjoyed a performance of Billy Elliot and a dinner at the most delicious French Creperie.  When I got home, I promptly put on my pjs and was greeted by a very nervous ND, who had opened a bottle of wine in the kitchen.  He knelt down, looked me in the eye and said, “I’ve been thinking for a while about where to do this, and I can’t think of anywhere better than here, in this kitchen, where we started our life together.”  Then, he continued with abunchofnicestuffI’llneverremember.  No seriously, I remember very little because it was super overwhelming.  But I know this:  he really meant it.  And he talked about D.  And that was it.  We were engaged.

We designed this ring together, in a series of intense negotiations.  It started with my low-ball offer of “band only” and ND countered with a ridiculous diamond ring set.  After more back and forth, ND made a very emotional plea for a stone, so I said, “Fine.  But no diamonds.”  And thus we embarked on a venture to find a jeweler who could make this creation that was his and hers, off-beat and traditional.  We found James, who looked like a biker, smoked like a hippie, but made jewelry like royalty.  ‘Nuff said.  He had recently cut the center stone, a Kunzite, himself and was excited to find a happy couple to adopt it.  It took one google search to know it was meant for us:  Kunzites are said to create balance in loving relationships– to allow the wearer to be more open and trusting to unconditional love.  Kunzites are the stone of the betrayed, I think.

But the Kunzite was too pretty for me.  Too delicate.  C’mon, it was freaking pink.  So I wanted to balance it with a stronger color, and a stronger energy.  After all, it’s not all whipped cream and glitter rain, remember?  So in came the side stones, the Garnets.  Which happen to be D’s birthstone.  The Garnet is associated with a list of virtues I’d like to remember:  passion, true friendship, fidelity, success, self-esteem, loyalty, devotion, sensuality, energy, faith, consistency, and truth.

I’m not a mystic or a shaman or anything supercool like that, but I am an English teacher, people.  And I believe in symbolism.  So the decision made itself, really.  Which is great because I’m terrible at decisions and this was something that was going to be nearly impossible to spreadsheet.

James set to work crafting something that would reflect and represent all of us, and now I’m wearing a piece of artwork on my finger.  And to be honest, I’m a little uncomfortable.  I don’t wear flashy, showstopping jewelry.  As part of the original negotiations, ND and I agreed that I have the liberty to wear my plain gold band (from my grandmother, a single mom of 6) whenever I like, no questions asked. In fact, there was a moment where I almost told James thanksbutnothanks and walked out.  But my sister’s words from last December echoed in my  head: “You finally found a guy who treats you like a princess… why are you questioning this??”

So I said yes to the ring, knowing I had said yes to the man long ago.

Family Unit

Having a family unit is an incredible blessing in my life.  Not just for me.  I think D is overwhelmingly happy in our new home and I think she truly enjoys the attention she gets from both of us.  She still prefers to play with one adult at a time, but choosing between us has become a real treat for her.

I’m so excited about this opportunity, that I’ve become hyper-vigilant in protecting it.  I want to do everything as a family.  I want us all to wake up at the same time, eat at the same time, go to sleep at the same time.  I want our calendars to have the same events on them.  I’m one step away from synchronizing our bowel movements.  I don’t want to do anything that might compromise family time, since it is limited already by my parenting agreement with DB.

ND has been on board with this idea:  he has (without prompting) postponed his daily trips to the gym, limited the constant stream of ESPN and resigned from his fantasy football team.  He’s completely willing to make sacrifices to his personal interests in order to build a stronger, more enjoyable family life.  And I appreciate this so much that I find myself counterbalancing that by encouraging him to go to football games with his friends, or planning outings for D and I so he can have some time to himself.  Seems hypocritical, huh?  I guess I’m terrified that he will grow to resent me for his lost personal time, despite the fact that he seems entirely enthusiastic about these sacrifices (yes, I see that I need to re-pattern this).

In my worst moments, I find myself becoming jealous of ND’s family when they request his time or attention.  Let’s face it, they’ve got 32 years on me and his routines were built around them until I came along.  So the fact that he carves out time to visit with his parents multiple times a week, the fact that he is the only sibling who volunteers to mow their lawn, the fact that he checks his facebook account multiple times a day to get updates on his niece, all of these benign behaviors that were once endearing have now begun to feel slightly threatening to our family unit.  Whaaaaat?  Why is my first reaction to see this as a competition for time and attention and not to see that there is clearly enough ND for all of us?   Perhaps I am simply used to competing for DB’s time and attention, and this is yet another behavior that I need to re-pattern.

A friend once told me that the things you find most attractive in a partner when you first meet are inevitably the things that will repel you over time.  ND’s selflessness and his commitment to family are core values that I have always admired in him.  I keep reminding myself that he has made super-human efforts to make our life downright dreamy and I have no room to be ungrateful.

For those of you who have been betrayed, I wonder if sometimes you, too, find yourselves sabotaging good situations.  Maybe even unconsciously.  It is such a risk to let somebody in, to not push them or test them in an effort to prove to yourself, ultimately, that nobody is trustworthy. Essentially we relegate ourselves to loneliness so that nobody else can do it to us.

Blogging out my doubt and fear is actually helping me to hold myself accountable.  It’s like trying to keep a diet when you have a weekly meeting with a trainer.  Knowing that I may have to report my failures publicly (or just admit that I’m slipping into sabotage) is sometimes what makes me put sincere effort into enabling the success of my relationship.  I used to see women make these kinds of eager investments and call them impulsive or naive.  Now I see that they may have had a wisdom I simply did not posses.  The wisdom to enable success by feeding it unconditional love and support, and to choose, very deliberately, NOT to leave room for doubt, fear and insecurity.

Living in Sin

It’s been a while since I posted. This is partially because I have been just plain busy. Mostly, however, I’ve wanted to honor this transition as a family and not muddle it up with the blogosphere. Don’t get me wrong…I love you all. Blogging rescued me in many ways. But writing about my life as it is happening kindof felt like inviting guests into my bedroom…there are some things I just don’t want perspective on. Not to mention that every minute spent typing or reading was another minute where I was disengaged from this process as it was happening. So I unplugged from blogging and plugged into real life.

I’ve been living with ND for a few weeks now. We are enduring the move that does not end. It’s taken more trips than we ever calculated and the boxes in the garage are a mountain of work taunting us. There have been tears shed for many reasons, the first of which came when I had to stare at my empty house and realize that it was never coming back. My solace. My safety. The place that brought me peace. It’s gone. I have still fretted as much as ever, expecting any moment to learn that ND thought he was ready, but has now realized that he bit off more than he could chew. I’ve been sad and terrified and frustrated and worried.

But.

I’ve also been so happy it seems sinful. I’ve watched D as she springs out of bed each morning, in a room full of ponies, and tromps down the hallway giggling because she wants to wake up ND. I’ve schlepped boxes in 100 degree heat, sweat rolling down by back, smiling as ND passed by, just as sweaty and even more relentless in his efforts to make this place feel like ours. I’ve been kicked out of playtime because D is too excited to “take ND to rainbow canyon” or “ride in a spaceship to outer space.” Oh, and I’ve showered uninterruped.

It mays seem like this is enough bliss, but it gets better. I’ve been able to share parenting for the first time ever. I’ve shared the joys and frustrations. We’ve strategized bedtime routines together, we’ve decided discipline together, and we’ve stayed up worrying together. I cannot believe how lucky I am to be a part of this team.

Supposedly, when a relationship is good, it shouldn’t be hard. But I can’t say it should be easy, either. It should just be… right. And sure I’m living in sin with my boyfriend isn’t “right” to a lot of people, but anyone who has been anywhere near us knows that this kind of sin is like chocolate…totally delicious and completely worth the indulgence.

Tentageddon 2012

Anybody who has ever set up a tent knows that TENTS RUIN MARRIAGES.  No joke.  My family has camped at least once a summer since I can remember, and we’ve brawled over many a tent.  Thanks to technology, this is less of a risk.  But a risk nonetheless.

I say all of this to help you understand the level of risk I took when I invited ND to go camping this year.   For this first time in his life.  In a tent.  With my entire family.  And a two year old.

ND is a trooper, though, and he packed the car and drove us to the site with a smile on his face.  But I’m not a crazy person and I know that tents ruin marriages, so I sent him off to the beach with little D as my sister and I erected the tent.  Tent-tastrophe averted.  Or so I thought.

Just as we were finishing, the thunder picked up and the sky got dark.  We knew a storm was coming.  ND swooped in and attempted to help me secure the rainfly, as my sister retreated to the car with D.  And then it happened.

Tentageddon.

The Tentpocalypse.

A freaking Tsunami swooped through the campground, ripping up tent stakes and turning tents into hot air balloons.  ND and I, having just invested in this tent, were not about to let it blow away, so we grabbed the ends and stood firm on the corners while getting pelted with rain.  The tent swelled with the whipping wind and our clothes were soaked through.  Like I said.  Tents. Ruin. Marriages.  We wrapped the rainfly around ourselves and stared at each other through the screen windows and… laughed.  Laughed hard.

Take that, Universe.  I laugh in the face of Tentageddon.  Is that the best you can do??

And then there was a huge CRACKing sound and a massive tree came down about a 100 feet from us.  It’s best not to tease the Universe, I see.  We disassembled the tent, threw the coolers on top of it and high tailed it to the car.

You can imagine how this situation could have led to a relationship apocalypse as well.  We were cold, scared, and aggravated.  Fingers could have been pointed.  Voices could have been raised.  Rhetorical questions could have been hurled.  But we just stared at each other in the rear view mirror, marveling over the act of nature and the appreciation we have for each other.  (Barf, I know)

The rest of the weekend was a minefield of potential arguments.  D wouldn’t sleep.  The air mattress was uncomfortable.  We only brought one blanket and the temp dropped low.  My Uncle got drunk and irritated us all.  Political conversations needed averting.  This list could go on…but it all culminated in the riskiest move of all.  My father wanted to have a talk with ND.  GAH.

ND came back from the talk glowing, though.  Not like he had seen a ghost, but like he had just won a freaking trophy.  And the ND+Dad talk led to other family talks.  And soon everybody was smiling and laughing and hugging and taking pictures.  It was mind-blowing.  An event that was so likely dissemble our family with bickering and bitching was actually the catalyst for knitting us more closely together.

If the end of days is, in fact, on it’s way… I’m really glad I got a chance to see this level of happiness.  I encourage you all to “live dangerously happy“, too.

The Blue Room

ND’s house is a work in progress, which is part of what I love about him.  There are signs of his handiwork everywhere, and it’s gorgeous to see his attention to detail and commitment to quality workmanship.  The spare bedroom, stacked high with boxes and miscellania, has been dubbed “the blue room” since he moved in, because he chose not to heat or cool it and therefore sealed the windows and vents with blue tarp and blue painter’s tape.  A few months ago, ND and I were having our morning gchat when something pretty gigantic happened….

ND: hey love! how was the drive in?

me: good. i miss being able to zone out and just listen to the radio. one more reason I love staying at your place.

ND: that’s awesome!  so you wouldn’t be totally against maybe moving out with me sometime?

::GULP::

me: I could be swayed, with some contingencies. 🙂

ND: humm….nice. do you want to tell me the contingencies yet? or is that a secret?

 me: well, first and foremost, I’d be bringing D with me.

ND: of course!! that wasn’t a question.

me: so the blue room might need to turn pink. or purple.

ND: hahaha…i would be happy to give it a paint job.  maybe D could even help.

Since then, we’ve affectionately used “turning the blue room pink” as code for all things co-habitation.  It began as a playful fantasy and every week or so we’d have a conversation that was one level deeper than the next.  At one point, I realized that this wasn’t really playful anymore.  We were both getting invested in the idea.  So I asked ND what his ideal timeline would be… and he said he’d like to start next school year as a family.  As in, living together by August.

I was simultaneously thrilled and terrified.

So I went to see my therapist.  And began to seriously consider the trajectory of my relationship with ND.  This was an incredibly vulnerable place for me, because ND was saying all the right things and I was really beginning to take stock in our imagined future.  But something was still holding me back, so I didn’t tell many people about our scheming and I refused to give my landlord notice.  When I really asked myself why, I came up with two answers:

 1) I am terrified of being judged by people.   This relationship is moving at a steady but quick pace and I don’t want anybody thinking that my affection for ND is compromising my parenting.

2)  Years with DB have trained me to know that words are just words.  DB promised everything from doing household chores to spending a lifetime together as a family.  In fact, when we were separated he would send devoted emails claiming he loved me so deeply that he was going to move mountains to win me back.  But when it came time to ACT…no dice.  So I can revel in the promises just like any other girl, but I don’t get invested unless I see some action.

It was hard to tell ND about both of these reasons, especially #2.  But he could tell that I wasn’t 100% in and was beginning to suspect that my commitment was unequal to his.  So I fessed up and we laid out a timeline for the renovations that would need to take place before D and I could move in.  Seeing it there in calendar form made it real, so real that we were both a little disappointed to observe that it would be nearly impossible to make it work by August.

24 hours later, I went to visit ND and he walked me to the Blue Room.  It was completely cleared of everything, except for an old couch.  I shrieked with excitement, knowing that this was a sign of his commitment to making it all happen.  We sat on that couch holding hands and I peppered him with kisses as we conspired.  We agreed that with a lot of backbreaking labor (his) and a lot of planning (mine), we could make it work.

One week later, ND has leveled and laid a new sub-floor, installed new windows, patched up drywall and chosen a shade of pink paint.  Oh, and completely gutted his kitchen and dining room to make way for new cabinets and furniture.

This, my friends, is a man of his word.  The Blue Room is turning pink.  And so are my cheeks.

Awkwedding

I attended my first wedding since my divorce…and it felt like a pretty big milestone.  As I observed the happy couple, I couldn’t help but feel a little bit jaded.  Their youthful smiles seemed so naive.  They, like many newlyweds, have no idea what they are in for.  I do hope, however, that they can use the joy to fuel through the obstacles that are inevitable.  Jaded as I may be, I still believe in marriage.

I’m not the kind of person you want to invite to your wedding, by the way, because I absolutely relish awkward wedding moments.  I’m not kidding… there is no joy like mine when I can chuckle at your veiled or bejeweled expense.  Like when the officiant says the wrong bride’s name….snicker.  Or when the wedding party is forced to dance together…chortle.  Or when the bride and groom have no rhythm and just wiggle like it’s a 7th grade dance…belly laugh.  Or when the maid of honor gives a “speech” that is 10 seconds long…incredulous cackle.  The moments get more awkward, the drinks get further consumed and my mockery gets louder.  It’s really all quite light-hearted, you see, as I am not mocking the couple or their union; I’m mocking wedding traditions that are nonsensical. Some of these traditions are fairly harmless and clichéd (cake smashing) and others are sometimes painful or embarrassing (bouquet tossing).  Let’s not even get started on shameful or unethical (diamond engagement rings).

You will not be surprised to learn, then, that I became victim to an awkward wedding moment while I was in attendance.  As this wedding was hosted by my Uncle, many of DB’s teammates were in attendance.  I figured I could avoid them, but awkward wedding tradition number 57 is that when there are empty seats at a 10 person table, they are filled with the “leftover” couple.  And because the world works in mysterious ways, our table of family members was infiltrated by a softball player and his wife.

Within 10 minutes of sitting down, he looking around and commented, “I’m surprised that DB isn’t here.  I thought he would be.  Do you know DB?”

Fuck. My. Life. I am flanked by the love of my life and my entire family, all of which equate DB to Voldemort.  He should not be named.

Me (matter of factly):  “Yes, I used to be married to him.”

Softball Dude (to his wife):  “Erm…You know DB, remember?  He broke his jaw.”

Me:  “Yeah, well, we call that Karma where I come from. “

Silence.

Awkward, indeed.

Later in the evening…

Wife:  “You know he’s really sorry about that.  He has no idea.”

Me:  “I know.  I heard you mention that he hadn’t played on a year or so.  He was probably unaware.  But here’s the thing… your husband is clearly a family man.  You said he stopped playing softball because of his family commitments.  DB could not prioritize his family and that is why he is not welcome at this family event.  He started having an affair while I was pregnant and he still chooses to play softball during his parenting time.”

Wife: “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry.  What a jerk.”

Me:  “Don’t worry about it.  I’m so much happier now than I could have ever been before.”

Wife:  “I can see that.  Things happen for a reason.”

So we exchanged smiles and it was over, as far I was concerned.

But my parents were not ready to leave it at that.  My mother confronted my Uncle about the seating arrangements and my father pulled ND aside to apologize.  My father told me later that he was “heartbroken” for ND that he’d had to hear DB’s name mentioned when we are clearly so happy together.  The thing is, ND was not bothered by it.  In fact, he was delighted and honored that my father jumped to his defense– it gave them something to bond over.

So it turns out that even the most uncomfortable moments can present unexpected rewards.  ND met my entire maternal family that night and they were all commenting on how happy we look, how nice he is or how much they’d like to see him in the future.

Here’s to the happy couple!

Golden Silence

I’m struggling to get into the swing of summer.  It’s difficult to establish new routines, especially knowing they are temporary.  I’ve also been distracted with some big changes that I’ll likely report here soon. So I haven’t had any inspiration to write, though life is really, really good.

Meanwhile I’ve just been playing stay at home mom to the most adorable 2-year-old.  Lately, she’s been entertaining me with all sorts of antics.  She loves One Direction’s “What makes you Beautiful” and can sing it quite impressively for only hearing it a few times.  Her summer catch-phrase is “You guys are hi-larious!”  (thanks Bubble Guppies). And I thought nothing could top the moment last week when she said, unprompted, “You are the best mommy in the whooooole world.”  I was wrong.  Today, she tousled my hair and said, “You are the cutest girl in the whooooole world.”  This was after she asked me to assemble a puzzle and then patted me to tell me, “You are so smart.  I’m so proud of you.” Even when patronizing, she is irresistible.

I’m hopelessly in love with her.  There’s still room for ND, of course, but this little girl makes my heart so full.

Speaking of ND, I couldn’t have asked for a better Knight.  He continues to enchant me with his sincerity, his patience and his honesty.  He is a man of his word and a man of action and I cannot believe the depths to which we are in sync.  I’m digging for reasons not to ramble on about how incredible this man is…most of those reasons have to do with the broken hearts around me.  To them, I think my silence is golden.  I cannot wait until the day that they are bursting with this level of enthusiasm for love.

 

 

 

The L Bomb

The sun is sweltering hot and my daily alarm is disabled (unless you count the 2 year old in the other room)…it’s officially summer. Ahhhhh.  ish.

The first weekend of summer turned out to be an eventful one, in many ways.  ND came over to celebrate the end of school last Friday and little D was delighted in his company.  They had a tea and yogurt party (she really likes yogurt) and she prepared slices of wooden pizza for each of us.  In the midst of this frolic, I was washing dishes and D was coloring with ND and she looked up at him and said “I love ND.”  He and I, simultaneously stunned and thrilled, held our breath for a second.  So then she repeated, “I love you, ND.”  We exchanged a grin over her head and he replied, “I love you, too.”  It was perhaps the sweetest moment in my life to realize that the two people I’m in love with have fallen in love with each other.  I wish I could do it justice.

When we put her to bed that evening, she said “I want you to say the night ND.”  I didn’t even know she knew the phrase “stay the night.”  And the timing of this was serendipitous, since ND and I had recently agreed that with summer here, we could try an overnight if D seemed interested.  The Universe is being very kind to me…very kind indeed.  So morning came and she instantly asked for ND and they played and played while I made pancakes and eggs.  It was scrumptious.  Not the breakfast, but the moment. THIS is exactly what I want to make of my life.

And just when life seems to be dealing you aces, you get absolutely slammed by the cards in the flop.  D got sick on Sunday and I wound up in the ER all night (she’s fine now, thanks for worrying).  I texted three people on my way (illegal, I know)– my mom, DB, and ND.  Two of the three replied and one immediately got out of bed and ready to go.  I’ll let you figure out who.  Duh.

As I sat in the hospital bed, I realized that although this moment should have been the exact opposite of cooking pancakes while a tea party commenced in my living room, it felt strangely the same.  Sure, it’s a nightmare worrying about a sick child and hospital procedures, but it was a dream doing it as a part of a team.  All three of us wanted to be together– she asked for him, I asked for him, and he was there, undoubtedly, a knight in shining armor, brandishing an iPad loaded with cartoons and a heart brave enough to support two very scared girls.

The Knight and I are headed to Nashville for a short vacation.  With this weekend past us, there is only one thing I’m questioning:  Do you think my cowboy boots will go well with my tiara?