One I Love: Husband

I decided I'd start dedicating a blog, at one time or another, to someone I love. This one is to my Husband, Geoff, who I usually just refer to as "Husband." 

My husband.

He is the hardest working man I know, and he never complains. Never has, not even once. He plays with the kids, even at times that he was working at 4 a.m. and not coming home until 10 at night. He is a musician, but he's in denial about that. The wittiest and funniest man you'll ever meet. Ask anyone that knows him. He's bright. Smarter than any job he could have. He can learn to work anything, run anything. He's brilliant. And, he's really, really cute. 

He is the one I love, live with, dance with, laugh at. He's my partner. My best friend. And I can imagine life without him. Yes, you read that right. I can. And it's terrible. I don't want to feel that again. Ever. 

This is the story of my love.  

When I was 17, I got a job at CPI, a small outbound call center (50, maybe 100 employees). We'd call people to do surveys for different businesses - Pizza Hut and supermarket research, mostly. 

And there was this boy. Had long hair, wore bellbottoms, and drove a 1966 Belvedere Station Wagon. He had this big gap in his teeth, and his laugh was infectious. I mean, if he laughed, not only did you know it was him, you had to laugh, too. 

Ten years after he sold it, the man who bought it called him - the title had never been signed.
The owner let him take his old (completely renovated and fixed up) wagon to a car show.

I had a big crush on him. Jeff Kelly. (Yeah, I just blew his alias, but it's all good. He won't mind for this one blog. Truth: He doesn't read my blog, anyway.)

We ended up sitting by each other more than once, and I often found myself hoping his station wagon would break down (again) so I could give him a ride home. That happened less than a handful of times, but I remember. 

He had a girlfriend. I had a sort-of boyfriend. 

Time passed, I quit, graduated, moved on. 

A year or two passed. I drove through McDonalds one day, and the guy who took my order... I knew his voice. "Jeff Kelly, is that you?" I drove up to the window. It was. I gave him my phone number - he never called. (Later I found out that he was mortified that he was the one working the window, at McDonalds, when I drove through.)

Flash forward a year. Convenience store. I walk out, and there he is. "Jeff Kelly! Hey!" I gave him my number on a matchbook - he never called. (I think he still had his girlfriend at that point. I didn't care. This boy was the cutest thing I'd ever seen. And his heart shone through his whole body. Was not going to pass up another chance to hand him my digits.)

Flash forward. Another year. Skooners Bar. My boyfriend and I had just broken up, and we were there playing pool together, which is just weird and stupid, but whatever. I went to the bar to get a skooner, and who is sitting there? "Jeff Kelly! Hey!" We sat and talked for a while. I gave him my number on a coaster - he never called. (He was filthy from crawling through ducts at his then-job. He was unkempt and kind of gross. I didn't care. I didn't even notice it. But he later told me he was embarrassed, again.)

I also saw him here, at Easter Bash, before we connected the last time. My friend snapped this random shot of the crowd, and, years, later, we realized that is a picture of  Jeff and his friends, right there, in a Hacky Sack circle. :)

Flash forward. I'm 21 and working at Caprock Cafe. I turn around, and there he is. At my restaurant. Sitting at my bar. "Jeff Kelly! What are you DOING here?!" We talked. I worked. He slipped me a note on a coaster. 

"I like you. Do you like me? Circle one. Yes. No." And that was it. 

Sitting at my bar.  (And one of my old friends, Liz. I missss her!)

I didn't let him out of my sight. He waited until I got off work, and we went out to another bar. He came over to my house, and I danced around like a loon to the Pulp Fiction soundtrack. He laughed. We slept. (We didn't SLEEP sleep together. He slept at my house.)

And then, we were never apart. His place, my place, we were, for the most part, together. And very, very happy. Whirlwind. Love. 

Friend's apartment, that would later become ours.

My dancer, and our friend Logan.

My hiker. Caprock Canyon.

At some point I took him home (he didn't have a car or phone) to his trailer house, where we found that his roommate was moving out. No notice, no idea, just suddenly, he was without a home. 

So, on and off he stayed with me.

Two and a half weeks in to our relationship, we were at the Koko Club, dancing the night away with Dangerous Dan, because that's what we did. We decided we were going to get married. 

Two weeks later, we went to James Avery and bought a $30 silver ring. He drove me to the park, knelt, and proposed (Old 97s' "Question" plays here.) - September 15, 2003. 


We went to the Chili Cookoff in Terlingua that October. He and his buddy left earlier than me - I had to work, and I drove down the night of his birthday, October 29. We drank beer and got matching tattoos by some drunk bikers in a tent. The tattoos are not cute. I tell people I got mine in prison. 

His fresh ink.

My prison tattoo, years later. Classy photo, I know.

Jeff and Logan, camped out. Terlingua.

Back to Lubbock, where we just kept falling in love, discovering, laughing, dancing, listening to Eva Cassidy. (We planned on our 1st's middle name being Eva, after her. But at the last minute changed it to Eve.)

Two weeks we just shut ourselves in. No outside world, just us. I could not wait to marry this man. 

The man I fell in love with. He'd be thrilled to know I posted this one. Good thing he doesn't read my blog.
Gah, he's so cool. He's the coolest kid I know.

Then, I found out I was pregnant. Thanks, Chili Cookoff. Classy. 

We moved in together, into a little efficiency that our buddy Logan had just moved out of, and where we'd already spent much time together. 

06-05-04 we were married. I was seven months pregnant. Barefoot. In a backyard. My mother made my dress. And we danced. We were in love. 

With this ring. And we meant it.

Love the man that loves your mother.

We dance.

And dance.

Some of our wedding guests. Most beautiful wedding I've ever attended. :)

We honeymooned for two days at a bed and breakfast in Woodrow. Our Honeymoon consisted of the Science Spectrum, dinner at Pizza Hut, and Shrek in the movie theater. And it was perfect. 

But real life returned when we returned to our little apartment. 

He had problems, I had problems, and we had problems. Jobs came and go. He came and went. We were thrust into a world that we weren't ready for, and we struggled. 

That little apartment is where we brought home our Number One. He was so in love with her. We were SO in love with her!

Visiting our newborn number one, in the hospital NICU.

We moved several times over the next few years. We battled many demons. We were evicted. We were poor. At one point I was having to use reconstituted dry milk to feed our baby. 

And we laughed, and we danced (OH, did we DANCE! Barefoot. Insert Shady Grove here.)
And we fought. Bad. And we cried. I cried. Addictions ripped us apart. Love held us together. 

Then, we separated. We were too destructive together. At one point, he moved to Kansas, and with him there, and I here, it was then that we began rebirth. We loved each other again, and talked about me and A1 moving up there to be with him. He loved it there. (He still wants to move there, someday.)

But then, after a few months of rising, he was crushed, and we were over. Again.

For two years I fought against my love for him. He loved me and our little babe, but outside circumstances made it impossible for us to be together. I tried to convince myself that we were over.

But somehow, hope kept poking at me. Just when I thought it was time to give up, hope came back. 

We loved each other. And love kept us tied. Amidst pain most could never imagine... love stayed. Hope stayed.

And then, after two years of heartache, printing out divorce papers then tearing them up, phone conversations, struggle...

he came back. 

And he was him. 

He was MY Jeff Kelly. The one I knew, the one I loved. The one I tried to give up on, but couldn't. The one that everyone tried to give up on, but couldn't. No one could give up on him because they knew what was in him. And what is in him... it is good. Pure good. And rare to find.

My dad and Jeff on a trip together. Marry the man who gets along with your dad.

He was the Jeff Kelly that loved to dance with me, barefoot. He was the one that has a laugh that bounces like fairies into your heart. He was the one who smiles from his soul. He was my lovely and irresistible Jeff Kelly. 

And when he came back, I couldn't let him go again. 

We moved in together after two years of separation. I was in college at Texas Tech. He worked. Hard. 

He put me through college. And we raised our beautiful baby girl. And, just before I graduated in 2009, I found out I was pregnant with our A2. And life was good. 

Cloudcroft, 2011.

We've had a million struggles since then, but nothing has broken us. We were broken before, and hope gave us healing. If we could get through what we already had... what could ever break us again?

We have hated each other since then. We have faced bad decisions, legal problems, and several moves since then. 

But we have overcome. 

Today, my Jeff Kelly still works. Hard. He goes to work every day, for 9, 10, 14 hours. And he comes home to us every night. He plays with the kids. He takes A1 to the Daddy/Daughter dance. He writes notes to his kids when he doesn't see them for days at a time because their schedules clash. He takes us on vacations to the river or to the museum in Abilene. We have a small life. A lovely and simple life. And everything we have is because he works hard, and he loves hard. 

Floating the San Marcos River

Frontier Texas in Abilene

He loves us. And I love him. In pain, in joy. 
We overcome. 

Because we are Jeff and Jessica.
And no matter where life leads, you will always find us. Together. Dancing barefoot in the grass. 

Thanks be to God.