10 Years Ago Today...

I met this guy.

My soul mate. 

My rock. (Which is what the name "Peter" literally means, by the way).

I wish somebody
could have walked
up to me and said
"hey you'll meet your
future husband in
a few hours!"
Might've lightened
the mood...

But as I've shared before, it was anything but romantic. The day we met was actually probably one of the most traumatic days I'd ever experienced in my young life: the first day of "basic training" at West Point known as R-Day--where you have 90 seconds to say goodbye to your family and no contact with them for 6 weeks and all the upperclassmen try to scare the blessed assurance out of you so you can become a good cadet, yada yada. Welcome to college. 

Anyway, since we had the pleasure of attending such a warm fuzzy military school we were organized into units similar to those in the real Army, and Peter and I happened to be assigned to the same squad. That meant we were part of the same ten-person group that would spend almost every waking second together for the entire summer of basic training and who would have to rely on each other for everything. I was the only girl, and I met my squad--including Peter--during a quick meeting that evening after we'd been stripped of our civilian clothes, put in the most unattractive uniforms possible (complete with knee socks), and hearded around with lots of yelling for good measure. All the boys also got a complimentary head shaving. My introduction to my future husband during that squad meeting was extremely unremarkable, except for the fact that he appeared to be the most despicable of the nine male creatures with whom I was supposed to be forming a brotherly bond. He was also pretty cocky and snarky about the whole basic training deal, considering the fact that he'd been through "real" basic training before. (He'd enlisted in the Army the previous year, got deployed, then was plucked from his desert wasteland in Afghanistan just in time to join the rest of the class at West Point because they recognized him as a top-performer). I was not impressed. He was also not impressed because I was a silly girl who knew nothing and all I did was talk about my high school boyfriend and how my Dad was in the Army and how we'd lived at West Point when I was little so this was my home, yo. Maturity at its finest. 

Thankfully, we didn't have to deal with each other too much because we did things in height order. Being that he was the tallest, and I was the almost-shortest, we had at least eight people between us at all times. In our limited interaction, I didn't even know his first name until the very end of the summer because we called each other by our last names; and his last name was already super weird and annoying as it was. (Oh irony of ironies, as I now spell it slowly and phonetically at least three times in a row whenever I have to give my name over the phone...)

A match made in heaven  basic training.
As Peter rolls his eyes and makes a face...

So the question is, how did we get from that mess to the marital bliss in which we now abide? (G'head roll your eyes...but it's true).

Because I almost failed math and chemistry and every course with any kind of number, that's how.

Well I guess I should back up a little.

At the start of the academic year, I was sent to another company (I was on a varsity team which was consolidated into the same unit for the summer but dispersed during the academic year for logistical reasons). I knew no one. And I was loooonleeyyyyyy. And I had a nice new government-issued laptop that had email and that awesome thing called IM (remember?) that allowed me to finally communicate with the rest of the world. So I emailed the 'brothers' in my long-lost squad and sent them my IM name. Peter claims that he deleted the email immediately and came across it in his trash folder later when looking for something else--then only decided to IM me because he was "bored and had nothing better to do." And since I was loney and also had nothing better to do, I responded and we had some really mature and soul-searching conversations those first few weeks (not at all--mostly they invovled bickering and other nonsense. It's a shame I didn't save any). 

But during those conversations, I did communicate my frustration with all of those math and engineering courses I was seriously drowning in, and somehow he decided that he'd take pity on me and help me. Soon I found myself walking nervously across campus to his room anticipating the most awkward tutoring session on the face of the planet...with the guy I had loathed and who I'd assumed was far less intelligent than me. (Oh how many times I ate my words, especially when he graduated in the top of the class. But I still maintain that I'm the better writer)! Shockingly, during that anticipatedly awkward first tutoring session he was...actually...nice. And patient. And a surprisingly good teacher. (No surprise now that I know his parents so well and see where he gets his talents from)! 

From then on, he took a vested interest in me not failing out of West Point, and I was desperate enough to recieve the help so as not to bring shame upon my family. He also decided that he didn't totally despise me--in fact, he kinda liked me andmaybeevenhadacrushonme, and somehow convinced me that we should take a ballroom dancing class together because we could wear civilian clothes, which we weren't allowed to wear any other time. I conceded:

Our first picture together.
Oh the awkwardness. I can't even handle it.

But before the dancing class was over I told him I had to quit because I was still failing math, my sports traveling schedule was picking up and I just couldn't deal with it all. Still, he helped me pass my finals, and we maintained a friendship for the rest of the year. He remained my tutor, I demanded to proof his English papers, and he became my confidant for all of my boy troubles. (Again with the maturity bit). But somehow we stuck with each other, and I even agreed to date him the next year because I was getting weary of turning him down. And with that, he planned our first date in September for my birthday. We went to the city and we visited the aquarium, had dinner, and went on a carriage ride in Central Park:

The non-edited version.
I was actually so embarassed initially that I
Photoshopped his left hand out of the picture...

Somewhere along the line, he also gave me this book.

(Now so full of memories it can't even close all the way...)

In the front it says:

"Megan, Merry Christmas! Because you and my memories of you are my most cherished posessions here at school, I thought I'd give you this book for your present. "What is it," you ask? Well, it's a memory book, silly! I've written about some of the memories I have of the times we've spent together in the past year and a half. Now, it's yours to edit and add to for the next year. You can make additions or add comments to what I've written, add things I've left out, add new things that happen over the next year, or keep it just the way it is. You can take it in any direction you please. Of course there are a couple of rules you must abide by: 1. You may not cross out anything I have written. 2. You may not show it to me for the next year. You can (and are encouraged to) add your opinions all around my entries. This book is yours to guard and maintain. Next Christmas you may choose to keep this or pass it back to me. At any rate, I've made it mine, so if you make it yours, it will truly be ours. Again, MERRY CHRISTMAS!" 

Oh I added to it alright...including captions about
how awful I looked in the pictures.

It became more special with each passing year, and as Peter said, truly became ours. I can't wait to share it with our kids one day; it tells our story well. A story in which we survived a break-up, six months later decided to make up, learned how to communicate, and then really did open up and have those soul-baring conversations that allow you to really know someone. We developed some of that much-needed maturity, grew together in love, in faith, in values and life goals, and finally joined together as an inseprable team. And then, suddenly less than four years after we met--knee highs, shaved head and all--we found ourselves engaged and planning for our forever together. 

Who knew?

We make a killer team.

I sure didn't. But I'm so glad God did. I'm so glad he worked on both of our hearts and minds and cleared the path to make something that seemed like the least likely of possibilities into the most beautiful of realities.

I love you Peter--my soul mate--my rock. 

Cheers to our TEN years!