Sleeping In My Tiara

I didn't ask for it to happen. 
I didn't stomp my feet, throw a fit, or pout (note:  we're only talking of this specific situation and I, by all means, employ these tactics in certain other situations.  Clear?)
When I moved in with my parents at the beginning of the year, my parents accidentally thought I was five.  I think I used my alarm clock the first night I moved in, but every morning after that, my mom came in to wake me up for work/gym/let's-skip-gym-for-breakfast. And on the mornings I went to gym, I think I started my car myself and brought out my gym bag once.  Then my dad offered to do it.  Every day.
When Beloved learned of my unintentional Princess treatment, he made it clear as day that I'd be using my alarm clock like a big girl.  And the muscles I was was forming at gym could bring my bag to the car and turn the key and the heater on just fine.  I was touched by his gentleness.
The last few days it's been crisp outside.  And Beloved has offered to start my car to let it warm up.  He's usually just getting in from work, so it's no trouble to him.  Hmm.
He and I work all kinds of random schedules, so there might be days when we're both up at 4:45am, or he's coming home at 6:30am and I'm just waking up, all growls and hisses from having less sleep than Fake Princess requires.
That was the case today.  I was given the green light last night to "sleep until I get home...I'll wake you up!"  (Do you see the Princess-creating pattern here?)  Had he been able to support my girth, I think he would have carried me up the stairs to the kitchen and nestled me into the window seat to rest while he made coffee.  Again today he offered to start my car, you know, while he went out to get the mower ready (he will not be outdone by my 15.5 hour workday!) for his one-of-eight side jobs as lawn boy for Shoestring Shop, the thriftiest of thrift stores in Brewer (future M-I-L totally has the hookup there and I've scored some sweet stuff!)  Lastly, as I was struggling to fit the Stanley thermos full of DD into my work bag (get out of the way, coupon binder!  Mama needs her LifeJuice!), he waited patiently, then took it from me and whisked it away to my car.  I did point out that he was giving me Princess treatment.  I heard, "yeah, well..." as he walked away.  My knight in Carhartt.

Would You, Could You, With A Ring?

I learned a lot about my Grampy at his funeral.  He was 3lb 9oz when he was born.  He worked for one company for the duration of his career.  And one friend of his told me that they decided to join the Navy after a weekend where they "raised some hell."  My Grampy?  Raised hell?  He raised six boys.  Maybe that's what his friend meant.  My Grampy had a great laugh.  It made me laugh because he always sounded so tickled.  He loved blueberry cake (this I remember my Gram telling me; I think Grampy would have eaten anything she made as long as it didn't have tomatoes in it...)  And coffee ice cream!  The first time I made homemade ice cream it was coffee flavored just for Grampy.  I remember listening to his scanner at the house on Rte. 46.  He volunteered for the town fire department and we benefited with firsthand knowledge of what was going on around the area.  Oh wait, one more food memory.  Grampy was the best stovetop popcorn maker.  Big yellow Tuppeware bowl full of popcorn.  Gram always wanted the "old maids." 
But what struck me most was one comment my uncle made.  Grampy used to say "D'oh"  (not in a Homer Simpson-y way, but like an Over East kinda "D'awoh") when he didn't believe something.  It was striking because Beloved says the same thing.  This is not a noise that I hear a lot of people make.  It got me thinking about how much alike they were.  I could be so lucky to find someone as patient, thoughtful, creative, helpful, tenderhearted, and sincere as Grampy.  And I decided I was.  Those are just six of the million reasons that I said Yes this week when Beloved asked if I would marry him.