Category: Faith

Tag, Mary. You’re it.

Something happened last night I want to put down so that I remember it for years to come.

After what felt like sleeping for 5 minutes (half-in, half-out) I woke up to the sound of a loud, quick noise.

I paused to see if I would hear it again.

Seton started crying.

She stopped crying.


She fell back to sleep, but she must have heard it, too, right? I wasn’t just dreaming?

I took a lap around the house. Nothing. Officially crazy town in my head. I could feel Davey rolling his eyes the way only a wife can feel the eye roll from her half asleep husband down the dark hallway.

Passing Seton’s door to get back to our room, I thought, “What if the noise was the sound of her head against the crib? What if she hit it in that fatal spot on the temple, and something terrible happened?” (just a normal fear, right? I don’t even know where I come up with these things.)

I decided to just peek in and check on her.

Seton awoke to the paranoid creak of her 1942 glass door handle turning ever so slowly, ever so loudly.

She was startled and began sobbing. I tried calming her, shushing her to sleep, and sending an eye roll RIGHT BACK ATCHA, DAVEY, THE NOT-SO PROTECTOR WHAT IF WE HAD AN INTRUDER OK FINE WE DONT AND I WOKE UP THE BABY BUT YOU DIDN’T DEFEND US.

Nothing worked to get Seton back to sleep. Books, songs, laying on the couch. I tried all my tricks, Davey tried all his tricks, and it seemed Seton was going to hyperventilate. I have never NOT been able to get her to stop crying. Usually just the sight of me calms her down. I was failing.

Davey turned on the light.

Seton’s sad, puffy eyes fixated on our little statue of Mary on the shelf in our room. She stopped crying.

“May-me,” she said. She pointed to Mary.

“You want Mary?” Davey said. He brought it to her. She touched her hands, her eyes, her veil. “Do you want to hold her?” Seton clutched her in her tiny hands and pulled her close to her chest. We sat there in silence for a few minutes.

I suggested to Seton to put Mary back on the shelf so Mary can go “night night.” Seton calmly placed her on the shelf and said through calmed sadness, “nigh nigh.”

I took her back in her room, changed her diaper, read a few books, then turned out her light. I felt myself tensing in fear that she would start crying again.

And she did.


The thought of starting the whole process over again was overwhelming. If there was a towel, I would have thrown it in. But there is no such thing as throwing in the towel on motherhood, is there?

I whispered to Seton–while simultaneously thinking she would never hear my whisper above the sound of her cries–“Mary.”

Seton stopped crying.

“Remember Mary? Hail Mary…”

Seton put her head on my shoulder, shuddered with a few deep breaths, and fell asleep.

I felt Mary’s presence reminding me that I will fail at motherhood. There will be times when I love my best, I give my all, and I still won’t be able to control my child’s joy. I won’t always be able to comfort her, stop her from crying, make her smile, calm her to sleep. I won’t be able to make everything ok.

Mary will step in where I fall short.

I feel so good about that.


like sand through the hour glass

Photo credit Honey and Salt
Photo credit Honey and Salt

I’ve written this post a few times over in my head, but I just hadn’t found the urge to sit down and type it in fear that it would make everything seem so final.

We got news on July 22 that Davey’s grandmother was going into hospice and would pass away within the following week. We immediately made plans to drive through the night the next day and head to Indiana to see her again and say good bye. I love that I married a man that can look at me and say, “I have to go see Nana…” So sweet and loving, he is.

Meanwhile, my grandmother had been sick for some time and was under the care of hospice. She had been suffering a lot — way more than she ever could have imagined, she said. I had said my “good bye” to her in June thinking I would probably never see her alive again. I can’t really write this without tears welling in my eyes thinking of how much she endured her last few months. The pain, the nausea, the discomfort. It would have been enough to make anyone lose their faith.

I’ll never forget our last day with Nana, Davey’s grandmother. Every aspect of her personality that I respect so much was shown–her humor, her wit, her decisiveness. She was an extremely smart woman who, although enduring so much loss in her life, was easily described by her granddaughter during the eulogy as “content” with who she was. She found contentedness with the path life took her.

When a grandparent passes away, there is suddenly the realization that a familial generation will soon be gone altogether. The awareness of time becomes too keen.

I clung to Seton, happy that pieces of our grandmothers are already evident in her personality.

We spent a lot of time with Davey’s family around the time of Nana’s death. I kept thinking, “Thanks, Nana, for these people.” I knew her for 4 years and because of her life, I have a family. I have people to grow old with. I have a daughter. I have my people.

Leaving town after Nana’s funeral was difficult.

I said good bye to my grandma, again.

By that point, she wasn’t able to speak. Sitting next to her, we saw her lips moving and knew that she was praying, “Hail Mary…”

I told her I love her, and somehow from the depths of her soul, she muttered, “I love you.”

Back in June when when Davey and I thought we were saying our final goodbye, she told us, “Love each other. Don’t stop loving each other.”

She always used to say when people pass away, we selfishly want them here with us. But we have to be happy for them, and let them go.

I never really thought about how I would be telling myself that when she passed away.

Three hours to Minnesota, my phone rang. My grandmother took her last breath. She was gone.

There is a sense of being disrooted when your last living grandparent passes.

She used to have an hour glass in her hallway. We would beg to open our Christmas presents right after Christmas Eve dinner, and she would tell us, “Go turn the hour glass. When the sand runs out, it’s time.”

I’d like to think she spent her life waiting to open her present, watching the sands run through the hour glass. Now it’s her time. She has wanted this for so long. I am happy for her.

The gifts from my grandma; my people
The gifts from my grandma; my people
The gift from Nana; my people The gifts from Nana; my people

As when anyone dies, we pledge to honor them in our life.

The best way for me to honor Nana is to be ardent and keen with decisions I make for my family. Choose to be a powerful matriarch who stays firm to my values. Make good decisions and avoid comparisons. Accept heartache and loss, but don’t let it ruin me. Laugh until I die.

The best way for me to honor Grandma is to exude love in all I do. In every dish I wash. In every patient I touch. In every diaper I change. Never stop loving in the most simple and important ways.

Davis Family Fund


When I first heard about this family, I would not let myself read more or watch this video (posted below) because I thought it would conjure up a lot of fear in me. After a couple of days, the story still called out to me, and I gathered up enough courage (or call it curiosity) to listen to what this couple had to say.

Although the video depicts two parents grieving over the death of their infant, it left me with a surprising sense of awareness of the life I am carrying in pregnancy. And with that, gratitude.

The most compelling theme of this video is the recognition that their child’s life did not start with birth. It started with conception. From the womb, the infant altered the course of the parents’ lives and made them more joyful. There is no measure for the impact of a life.

I really commend the strength and the faith of this couple. I can sense their closeness with the Lord.

Click this link:

Davis Family Fund



Somewhere between college and #ihavesomanybillstopay aka adulthood, I lost the drive (and time) to keep up with the latest new music. I used to go for runs just to listen to a new CD (I can’t wait to explain to Baby Hiatt in 10 years what a CD is). And when the iPod was invented, I created the greatest playlists to fit my mood for my runs….which may explain why I am a slow runner (I was just an emo kid trying to hash out my emotions on some trail). But something happened–maybe work? a career? Katy Perry?–and I just can’t keep up with new music.

Now, my workouts are to the soundtrack of opinionated TED talkers. If I love the TED talk, I go home to Davey and spend twice as long explaining the talk to him than it took the speaker. If I hate the TED talk, I argue in my head with them for 20-30 minutes and come up with my own talk to rival theirs.

Here is one I love and thought was worth sharing:

Hope you can find happiness today. :)

Becoming a Selfless Prayer Giant

prayer giant

As I have mentioned before, pregnancy has made me view the role of Mary, Jesus’ mother, differently than I ever have before. I never grasped the extent of her love for Jesus, and although I still don’t think I can completely grasp it, I am able to understand it from a new perspective. My reflection during our hour of adoration today was Stabat Mater (At the Cross Her Station Keeping):

At the cross her station keeping,
Stood the mournful Mother weeping,
Close to Jesus to the last.

Through her heart, His sorrow sharing,
All His bitter anguish bearing,
Now at length the sword had pass’d.

Oh, how sad and sore distress’d
Was that Mother highly blest
Of the sole-begotten One!

Christ above in torment hangs;
She beneath beholds the pangs
Of her dying glorious Son.

Is there one who would not weep,
Whelm’d in miseries so deep
Christ’s dear Mother to behold?

Can the human heart refrain
From partaking in her pain,
In that Mother’s pain untold?

Bruis’d, derided, curs’d, defil’d,
She beheld her tender child
All with bloody scourges rent.

For the sins of His own nation,
Saw Him hang in desolation,
Till His spirit forth He sent.

O thou Mother! fount of love!
Touch my spirit from above;
Make my heart with thine accord.

Make me feel as thou hast felt;
Make my soul to glow and melt
With the love of Christ our Lord.

Holy Mother! pierce me through;
In my heart each wound renew
Of my Saviour crucified.

Let me share with thee His pain,
Who for all my sins was slain,
Who for me in torments died.

Let me mingle tears with thee,
Mourning Him who mourn’d for me,
All the days that I may live.

By the cross with thee to stay,
There with thee to weep and pray,
Is all I ask of thee to give.

Virgin of all virgins best,
Listen to my fond request
Let me share thy grief divine.

Let me, to my latest breath,
In my body bear the death
Of that dying Son of thine.

Wounded with His every wound,
Steep my soul till it hath swoon’d
In His very blood away.

Be to me, O Virgin, nigh,
Lest in flames I burn and die,
In His awful Judgment day.

Christ, when Thou shalt call me hence,
Be Thy Mother my defence,
Be Thy cross my victory.

While my body here decays,
May my soul Thy goodness praise,
Safe in Paradise with Thee.

I can’t begin to imagine what it was like for Mary to see her son nailed to a cross.

I am getting to a point where I feel like I have been pregnant forever. Not in a sense of discomfort, swollen ankles, shortness of breath, etc. It’s more like I feel like the day we found out we were pregnant (November 13, 2013) was forever ago. I have been preparing so long for the arrival of this baby. But after reflecting the Stabat Mater, I began to think that 9 months of pregnancy is giving me the chance to fully become who I want to be as a mother. It’s not only a time for the baby to grow and develop, but a time for me (and Davey) to become parents. We are growing and developing, too.

When I think of what kind of mom I want to be, naturally, I want to be like my mom. The best word to describe my mom is selfless. I think she has been completely selfless since the day my oldest sibling was born and remains that way today. Just this weekend, she planned a baby shower for me, made cookies for Davey and I, showered us with gifts, and gave us her time.

I also want to be like my grandmother. I would describe my grandmother as a prayer giant, a term I just learned of today when reading The Four Signs of a Dynamic Catholic. Matthew Kelly describes a prayer giant:

Over the years, I have encountered many great families in my travels. A number of years ago, I tried to work out what made these families so steadfast and full of life. Tolstoy begins the epic novel Anna Karenina with these lines: “Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.” What I have discovered is that all the great families I have encountered have a giant of prayer. These prayerful giants pray constantly for their families, surrounding them with God’s protection. Somewhere in the not-too-distant past is a person who was a prayerful giant. A prayerful giant is a person who covers their family with prayer, anchoring the family in God’s grace. Sometimes it is the grandmother or grandfather, the mother or father, an uncle or aunt, and from time to time you have to go back two or three generations, sometimes more. But you always find a prayerful giant in their family tree. Every family needs a cornerstone of prayer to pray for the family, now and in the future.

I have told so many people that “my life is so good because my Grandma is constantly praying for it to be that way.” I truly know that the opportunities I have been given in life– and the grace I have been given to take the opportunities– is a result of my grandma’s prayers.

Every good thing that has happened to me can be traced back to my mom’s selflessness and my grandma’s prayers.

So, as I prepare for motherhood over the next 13 weeks, I will spend a lot of time praying to be more like my mom and grandma: a selfless prayer giant.

My grandma and  a few of her grandchildren :)
My grandma and a few of her grandchildren :)

Lenten Reflection


Music is pleasing not only because of the sound but because of the silence that is in it: without the alteration of sound and silence there would be no rhythm. If we strive to be happy by filling the silences of life with sound, productive by turning all life’s leisure into work, and real by turning all our being into doing, we will only succeed in producing a hell on earth. Thomas Merton, No Man Is an Island.

Stop and smell the coffee




It’s the first thing I think about when I wake up in the morning.

And it’s the last thing I think about when I go to bed at night as I prepare the pot for the next day’s dose.

Like anything else in life that is amazingly good, one can consume too much, not enough, or just the right amount. (I guess Goldilocks had it right the whole time)

This is how I use the amount of coffee I drink as an indicator of the priorities in my life:

1. Too much coffee: Can there be such a thing as too much coffee??!! Yes, there can. When I think of someone who drank too much coffee, I think of my creepy middle school band teacher who always had a cup o’ joe in his hand and the smell of burnt coffee on his dry breath. I would practice my clarinet so much so I wouldn’t mess up in class for fear Mr. Woodworth would walk up to me in class, lean in real close, and tell me with his smelly breath that I messed up. I’m not kidding. He had quite the pot belly, too. When bored, I would imagine that if I stuck a needle in his belly, coffee would sprout out.

I do not want to become that person.

More than 2 cups is too much for me, and that’s when I stop myself and think of Mr. Woodworth. I think Mr. Woodworth drank too much coffee because he was bored with his job. But for me, too much coffee usually means I am overworking myself, and I need to get more sleep. The time in my life when I drank too much coffee was during grad school. I drank coffee for the energy to study. I would drink it morning, noon, and night. I didn’t even stop and enjoy it really; I just drank it as a drug to stay awake and alert. So if I am tempted to reach for that third cup, I remind myself to slow down.

Studying over coffee

2. Not enough coffee: Aside from the times when I used coffee as a drug to stay awake and alert, I love the experience of sipping coffee. My earliest memory of coffee is watching my mom sip it in the morning when I would get ready for school. She would wake us up, help us get our breakfast and lunches ready, then sit in her robe and sip coffee. She would hold her mug with two hands, keeping it close to her mouth. I asked her once why she held her coffee to her mouth when she wasn’t drinking it, and she said, “Because I love the smell of it.” I would board the bus, turn around and wave to mom, and she would smile over her coffee mug. At an early age, I couldn’t wait to be an adult and enjoy coffee. I recognized that sipping coffee was an experience to be savored and appreciated. Now, as an adult, I often find myself running out the door in the morning without my morning coffee because there are thingsineedtodo and peopleineedtosee. That’s when I think of my mom on our early school mornings and remind myself to slow down.

3. Just the right amount of coffee: If I am drinking just the right amount of coffee, I am able to sit, sip, and simmer. The experience of 1-2 cups of coffee provides time for a good conversation with a friend, the formation of a new idea, or the necessary closure to an ongoing thought. When I am drinking 1-2 cups a day, I am spending the right amount of time in purposely purposeless thought.

After all, it’s the subtle nuances of everyday life that should be appreciated over a cup of coffee. So when I am so busy that I need coffee as a drug to stay awake, or so busy that I don’t have time to enjoy the experience of coffee, I remind myself to stop and smell the coffee to fully appreciate life.

Coffee on Folly Beach

When I married my husband

Davey & Kaylee Wed (363 of 983)

For some reason, older women decide a young engaged girl should know “something will go wrong on the wedding day.” I heard horror stories of the DJs’ speakers being blown out, the roof of the reception venue leaking due to rain, the limo running one hour late, the priest getting in a car accident….

So I just knew something was going to go wrong on our wedding day, and I told myself to just focus on seeing Davey at the end of the aisle.

And guess what…nothing went wrong. I got to marry my husband.

The memory of our wedding day is so sweet and unforgettable. We are thankful to our photographers, Stevi and Andrew Clark of Honey and Salt, for capturing our special day exactly as we would have wanted it captured. All the photos in this post are their work. Since they did such an incredible job, I am going to try to let the pictures tell a thousand words.

Photo credit Honey and Salt
Photo credit Honey and Salt

My best friends, my mom, my mother in law, my dad, and I all got ready at my parents’ home, just as I had always dreamed.

Photo credit Honey and Salt
Photo credit Honey and Salt
Photo credit Honey and Salt
Photo credit Honey and Salt
Photo credit Honey and Salt
Photo credit Honey and Salt
Photo credit Honey and Salt
Photo credit Honey and Salt

I was so excited to show my dad his daughter as a bride. I got a little teary when he walked out the back door to see me.

Photo credit Honey and Salt
Photo credit Honey and Salt

He didn’t want to touch me because he was afraid he was going to “mess me up”!

Photo credit Honey and Salt
Photo credit Honey and Salt
Photo credit Honey and Salt
Photo credit Honey and Salt
Photo credit Honey and Salt
Photo credit Honey and Salt
Photo credit Honey and Salt
Photo credit Honey and Salt
Photo credit Honey and Salt
Photo credit Honey and Salt

It was so calming and peaceful to pray the rosary with my bridesmaids and parents before the ceremony.

Photo credit Honey and Salt
Photo credit Honey and Salt

My grandparent’s love story is one that Davey and I both admire so much. Davey was able to get to know my grandfather in his last 5 months of life; I am so grateful for that time. Grandpa told me before he died how much he loved Davey. Here is a picture of my grandma watching me walk down the aisle. I love making her proud.

Photo credit Honey and Salt
Photo credit Honey and Salt

There is nothing like looking at everyone you love watch you walk toward the man of your dreams. I had an indescribable sense of peace, joy, and gratitude for everything I have been given.

Photo credit Honey and Salt
Photo credit Honey and Salt

Before I met Davey, I had a recurring dream of walking down the aisle, then bolting before I could see my groom’s face. Weird, huh? On our wedding day, I wanted to run to Davey.

Photo credit Honey and Salt
Photo credit Honey and Salt
Photo credit Honey and Salt
Photo credit Honey and Salt
Photo credit Honey and Salt
Photo credit Honey and Salt
Photo credit Honey and Salt
Photo credit Honey and Salt
Photo credit Honey and Salt
Photo credit Honey and Salt

Just before this next picture, Davey said, “You’re my wife!”

Photo credit Honey and Salt
Photo credit Honey and Salt
Photo credit Honey and Salt
Photo credit Honey and Salt
Photo credit Honey and Salt
Photo credit Honey and Salt
Photo credit Honey and Salt
Photo credit Honey and Salt
Photo credit Honey and Salt
Photo credit Honey and Salt
Photo credit Honey and Salt
Photo credit Honey and Salt

Our reception was in an old church that had taken out the pews. We used the sanctuary as our dining and dancing space and the choir loft as the cocktail space.

Photo credit Honey and Salt
Photo credit Honey and Salt
Photo credit Honey and Salt
Photo credit Honey and Salt
Photo credit Honey and Salt
Photo credit Honey and Salt
Photo credit Honey and Salt
Photo credit Honey and Salt

Around 11:15pm, Davey and I left the reception. We ran under a tunnel made by the arms of all our guests. I don’t have any photos of that moment, but it’s one of the clearest in my mind. It felt like we were getting hugged by everyone we loved. I looked back at everyone right before we walked out the door, and it was as if time stood still—maybe because I wanted it to stand still— I saw everyone looking at us cheering, clapping, waving, crying, holding drinks in the air. My husband reached back for me, grabbed my hand, and we walked out the door, both sad and happy at the same time. Sad to leave our loved ones–happiest for the best life we could have imagined for ourselves.

When I was engaged to my husband


Davey proposed on March 9, 2013 in a chapel of St. Elizabeth Ann Seton Catholic Church in Carmel, IN after mass. Some of my closest friends were in town from Washington DC, Atlanta, GA, Chapel Hill, NC, and Athens, GA; they were there and all surprised as well when Davey got down on one knee. It was awesome to share that moment with all of them.



Of course, if Davey was going to marry me, he had to propose to all the girls (he knew what he was getting into):


I am not the event-planner-type. I hate to-do lists. I hate decisions. I hate looking at color samples. (side note: I also hate waking up in the morning) So planning for a wedding was a little frightening at first. But Davey and I constantly reminded ourselves that we weren’t planning a wedding; we were planning for a marriage.

In that respect, being engaged was SO FUN. We loved our pre-cana retreat. We loved talking about our futures together. We loved reading Karol Wojtyla’s Love and Responsibility. We loved thinking about the Sacrament we were entering into.

With our focus on planning a marriage, wedding planning seemed easy-peasy (for the most part). A lot of decisions we just made on a limb. For example, we never met our cake-baker or did a taste testing. We never met the singer for our wedding ceremony. The first time I heard her voice was during our mass (she was from another church).

We focused on the things that were important to us. I think one of the first things we did was choose the mass readings and songs. We wanted to the ceremony to be prayerful.

After that, making sure our guests would be able to feel how grateful we were for them supporting us was a priority. We made personalized favors by writing their names on coffee mugs and firing them in the oven. It’s been so fun getting text message pictures of my friends on snow days sipping hot cocoa, coffee, and hot toddy’s. :)

Photo by Honey and Salt
Photo by Honey and Salt
Photo by Honey and Salt
Photo by Honey and Salt

We also wanted to capture the day in a beautiful way so that we could show our future generations how it all started. This involved finding a good photographer and a good videographer. Mission totally accomplished in that department. :)

And honestly, that was really all for the “important things.”

By the way, our cake turned out AWESOME. And the wedding ceremony singer–loved her.


I learned a lot during the engagement period. First of all, through a lot of prayer, I learned how to surrender my life to someone else. Marriage requires selflessness, and I prayed for it in preparation. My grandma told me that if I always focus on Davey’s happiness, then I will in turn always be happy. It has not been the easiest thing in the world to dedicate my life to someone else’s happiness–but my grandma was right. I feel the most joyous when Davey is happy. I learned how to let go of what I want, and focus on what Davey wants. I am lucky enough to have a husband who tries to make me happy as well. This is something I know we both work hard on everyday.

bride, bridal shower
My bridal shower

Second, I learned that when we are not focused on our faith, the worldly things become overbearingly important. The days I found myself stressing out about the color of the bridesmaid dresses or the fact that Macy’s could not for-the-life-of-them send us the right ties that we ordered for the groomsmen…well, those were the times I was losing focus on what the wedding was representing and what marriage was about. This lesson also comes up in day to day things as well. I find myself stressing about what we should make for dinner, why my car won’t start, how we should decorate our new house, etc, etc. It’s so easy to lose focus of the “point of it all”, and admittedly I sometimes use worldly distractions if I am not doing a good job of focusing on Davey’s happiness. I am thankful to have learned how to recognize this when we were engaged.


Lastly, I learned that love is an opportunity. To fall in love is happenstance. But to choose to love someone for the rest of his/her life is to take a risky opportunity to participate in the essence of the world’s joy. I am grateful everyday to have been blessed with the courage to take this amazing opportunity.

Photo by Honey and Salt
Photo by Honey and Salt

When I dated my husband

It’s the week of love! In the spirit of Valentine’s Day, I want to share a love story with you. Ours! I love a good love story, and ours happens to be my favorite.


Davey and I both grew up in Geist, a reservoir town in an Indianapolis suburb. He lived on one side of the reservoir, and I lived on the other. The reservoir separated us into rival high schools and connected us through our community’s church.

I knew of Davey in high school because Davey is…well…how should I say it…spirited. Energetic. Funny. Basically, he makes himself known. I, on the other hand, spent most of my high school career trying NOT to be known because my hair was too frizzy, and I needed to study. So Davey never really knew me.

Seven years after high school, I had travelled the world and lived in 9 different cities for more than two months at a time. I had become resilient, adaptive, adventurous, and more confident. It dawned on me that it didn’t matter that I had frizzy hair, and I no longer needed to study because I got my degrees.

So I accepted a friend’s request to help out at the church for a youth retreat when I moved back to Indianapolis, and that’s where I met Davey, who was also helping out. Believe it or not, Davey told me he liked my hair that weekend.


So we started dating and quickly realized this was something. Something life changing and exciting. We knew we were never going to be “Davey” or “Kaylee” anymore, but we would always be “Davey and Kaylee.”


We went about dating in a very traditional way. We didn’t live together or stay at each other’s places. Every relationship is different and living apart while we were dating just worked for us. We are both reflective people, and the time we had apart from each other was just as important as the time we had with each other. It gave us an opportunity to reflect on who we want to be for the other person so we could be the best version of ourselves. Since we fell in love quickly, it also gave us the opportunity to slow things down and go about things rationally so we weren’t blinded by our strong feelings toward each other.

Davey spent a lot of time with my grandpa while he was in hospice
Davey spent a lot of time with my grandpa while he was in hospice

Our work shifts were opposite, so we were very creative on finding times to see each other like over lunch breaks or meeting for early morning masses. We learned how to make time for each other and how to make our relationship a priority, which has made a good impact on our marriage. I was literally so excited every single time I got to see him. In a way, the rush I got walking down the aisle toward him on our wedding day felt like a familiar rush I got every time I got to see him when we were dating. I think I have been walking down the aisle toward him my whole life.

So when Davey proposed on March 9, 2013, I accepted. Ill post about that tomorrow.