Thursday, April 18
This is my husband. He's a manly man. Once when I was ordering lunch for him at a restaurant neither of us had ever been to, I said to the waiter, "What's your manliest sandwich?" knowing that the result would be palatable for Bryan. It's just how he rolls.
Last July, Bryan took the Montana bar. Three days of eight-hour testing and a lot of missed hours of sleep, not to mention an entire summer dedicated to studying, after, ya know, three years of post-graduate education.
Then, he and his boss decided he'd take the Idaho bar too, thereby increasing the area in which he's certified to practice. So he started studying for that bar. And then, as you know, the year from the seventh layer of hell happened, pretty much stalling Bryan's studying. Three funerals and a life-shortening diagnosis will do that to a person. And then, the day before the bar, Bryan worked until five, started driving to Boise (which was six hours away), ran into weather suited only for the arctic circle (and I'm not talking about the restaurant), got to Boise two hours before the test started, slept an hour in his car, went in, and took two-day sixteen-hour thing like a boss.
Today, we found out he passed.
My husband, the ultra marathon runner, jumps-out-of-helicopters-for-fun-er, wild beast slayer, baby cuddler, handy man fixer, priesthood holder, lullaby singer, hand holder, rock star love of my life, is the most amazing person I have ever met. I'm grateful every day we found each other and grateful every day that he picked me. And grateful that I'll never have to go to law school or take the bar, because watching someone else do it was quite enough work for me, thank you very much.