My Three Husbands

When I married Dan in Las Vegas,
I think the something "old" might
have been the groom himself, who
was a boyfriend 16 years prior.

No, this isn't an episode of "Big Love."

For those of you keeping track, you may have noticed that I have mentioned three father figures so far.

Yes, yes, I've had three husbands, but don't bother trying to shame me about it. I did that enough to myself and I'm long over it.

I am fortunate to have had three good marriages. True, two of them ended, and there was much sadness and pain involved, but on the whole they were loving experiences. Divorce ends some aspects of the relationship, but it shouldn't obliterate the honor. While not all of the guys are crazy about each other, I maintain friendships and co-parenting of Gabe with each of my ex-husbands.

In a roundabout way, my marital experience actually begins with my current husband, Dan. We met while we were undergrads at Syracuse University, where his philosophy major and my religion major brought us together in a class called -- get this -- "The Ethics of Love."

We dated for a little while but ended up as friends. And we stayed friends, the best of friends, for 15 years while we moved to other places and joined our lives with other people. I had a baby, he went to war, life just happened.

Fifteen years later our paths intersected again, and everything we had been through made it all the more poignant when our hearts were ready to be one again. We got hitched in Las Vegas on May 8, 2010, and fast-tracked ourselves into parenthood. In all likelihood, we conceived in a town called -- get this -- New Hope, which is on the New Jersey-Pennsylvania border. I'm hoping to at least get through our one-year anniversary dinner next week, at the restaurant where he proposed, before I pop this baby out.

Ted and Gabe at Chickamauga
National Military Park.

I don't often think of Dan as a stepfather to Gabe, mostly because my oldest son already had such a good one in Ted, my second husband. Ted and Gabe don't see each other as often as either of them would like, but they keep in touch and exchange gifts on holidays and birthdays. Truthfully, Ted and I share my dog Johnny more often.

Ted and I had about a decade together, in our home and in our profession. We suffered through major flooding events, including a national disaster-level one in 2007, and other joys of homeownership on two journalists' pathetic salaries. He dutifully parented Gabe through youth sports, something I rank slightly above diving into a vat of snot on the enjoyability spectrum, and was there for those milestole family vacation trips. Ted helped Gabe grow from a little boy to an adolescent, and there's no limit to the amount of gratitude I shall always carry for that.

Snuggled in his daddy's arms,
Gabe experiences his first
snow. In Syracuse, that was
probably in September.

I was married to Gabe's dad, another Dan, for like a minute. We too had met at Syracuse, and we were ostensibly engaged during what was supposed to be my last semester there when we found out that I was pregnant. My studies derailed, but Dan had another year to go anyway after changing schools and majors several times, so our little family had its beginnings in central New York while I took another year to get my degree. We soon moved to Ohio to be near my family, and I was able to start my newspaper career.

Dan F. was a loving, attentive, patient baby-daddy. He even survived a poo bomb incident during a shared bath with generally good humor. Gabe was an adorable toddler when we finally got around to marrying, but we quickly realized we were going to be better parents than good mates, and we amicably parted ways in under a year. Dan F. soon found Jackie, who became the world's most amazing stepmother and has been nothing but wonderful to Gabe since the first day she met him. Dan F. remains a loving, attentive, patient father.

It was a great advantage to have four loving parents working together to raise Gabe. It's just me and Dan K. with this incoming one. That will be different, if I'm permitted an understatement here.

"Two times is lucky, third time's a charm," croons folk singer Meg Hutchinson in her song "Can You Tell Me." I certainly do love my charming third husband, more than I ever could articulate, and I'm having the life with him that I dreamed of having when I was a mere 19 years old and hoping he was going to be my first and only. But I feel lucky to have known and loved and lived with Dan F. and Ted too.

Of course, they may be wiping their brows in relief to have escaped me.