Fourteen / Ivory

Fourteen years, four addresses, three cars, three cats, one mortgage, and one kid later ...

... and I am still literally the luckiest woman alive.

Happy anniversary, babe. I love you.

Happy Family-versary (Again!)

I know how most people feel about Tax Day, but it's different for us. It's a happy occasion, because on this date all the way back in 2009 (is really four years ago already? is it really ONLY four years ago?) Shae's adoption was final, and the three of us became HER plus two old dorks lugging all her crap around. Or, in other words: A FAMILY.

We've been having a hell of a time lately, our little family. Growing pains, mostly. A whole bunch of nonsense and foolishness and trying to figure things out. This stuff happens in families. We have our moments when shift schedules and uncertainty and grad school and sleep deprivation and things unnoticed at the time kind of all sneak up on you on roller skates and whomp you over the head and make you PAY GODDAMN ATTENTION.

This, too, shall pass. And in the meantime, we have each other.

I read somewhere that nothing in the world can make a person crazy like a family can. I can't remember who said it -- Dave Barry or Erma Bombeck, probably. The more you love your family, the worse it is. That is not a complaint, really, but a fact of life. You take the good, you take the bad, you take them both. There's a time you've got to go and show you're growing.

I complain sometimes about the problems I have, the guerrilla wars I stupidly throw myself headlong into for lack of anything better to do, but the truth is: I have it good. I have it better than most. I have a husband I love and who loves me, we have a daughter we both adore, and whatever stupid thing we're going through right now, we're going through it together, and we'll come out the other side together, and maybe we'll all be bruised and banged up, but we'll heal. Together.

Happy Family-versary, you guys. I love you. And I promise: someday we'll look back on this and laugh. (We might need a drink or twelve first, but we'll laugh eventually.)

October 19th

Know what happened on this date in history? In 1873: Yale, Princeton, Columbia, and Rutgers universities drafted the first code of rules for American football. In 1917: Love Field opened in Dallas. In 1959: The world's first disco opened. In 1973: My parents got married.

The fortuitousness of these things all happening on the same calendar date is no doubt entirely coincidental, but I can tell you that there has been a lot of love, a lot of dancing, and a hell of a lot of football in the history of my parents' marriage, so maybe the Universe has a way of sorting things out.

I won't embarrass my parents with any stories; there really aren't that many to tell, anyway. For most of the time they've been married, they've had to deal with me, so they've already been punished more than enough anyhow. But what they haven't gotten enough of is thanks.

So: Mom and Dad, thanks. For everything. For being yourselves. For being awesome. For being good people and good parents and good examples. You've shown me what a marriage can be -- up, down, and sideways. You still hold hands, and still slow dance at weddings, and still celebrate the little days that all added up to this one big one.

The 37th anniversary isn't a particularly big milestone, it's not a big number that ends in a five or a zero or a fancy metal or gemstone (the traditional gift is alabaster), but it's still worth honoring and recognizing. I certainly respect it. So congratulations, Mom & Dad, on another year. You guys are awesome. And I love you both: always, and all ways.

Love xoxo, R.

PS -- Don't have any pictures from your wedding day handy, but I hope that these pictures from our weddings will suffice. You've set a standard, and I hope these help to remind you how good an example, what an inspiration, you have been to your daughters and sons-in-law.

Fly Me To The Moon

Today is my cousin's wedding anniversary. I didn't remember it until she asked me if I had any pictures; for some reason I have been thinking her anniversary was in April all this time -- I must have been conflating her birthday and my anniversary and jumbling them up for the last eight years.

Also, in my own defense, I was kind of tanked at her reception. Not drunk and disorderly, not exactly, but I don't remember much except that one of my former co-horts from my high school swim team was a bartender that day, and she was making me all kinds of fancy delicious drinks that came with maraschino cherries and whose names ended in "-tini," and there was a big ol' wheel of brie cheese baked in puff pastry, and the food was good. Damn good. And apparently I had a rough time in the ladies' room, and had to get an assist. (That part I don't remember, but I've had anecdotal evidence since.)

I wish I could say these pictures brought back memories, but unfortunately they don't. That's the trouble with a good bartender, I suppose. You look at pictures of that special day when you're a decade removed from it and you're all, "The HELL?" I still have the dress I wore, though. Doesn't fit any more -- was too small, now it's too big, and either way it was never particularly in style anyway -- but I still have it.

Still have the husband, though. That one's a keeper. Even though it appears on this particular occasion that he did not consent to coordinating his tie to my outfit. The bastard.

I always dance with my Daddy at weddings when we're both in attendance, even now that we're both basically old people. It's like a rule, dating back to middle school or so, when I danced with him to "Angel" by Aerosmith when one of his siblings got married. Don't ask me who, because I don't remember that, either.

It would be almost three years later when these two crazy kids would up and get hitched. That was another kick-ass wedding. But boy oh boy, are they kids here. My sister can't be older than 25 here, if she was even that old (if I did the math correctly, I was 28, basically a baby myself still).

... Anyway, I kind of lost the plot here. (Go figure.) One of the things that I DO remember about Tina & Sam's wedding was their first dance: "Fly Me To The Moon," by Frank Sinatra. It was something really, really, once-in-a-lifetime special. It's such a great song to begin with, one of my all-time favorites, and on top of it all, they did a fancy little choreographed ballroom dance number, and it was SPECTACULAR. The whole room filled to overflowing with joy, and for a few short minutes nothing in the world existed but those two, and the music, and their love, and it was nothing short of awesome. Really and truly.

All of this is a long way of saying: Happy Anniversary, you guys. I hope you continue to be as happy now as you were then, and I hope you always are. You're awesome, and your family is awesome, and even though I ate my weight in maraschino cherries that day and therefore don't remember everything quite as clearly as maybe I should (although I assure you, I tipped the bartender well), I am glad I got to be part of that day, and that I still get to be part of your lives, even if it's across the miles over coaxial cable.

In other words: I love you.

Wordless Wednesday: Smells Divine

Backpack, Backpack, Yeah!

So our anniversary was over the weekend, right? And we celebrated it as any normal couple has been married for eleventy hundred years would: with dinner and a movie (How To Train Your Dragon in 3D, which was fantastic). But before that, we went shopping for backpacks, because have I mentioned yet that we are going camping in (checks calendar) 75 days? No? Not yet?

I will start out with this not-at-all-surprising revelation: I kind of can't wait for this camping trip to be over so I can start obsessing about my next vacation, whatever and wherever that will be. There is something slightly more sane about agonizing over the details of a journey to the tropics, as opposed to plotting a trek into the woods where we will eat hot dogs and marshmallows on sticks.

Also, there is less to pack when you're going to be wearing nothing but sarongs and flip-flops for a week.

But anyway. One of the things on my Endless List Of Stuff To Do Before We Go To The 1000 Islands -- after "cause a furor over passports" and "buy an air mattress" -- was to get Shae a new backpack. She has one already, a cute little Dante Beatrix penguin number that I won in an Internet contest about a year and a half ago, but it's getting to be too small, since Shae is like three hundred feet tall already. I did some internet research and found a bag at L.L. Bean that I liked.

Long story short, there is an L.L. Bean store -- an actual brick-and-mortar store -- in a fancy shopping center near our house, so we went to check it out. We wended up getting a different backpack than the one we originally picked out, but Shae loves the one we got, which is what really matters. (Please note that I did not know about the whistle in the sternum strap until after the bag was home and already being loved, even if it does not yet contain a singing map.)

We had a good time, too, because there were live "attack" fish in a big ol' tank:

And also a tricycle, which we rode around on for like half an hour:

So it turns out our anniversary actually WAS fun for the whole family.

Eleven

Some interesting facts about the number eleven:

• In numerology, 11 is considered a "master number."
• Master numbers represent "rare and exceptional energy originating from outside mundane reality, far from the norm."
• Among the traits associated with the number 11 are "nervous energy, intense fear, unpredictability, unrealistic outlook ... insecurity, hyper-sensitivity, controversial behavior, overly receptive and vulnerable to the point of being an easy target, self-deprecation, low self-worth ... excessive idealism and unrealistic spiritual ideas resulting in a cosmic fu-fu-based dogmatic outlook, complex personality, untamed, wild inspiration, emotional volatility, infamy, extreme behavior, or insanity."
• And those are supposed to be bad things.
• Also, my very favorite Phillie ever (at least for this week), Jimmy Rollins, wears #11.

Okay, so yeah, maybe eleven isn't exactly the world's most exciting number. But my husband and I aren't exactly the world's most exciting people, which is totally fine by us. We've got plenty of insecurity, self-deprecation, and "cosmic fu-fu" to go around.

We're married for eleven years today, and it's Kind Of A Big Deal anyway.

Happy Anniversary, babe.

First Family-versary

Today is our ... well, we didn't really know what to call it, our commemoration of This Special Day, so G and I had this discussion where we tried to figure out what our cutesy little name for today was going to be. Because, like, it's going to be a personal holiday for the rest of our lives, so we need to call it something, right? Basically we decided on "Family-versary," which is vaguely lame, but pretty much right in my wheelhouse, because I am vaguely lame.

(And for the sake of posterity, let me state that by "discussion" and "decided," I actually mean that I suggested the name, and then 10 minutes later when his raid wiped G asked me to repeat it and he said that sounded fine. So, you know, even though it's been a year since our adoption was final, everything is otherwise basically the same as it ever was. Only louder, and with much awesomer hair ...

And, you know, permanently so.)

Which is a very groovy kind of a feeling, if I can be honest. Still. Because I can be all, "Haha suckers, she's ours now, and you can't take her back! Nanny-nanny-boo-boo!" And let's face it: we really did get once-in-a-lifetime lucky with this kid.

Okay, maybe twice in a lifetime, but only once in our lifetime.

Party Time! Excellent!

Yesterday my cousins Phil and Kim threw themselves a fantastic first anniversary housewarming tailgate party. Lots of people, lots of kids, lots of fun.

When my parents came, they brought the bubble machine. Awesomosity ensued.

There were some balloons up as decoration, and Shae was very intrigued by her reflection in the Mylar. She kept yelling, "I can SEE myself!"

She also liked the balloon weights. (So do the cats -- we brought a balloon with a weight home, and there is a lot of jockeying for position between Shae and the furbabies.)

Probably the only time you'll ever see me put this in writing anywhere: Go Vols!

Smiles all around, which is as ringing an endorsement of a party as you're ever going to get. Thanks Phil and Kim!

Signed, Sealed, Delivered I'm Yours

I've written about our anniversary before -- that's the thing about anniversaries, how they keep coming around every year. Last year I kind of didn't make a big deal out of it, since we were in the middle of having our lives turned upside down, but this is one of those anniversaries that ends in a Big Round Number, and since some of our friends who are now married hadn't even met on the day that we exchanged vows, I think this year it's worth a little more notice.

So, to begin with: four hundred thousand and ten years ago, at one o'clock in the afternoon, we got married. We got married in a beautiful Catholic church, a church that has been a part of my family for a long time, the church where my father's parents and so many of my father's siblings were married, the same church where my own sister will be getting married this summer.

To have and to hold, to love and to cherish, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, from this day forward, until death do us part. I did then, and I do now, and I always will, as long as you never make me say "obey." I agreed to love and honor, yes, but not obey.

Ours is not a Great Love Story, but it is a pretty damned good one. I've said before, eleventy hundred zillion times, that you are not perfect, but you are perfect for me. You have tolerated a great deal of insanity and foolishness, even more insanity and pigheadedness, and did I mention the insanity? But at the end of our days, I still feel now like I did then.

You and me, we're a pair of ducks.

And I love you.
Always, and all ways.

All photos by Troy Schnyder.

Early Anniversary Present

Well son of a bitch. Looks like G is trying to FORCE me to learn to use Photoshop after all. The rat fink.