Going Gets Narrow

Sitting in time-out, tears streaming down his face, that's how I found him.

When I showed up to get The Mayor from Daycare he was in trouble.

The teachers there are gentle and only give him a time out when he earns one. So If he's in time out when I arrive, I make him finish serving his sentence.

This pisses him off.

But it's like Baretta said, "If you can't do the time, don't do the crime."

When I asked him why he got a time out, he said:

"I accidentally forgot to listened.

Then I got a time out.

Then I cried a LOT of times."

I HATE when I accidentally forgot to listened...or when I take my eye off the sparrow.

Enjoy Your Trip!

The Mayor went on his first field trip yesterday but he can't remember a thing about it.

He has chattered on endlessly about the van ride to the puppet show, who rode in the van with him, who rode in the other van and what he saw looking out the van windows.

When K and I asked him about the puppet show he got a completely blank look on his face.

"Puppets? What puppets? Why do you keep speaking of puppets?

At first I was sort of puzzled. Wasn't the whole point of the field trip to see a puppet show?

Then I realized that The Mayor is living well.

He's already wise enough to know what some of us have to read (and re-read) on Hallmark cards and fortune cookies.

Life is not about the destination, it's about the journey itself.

Art by Jan Svankmajer

King of Joy Sums It Up

K pointed to his t-shirt and said, "Fatherhood... I think the fact that I'm wearing a t-shirt with baby vomit on it and not planning to do anything about it sort of sums it all up."

Later, as the hour our dinner guests were due to arrive neared he said, "I should really change my shirt..."

Still later, after they were gone, he looked down at his shirt, looked back up at me and said, "Oops."

Luckily, they are good friends.

Mature Cats Know All the Tricks

The other day I was reading the "kitten" post on iObsess where a guest writer talked about the "kitten years" -- a time in a woman's twenties when she's just as cute as a box full of kittens and can simply walk into a room and watch the men lap milk out of her hands.

While I appreciated the Kitten post and the account of kittenhood in general, I'm just not willing to accept that the best, sexiest years of a woman's life are from 18-28 or that women become invisible and unattractive after the kitten years are over.

A lot of women I know just keep getting hotter and hotter as they approach forty. They have always been good looking, but now they are YOWZA!

While none of my hot mama friends are spending any time trying to turn the heads of young men in bars, I can't help but imagine that there ARE young boys heads that DO turn when they see my hot mama friends. You know, on the way to Gymboree or whatever.

Think about it.

A twenty-somthing year old boy young man sees one of my hotty, hot mama girlfriends and he KNOWS that she could teach him everything he needs to know if she would only deign to play teacher.

He also knows that it is just not EVER going to happen... which makes the whole idea even more interesting to him.

But who cares about that young, fumbling fellow?

What is 1,000 times better than turning the head of some young man is turning the head of THE ONE.

I love watching as my girlfriends' husbands follow their hot wives out of the room with their eyes. It makes me smile.

They are no longer wee kittens, it's true. They have grown into mature cats, and have given birth to kittens of their own. However, the only men that really matter are lapping milk right out of their hands.

Winning is Everything

I don't like to play games that I can't win.

I'm a real "sport" like that.

That is why I am a swimmer instead of a racquetball player. If you beat me at racquetball (as if) I'd likely get all John McEnroe on you and hit you with the racquet.

Hard.

Good sportsmanship? Not so much.

So when I saw the "Worst School Photo Contest" going on over at Petroville I entered because I felt like I had a sure thing.

Some of you have already seen it here, but this is my school photo from third grade:

I am cute as a bug in this photo (you can't deny it) but I am wearing a bonnet. Let's be clear, this was taken in 1975, not 1875.

The results are in at Petroville and it turns out I am a big, fat loser. Contestant number 4 whooped my hiney. Here she is ladies and gentlemen, contestant number four...


I think it was the tall bangs that beat me. She won the contest fair and square with those bangs of hers.

I am going to be a good sport about this today.

This ONE TIME. (Don't get any big ideas.)

Here's why...

As a third grader I was OBSESSED with Little House on the Prairie. I read all the books, I watched all the shows, and I practiced saying, "Aw, Paw."

I loved it.

Fiercely.

To save money, my working mom made all my clothes herself. In her "free" time.

(Free time? Moms have free time?)

My mom made the Little House on the Prairie outfit for me so that I could fulfill my 1875 wanna-be fantasies.

As a mother myself now I look back at this and am certain that every stitch was sewn with love. The same love that taught me to read, encouraged my imagination and introduced me to Laura Ingalls Wilder and other authors.

My mom made this costume for me simply because she knew I would like it.

Of course, I was thrilled!

Oh, great outfit of wonder!

I'm wearing this bad boy to third grade picture day!

Step OFF Melissa Sue Gilbert!

Who's Half Pint now?

My love of fiction, imagination and the world of make-believe are all captured in this school photo. Even better, the photo captures a moment in time that serves as a lasting illustration of the love my mother has routinely demonstrated for me throughout my life so far.

So I've decided that this bonnet photo is actually The Greatest School Photo Ever Taken...

...and I'm making myself a First Place certificate.

He Helps Me Make The Mayor's Bed

Here is K helping me make The Mayor's bed.

Oddly, the truth about this photo is that he who claims (loudly to my Mother) that "we are all her blog victims!" asked me to go and get the camera.

"Go get the camera and take a picture of me helping you make The Mayor's bed and post it on your blog," K said.

Victims?! Yeah. My hairy big toe kicking yer arse is a victim.

On Religion

I've heard that church attendance is on the rise all across the nation, but I think it has always been an important part of the fabric of southern life.

K and I were at a child's birthday party recently and the other parents got to talking about church. We weren't saying much so someone finally turned to us and asked us what church we attend.

Though I live in the south and understand the importance of faith, it surprises me when people ask me direct questions about it. I guess I think of faith, spirituality and religion as personal, maybe even somewhat private.

I would say that I am a faithful, hopeful person but admit that I lack absolute faith in any particular doctrine.

Don't you worry about my soul though because I've discovered Beliefnet.com's Belief-O-Matic which tells me I should be a Liberal Quaker and that Liberal Quakers believe this. BELIEF-0-MATIC! How cool is that? It has solved all my issues related to faith on-line! Heh.

Okay, they're not quite solved...

I do have deep respect for the Quakers, but I find their meetings so... QUIET.

I know I'm supposed to think about God in the meetings but I inevitably think about my "to do" list. Then I feel guilty so I adjust my thinking pattern: "It must be God that really wants me to switch the laundry, pick up cilantro and get the dry cleaning and that is why these thoughts are coming into my head right now." Not good. I cannot be still and quiet for God or anyone.

So the truth is we don't go to church.

Lack of absolute faith used to be my reason for not going to church. I figured that if I didn't fully subscribe to the doctrine of any particular church then there was no point in my going.

My Grandfather was arguing with me about this and he said, "Church isn't about absolute faith, it's about community."

That stopped me in my tracks.

Oh, right. Of course.

A good church would be one where you struggled with your issues around faith with a community. It would also serve as a support community in regular, everyday life. His simple arguement opened me up to the idea of going to church, made me willing, even interested.

But my husband was raised Catholic. Like many others he is one of those Catholics that doesn't go to the church. He struggles with non-negotiable doctrines and strongly held positions of the Catholic faith that he can't follow or support. That said, he is so culturally identified as a Catholic that he can't go anywhere else.

K, his siblings and his mother got into a long discussion about their individual status as Catholics on our recent family reunion vacation. One of K's sisters argued that the Catholic church would never change if progressive Catholics didn't show up to make change possible. Though this seems like a good argument for us attending Catholic services, K's decision making process is one he refers to as "geologic."

So we don't go to church... and it's K's fault. Heh.

Spiritual community life potential aside, It is hard to not go to church on Sunday mornings now that we have children.

First, it's what is happening. (Seemingly) everyone's doing it. Which leaves you high and dry for alternative, kid friendly activities. We struggle with how to entertain them each and every Sunday because almost nothing is open until noon. (Meanwhile, is there or is there not a kiddie room at church?!)

It feels almost tacky to try to schedule a playdate for a Sunday morning. I might as well publish a photo of my family in our local paper with the words "BLASPHEMING HEATHENS" underneath.

The only thing open on Sunday mornings is the Zoo. I can't tell you how many hot summer mornings I have spent there this year with the poor animals panting in the hot Southern sun.

Ah! How ripe they smell! ...and by lunch I smell like a beast myself!

Hurrah!

So until the tectonic plates shift, I guess I'll be stinking it up near the elephant poo.

Amen.

Proudimus Dorkicus

My friend Deana in the great state of Illinois reads my blog.

(More importantly, she creates beautiful handmade jewelry which you will find if you click on her name.)

Anyway, after following along with me in blogland for a few months Deana and I talked on the phone recently.

She told me that I am the biggest dork on the internet.

"Jessica, you are THE BIGGEST DORK ON THE INTERNET...and you're PROUD of it," she said.

Yeah.



But can I just tell you that once, when I used the word 'clairvoyant' in a sentence, Deana said, "Claire who? Do I know her?"

Who's the biggest dork on the internet now?

Ha ha ha ha!!!

The lovely overly wined up Deana, Ladies & Gentlemen!

...and for the record...

I totally ADMIT to being a BIG dork on the internet, HUGE even.

Sadly, I am SURE that I can't be the BIGGEST one.

How great would it be to actually hold the title: THE BIGGEST DORK ON THE INTERNET?!!

Who wouldn't STRIVE for a title like that?

I think the internet Peter Pan has me beat.

Favorite TV Characters

Melanie in Orygun is MAKING me do this meme about my favorite characters from TV.

So. Here they are...

Detective Chief Superintendent Christopher Foyle, Foyle's War (Michael Kitchen)

Detective Chief Superintendent Jane Tennison, Prime Suspect (Helen Mirren)

Col. Sherman T. Potter, M*A*S*H (Harry Morgan)

David Fisher, Six Feet Under (Michael C. Hall)

Flip Wilson, The Flip Wilson Show

The Swedish Chef, The Muppet Show

Gil Grissom, CSI (William L. Peterson)

Speed Racer

Robin, Batman & Robin (Burt Ward)

Tim Conway, The Carol Burnett Show

Gilda Radner, Saturday Night Live

Chris in the Morning, Northern Exposure (John Corbett)

Jack McCoy, Law & Order (Sam Waterston)

I tag Sayre, Heather, Blessed Mom, Carmachu and W.A.Y.A! So there. (I have never tagged anyone before. I have double dog dared Kevin Charnas though!)

These Are The Days of Our Toys Lives

On the weekends we spend a lot of time playing with our kids.

Sitting in their room as they play with their toys, I sometimes descend into a dream-like state.

Descending down the boredom tube... down, down, down...

(Dream sequence)
(Dream sequence)
(Dream sequence)
(Dream sequence)

See, there were these twin brothers Jed and Ted.

Father was a farmer.

Father Farmer favored the first born twin, Jed and willed him the farm.

This infuriated Angry Mom because she favored the second son Ted.

It was not unusual for Angry Mom to be angry. She was angry most of the time.

(If you press down on her head she kicks you in the shin! Rock ON, Angry Mom!)

ANGRY MOM had abadonment issues because her father was rarely around during her childhood. He was too "busy at work" as Mr. Famous Pirate.

Mr. Famous Pirate managed a motely crew of swarthy, junior, lesser known pirates.

FAMOUS PIRATE'S boat was known for crazy parties where swarthy, sea faring, manly men found true love on the open seas.

The ship was a giant, floating, gay pirate disco ship of love.

The two crew members voted "Couple Most Likely to... find buried treasure" were the burly pirates Javier and Johanssen.

Other pirates would comment about how Javier and Johanssen looked perfect together, as though they were cast from the same mold.

...and the way they danced together!


Alas, Johanssen was caught cheating with Twisty Ed, the surfer pirate.

Poor Javier.

There is a faint sound of someone crying. A child has been knocked on the head...

(Trumpeted Reveille)
(Trumpeted Reveille)
(Trumpeted Reveille)
(Trumpeted Reveille)

I am returned, up from the deep.

Clearly I need therapy -- or a babysitter -- or a Xanex. to get a babysitter, swallow a Xanex and go to therapy.

I leave you today with two thoughts, first, it's fun to stay at the Y.M.C.A.

...and second, when you do a Google image search for "Gay Pirate Disco Love" you come up empty handed. Nothing. Bubkiss.

I therefore double dog dare Kevin Charnas to dig into his costume closet and fix this particular internet problem. Help us Obe Wan Charnas, you are our only hope.

Happy Birthday to Me!

You say it's your birthday?

It's my birthday too, yeah.

Today I am 39. THIRTY NINE Ladies and Gentlemen! Alas, the final year of my thirties.

I remember having this incredible TAWANDA! feeling when I turned thirty. I had ARRIVED! Turning thirty somehow felt like the end of being a kid. Particularly in the professional sphere. I think I came into my own in my career in my early thirties. Overall, my thirties up to this point have been action packed.

On top of finally feeling like I found my place in the professional sense, I married a man who is the Webster definition of "your better half," took an 18 month sabbatical and traveled all over the world with him, swam 2,000 butterfly without taking a rest and had two beautiful children. The thirties have been good to me.

The thirty ninth year is off to a good start too. I woke up today to a birthday candle in my scrambled eggs and the two-year old Mayor sang Happy Birthday to me. That made me smile.

The Mayor will always be the best birthday present I ever received. Three years ago I found out I was pregnant with him on my birthday. (I found out I was pregnant with Rooster Girl on Christmas Day so she gets to be the best Christmas present ever.)

Tonight we have a babysitter and we're meeting four other couples out for dinner. Cross your fingers that we do not get any phone calls alerting us to the fact that our children have thrown up all over the house.

I am particularly impressed with the birthday cards this year. The first from my Aunt Nancy is pretty great and demonstrates how well she knows my sense of humor...

(Note to my family - Does that woman look alarmingly like Tomi's mom or what??!!)

My mannered Southern grandparents also managed great sillyness...

A paper pickle!

(A big, plastic pickle might have SERVED me better, but I will make do. Heh. Heh.)

So anyway, hip hip hooray for me and my 39th birthday.

Here I am 38 years ago on my 1st birthday doing what all good one-year olds are supposed to do... covering myself in chocolate cake. (Unlike us, my parents managed to have a working camera on hand.)

Here I am today, thinking about cake. I likes me some cake. Mmmmm, yes I do.

My Daughter Fang

Last night we were engaging in some horizontal parenting... you know, where you lie on the floor while the children play around you.

You can totally use your arms and talk for horizontal parenting but you don't actually have to sit up or anything.

We are such good parents. We've got skills.

Anyway, as I've talked about before here and here, Rooster Girl likes to try to crawl up between my legs as though to return to her ancestral home. But never before last night have I seen her try to crawl up K's butt.

Witness, if you will, Roo trying to crawl up into K's butt:

Upon realizing that this was simply NOT GOING TO HAPPEN, she became enraged, like a wild dog.

Like a WILD DOG, I tell you.

I just happened to be snapping photos in the room and captured the EXACT moment when she BIT. HIM. IN. THE. ASS.

Can you see the look on his face? Her teeth are deep within his butt cheek at the precise moment captured here.

K cried out in surprise and pain.

Horizontal parenting was brought to an abrupt end.

I was being all sympathetic and supportive and said, "Bwaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!!"

K has historically relied on me for my supportive, comforting nature... like that one time in Zimbabwe when this Lion cub bit him right in the ass...

BWAAAAAAAAAA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!!

No biting, Roo!

Seriously Roo, no biting!

(BWAAAAAAAAAA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!!)

For Grandma Seattle

So. We went to the great Pacific Northwest to visit Grandma Seattle.



She showed The Mayor the city skyline from the park near her home.

He was realy impressed.

So he showed my friend Cindy.

Cindy is my best friend from high school so she was really impressed
(even though she lives in Seattle).

Then The Mayor showed our friend Vicki.
Vicki also lives in Seattle.

But she looks pretty impressed too.

Finally, The Mayor showed me.

I am his mother, so I'm all WOW!!


The Mayor made Grandma laugh.

And he made her smile.

And then he RODE HER HARD!

So she took us all down to Pike's Place Market where The Mayor rode the pig for luck.

He rode it for such a long time that I fell over, exhausted from supporting him.
Grandma stepped in and took over.

With a newly found love of local statuary, The Mayor visited the troll under the Freemont bridge.

He contemplated the deep, hidden thoughts of trolls and pondered the question,
"Who's that trip trapping over my bridge?"

He made Grandma Seattle laugh some more.

We stayed out late. We said goodnight.

We flew away home.

But we sure do miss Grandma Seattle!

Home Again, Home Again...

My tired little boy went to daycare at the equivalent of 4:30 a.m. this morning. We arrived home from Seattle late last night and he went to bed at 11:00 p.m. Poor little chump got up at 6:30 and all I can say is that I feel sorry for the crack daycare team this morning. I am fairly certain he is going to make them suffer.

The Mayor and I had a great time visiting Grandma Seattle. Though we planned the trip for quite a while, it turned out to be a serendipitously good time to be out there. My mom is going through a tough time right now so The Mayor and I tried to cheer her up by dragging her to the Zoo, the Aquarium and back and forth across the Bainbridge Island Ferry.

It was a little tough as trips go because The Mayor had a bad cold. He had a constant river of green goo pouring from his nose and eyes. Green goo pouring from his EYES! Is it me or is that SO WRONG?!

I am going on record and blaming the snotty eyes on K’s family. Ha! In all my years I have never had to blow my eyes, pick my eyes, trim my eye socket hair or otherwise treat my eye holes like nostrils. My children, on the other hand, leak snot from the corners of their eyes when they are sick. Eeew.

The Mayor was a dream child on the flight home. At least from my perspective… We were in the center three seats and when we first boarded and I saw the loner business man we were to share our row with I was sure he was going to end up hating us.

Loner business man introduced himself to The Mayor as Mike and The Mayor promptly fell asleep with his little sneakers in Mike’s lap. Mercifully, The Mayor slept for two and a half hours of the four hour flight. Once awake, he spent the remainder of the flight yelling, “HEY, MR. MIKE (insert two year old banter here)!!!”

Though poor Mr. Mike was trying to read a magazine, he has three boys of his own at home and was quite the sport. Mr. Mike spent the rest of the flight showing The Mayor photos and videos of his kids on his camera phone while I read a trashy celebrity rag. Hip hip hooray for Mr. Mike!

It is great to be home with K and Rooster Girl. I missed them. Roo learned to moo like a cow while we were away. “Moooooo!”

I miss my Mom. She is sad right now because of the things going on in her life – none of which she deserves. I am thinking of her and wishing that the whole great blog-o-sphere will, as the Quakers say, “hold her in the light.”

Updated:

The Mayor's daycare teacher called me at 11:45 to say that he was having a really hard time and to ask me if I'd talk to him on the phone. (Of course!)

Me: Hi..

The Mayor: (able to hear lip trembling through the phone receiver) Hi.

Me: What's happening?

The Mayor: (shaky, shaky voice) I'm crying.

Me: Do you need me to come get you?

The Mayor: Uh huh.

He is here, in his own bed, taking a loooooooooong nap. Blasted Pacific Standard time!

Wench Meme

Per the request of Christina the Wench:

Things I Want to do Before I Die
1.) See my children grow to adulthood
2.) See my grandchildren
3.) Poop alone
4.) Get Kevin alone in a Park Ranger uniform
5.) Buy new underwear

Things I Can Not Do
1.) Wink my right eye
2.) Climb a rope or do a pull up
3.) Kill bugs
4.) Get my son to stop picking his nose
5.) Eat cake

Things I Can Do
1.) Swim butterfly
2.) Alter world wind patterns
3.) Make a clover leaf with my tongue
4.) Snort
5.) Pick items up off the floor with my toes

Things that attracted me to my husband
1.) That he yelled “EAT SOME FOOD” at a billboard of a supermodel
2.) His rippling abs and hot butt
3.) His patience
4.) His honesty and kindness
5.) His brilliant mind

Things I say most often
1.) “I’m going to count to three…”
2.) "Listen to my words…”
3.) "Did you hear my words?”
4.) "Huh? What?”
5.) "Oh, the joys.”

Books I love
1.) Their Eyes Were Watching God
2.) Pride & Prejudice
3.) Cowboys Are My Weakness
4.) Angle of Repose
5.) A Good Scent from A Strange Mountain
6.) Invisible Man
7.) A Prayer for Owen Meany
8.) The Red Tent
9.) The Shipping News
10.) The Sparrow
11.) To Kill A Mockingbird
12.) Song of Solomon

Movies I Love
1.) Princess Bride
2.) O’ Brother Where Art Thou
3.) Crash
4.) Amelie
5.) Antonia’s Line

The Day that Went On and On and On...

The Mayor and I left for Seattle today leaving K and Rooster Girl at home.

I was feeling like I had my mommy sh*t going on as I made my way to the gate because I was ARMED with a carry on bag full of toys, coloring books, games, story books, and other miscellaneous crap from the dollar store fun booty.

I was completely prepared to be SUPER ACTIVITY MOM, handily entertaining my child for the whole eternity FOUR HOURS AND THIRTY NINE MINUTES to Seattle.

But lo.

What's this?

We must sit patiently on the plane at the gate for an hour and a half BEFORE even taking off?

The airline powers that be are seriously harshing on my mama mojo!

Clearly, between this and the anniversary vomit, I am paying the price for bragging on the internet that I, you know, got me some recently.

The Mayor was a very, very good kid on the plane, my fellow passengers were very kind and patient and Grandma Seattle met us at the airport.

However.

Mommy is about to die.

I have already spent a full day entertaining the boy like a clapping monkey and there are still THREE HOURS TO GO.

Blasted Pacific standard time!

Anyway, in completely unrelatedness, what's not to love about a Belgian Farting Pig?

Going Too Far

Last night K and I got a sitter so we could go out to celebrate our anniversary. We were only out for thirty minutes before she called to say that The Mayor had thrown up all over the dining room. She said he felt better, that she would clean it up and we should stay out.

Then she called back.

To say he had thrown up in the hall and in the bathroom and could we please come home.

As soon as we got home, Rooster Girl threw up all over herself in her crib.

Say it with me now, "Oh. The. Joys."

In other really 'kick-aff' news, I'm using the new blogger beta (or whatever) and its latest insult is that, just now, when I tried to leave comments on the kabillion or so blogs that I read I got a message that said,

"You are using the NEW blogger beta!
We're sorry, blogger beta users can't comment on blogs.
Commenting feature coming soon!"

My jaw is hanging open in complete and utter disbelief.

I am cut off.

Shut out.

For how long?

My comments are blog "Love Locked Out."


That, blogger.com, is going too far. WAY too far.

Christmas Every Day

Last night K and I were laying on the bed talking about our day, our children and my upcoming trip to visit my Mom in Seattle with The Mayor. Our faces were so close that our noses were touching.

K: You're leaving for Seattle soon.

Me: Mmmm hmmm.

K: I'm going to miss you.

Me: I'm going to miss you too.

K: It's almost our five year wedding anniversary.

Me: Yeah. I still love you you know. I still think you're smart... and funny... and sexy. I still don't like to spend time away from you. It's just not as much fun.

K: Mmmm. (Gets a whiff of me.) I still LOVE the overpowering smell of chlorine on your skin. (I am a swimmer.)

Me: I thought you were going to say you still love the smell of my farts.

K: No. Those are smelly!

After this incredibly romantic burst of marital bliss, K got up to get ready for bed. As he stripped out of his underwear, he prepared for THE SHOT. He balled up his underwear and squinted at the ceiling fan, his brain spinning up various mathematical theories of aerodynamics and propulsion.

K: I think I'm going to try to get the underwear up on top of the blades and see if the extra lift can spin them around the room and into the hamper with greater efficacy.

This proved to be a complete and utter failure of a theory. After three tries, the underwear lay limply on the floor.

Me: I think it's like baseball, Hon. You need a direct hit, fan blade to underwear.

He tried again using the baseball theory with no success.

Me: You SUCK at baseball!! Ha ha ha ha!

K tried one more time and the underwear spun around the ceiling fan blades and flew right into the hamper. He threw his arms into the air and strutted nude around the room like an NFL star that had just made a touchdown. Then he POUNCED on the bed, pinned my arms down and said, "Take back what you said about me sucking at baseball! Who sucks now?!! I OWN the shot!"

Then he found a secret portal and...

Photo by Tom Hauck

"FLY ME TO THE MOON"

My great, great Granny went from horse and buggy to the moon. She lived from 1886 to 1986. I was in high-school near the end of her life and was endlessly interested in the details of her courtship and marriage. How did she know her husband was "the one," what did it feel like to be in love, what was dating like for her... She would indulge me and tell me about her husband, my great, great Grandfather, who died thirty years before her.

She told me that she knew she was in love because it felt like "the same kind of electricity" ran through both of their bodies when they were together. I always liked that metaphor and I still imagine them humming and vibrating at the simple nearness of the other.

They were married on Christmas Eve in a small church decorated with pine boughs. She told me that she was glad they married on Christmas Eve because her marriage felt like Christmas every day.

Tomorrow K and I will celebrate the five year anniversary of our marriage.

FIVE GOLDEN RINGS!!!!!!!!!!
Four calling birds,
Two French he...

Sorry.

Wrong holiday.

We married on Labor Day weekend in 2001 and then left for a 16 month backpacking trip around the world.

Perhaps marrying on Labor Day weekend has been a good omen for us, as marrying on Christmas Eve was for my Great, Great, Granny. Our marriage is often hard work, but five years later K and I continue to show up and be present for and committed to it. I would even go as far as to say that I, like Granny before me, have a marriage where it is "Christmas every day." Every day with K is a gift.

Okay, okay, so some days one or the other of us has to plaster on a fake smile and say, "OH! The complete Ginsu knife set! You SHOULDN'T have." But still, every day is a gift.

I remember our preparations for this wedding. We were mostly concerned with the ceremony itself. We wrote the entire ceremony because we were a little obsessed about the exact wording of what we were promising each other. Like many soon to be wed people, we were a little skittish. As evidence, here is a wedding photograph taken at the exact moment we were asked if we would commit to each other for "better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, 'til death do us part."

Happy Anniversary!