Dave and I celebrated our 12th wedding anniversary yesterday, and the day simply confirmed what I already knew. We are the two most exciting people on the planet.
Or not.
Dave got up with the boys, and had them fed, bathed, dressed and ready to pack off to Grandma’s house while I slept in. For which I want to say a heart-felt thank you to him. It was nice to sleep a little longer, and wake up to all that taken care of.
Dave accomplished it all before 9 a.m. I can’t even finish my coffee before nine. Maybe I should go to work, and he should stay home.
We dropped the boys off, and picked up breakfast and brought it home. The plan was that we would eat, get ourselves showered, dressed up and head out to do something fun.
“What do you want to do?”
“I don’t know. What do you want to do?”
“I don’t know.”
The conversation went on like that for a while. We each made suggestions, but they were met with answers like, “I don’t want to drive that far. I don’t want to be gone that long. 7 pm? Are you crazy? That’s too late!”
Then while I was looking up movies to go see, Dave fell asleep.
I knew he was tired. I’d slept in, so I let him take a nap.
Dave woke up, and we had a similar conversation.
“You know, just thinking about going out makes me tired.”
Finally, I decided we needed to make better use of our child-free time. So we got ourselves ready, and drove a whole 40 minutes away to a restaurant for dinner.
40 minutes.
I know, right?
It was exhausting.
It was also four in the afternoon when we went to dinner. Isn’t that what old retired folks in Boca do?
Since the night was so young that it hadn’t started yet when we finished dinner, we drove to a coffee house.
I didn’t even drink the coffee I’d ordered because, “I”ll be up all night.”
Livin’ on the edge people. Livin’ on the edge.
Dragging our lazy selves to a movie theater was too much work, so we rented a movie then picked up the boys.
The day was uneventful, but it was restful.
We actually had whole conversations that went uninterrupted.
Quiet days are few around here.
Dave and I celebrate our 12th wedding anniversary tomorrow. Here’s an oldie but a goody pulled from my bloggy archives that tells our love story. I wrote this post last march. It’s a year old, but the sentiment is still the same.
I met my husband Dave in college. My first impression of him was that he was really cute, but I wanted nothing to do with him. I was a big time junior, and he was just a lowly freshman. I couldn’t be bothered with that.
But our paths kept crossing on the small campus. And as hard as I tried to put him off, for some reason he kept talking to me. I laughed and giggled with my friends about how he just wouldn’t go away.
I remember very clearly the moment I fell for him.
We’d known each other about a year. It was summer, and both of us ended up sticking around campus instead of going home. He came over to my dorm to see one of my roommates. She wasn’t there. As usual he started talking to me.
And he talked.
A lot.
As I sat there listening, all of a sudden he looked at me and smiled in this certain way that made my heart feel like it was going to burst out my chest. (I’ve seen that same look many times since. It still does the same thing to me after all these years.) I thought to myself, “You know this guy isn’t so bad after all. I might actually like him.”
O.K., so his broad shoulders, sun-bleached blond hair, summer tan and strong, muscular legs didn’t hurt either.
In any case, I was hooked.
That fall I went out of my way to put myself in his path. I went to soccer and volleyball games, because I knew he’d be there. I’d never attended a single one of those sporting events before that. I used my position as a Community Work Day team leader to spend an entire day with him by making sure his name was on my roster.
Maybe I stalked him.
Just a little.
But I think he liked it.
It didn’t take long before I didn’t have to come up with reasons to run into him. We started hanging out together all the time.
One night we went to a park.
In November.
In the cold.
In the snow.
In the dark.
At 11 o’ clock at night.
(How safe was that?)
We sat in the band shell together. It was still and silent, with snow softly falling. We were sitting close because it was — ahem – so cold. A stoplight illuminated the intersection of the street the park was on. We watched the lights change.
He turned to me and said, “Green light means go.” Then leaned in and kissed me. Probably the worst line anyone ever said to me, but I didn’t care. I sure wasn’t cold anymore. In fact, I can’t remember ever being warmer.
I knew after that night he was The One.
We were engaged less than a year later. Married a few months after that. This march we’ll celebrate our 11th anniversary. We have a four year old son, and our second will arrive this June.
My husband is patient when I am not. He is optimistic when I’m all doom and gloom. He is gentle and kind. He is a fantastic father. He always lets me know I am loved. He goes above and beyond to provide and take care of our family. I am so thankful God gave him to me.
I love him so much. He is my best friend. We laugh together a lot. My favorite thing to do still is just hang out with him. With busy schedules and a son, we don’t get to do that very often these days. But this weekend our son is going to my parent’s.
I’m looking forward to some time with just the two of us.
Can’t wait for Friday night!
But I think we’ll skip the park this time, and just stay in.
Dave and I celebrated our 11th wedding anniversary on Saturday.
Well, I use the word celebrated loosely, because I spent the day reclining on the couch, sick with a stomach virus, while Dave kept little David entertained so I could rest.
Sunday I was feeling better, thank goodness, because we had tickets to take David to see Playhouse Disney Live. We went out for lunch before the show, and splurged on an expensive appetizer with our meal in honor of our anniversary.
Do we know how to live it up or what?
Anniversaries are usually pretty low key for us anyway. Unless it’s a milestone like our 10th last year when we went to Chicago for a few days, with no child in tow. Although we usually do manage something a little more romantic than eating pasta with a precocious preschooler and watching Mickey Mouse dance hand-in-hand with Goofy.
But you know, I didn’t mind one bit.
As I sat there watching Disney characters parade by and asking myself why I believed it would be OK to eat Italian the day after an upset stomach, my eyes fell on David’s beaming face. He was mesmerized by all the music, lights and activity on stage. Dave was there next to me just as he has been for the last 11 years. Wade was tucked safe inside my womb waiting to arrive in June.
I began to wander back over a decade, in and out of memories. A lot of good memories. A few difficult times, but mostly good. Then I considered the events of the last two days, and thought, “This is why we got married. All of this.”
To be together. To have a family. To share life’s ups and downs.
Is there anyone else I’d want around while I convalesced all day in my nightgown, hair uncombed, no make-up?
Is there anyone else, who on our anniversary without complaint, would keep a four-year-old occupied for hours so I could rest?
Is there any better date than spending a day with my guys?
To all those questions the answer is simply no.
As the curtain came down on Mickey and his friends I knew there was no place I’d rather be.
Not for all the quiet dinners and dancing and roses and candlelight in the world.
I’m participating in the Valentine’s S.W.A.K. Carnival over at We Are That Family. Write a post honoring your hubby, and sign the Mr. Linky, sharing you’re story. Oh, and you can enter to win some fabulous prizes too!
I met my husband Dave in college. My first impression of him was that he was really cute, but I wanted nothing to do with him. I was a big time junior and he was just a lowly freshman. I couldn’t be bothered with that.
But our paths kept crossing on the small campus. And as hard as I tried to put him off, for some reason he kept talking to me. I laughed and giggled with my friends about how he just wouldn’t go away.
I remember very clearly the moment I fell for him.
We’d known each other about a year. It was summer, and both of us ended up sticking around campus instead of going home. He came over to my dorm to see one of my roommates. She wasn’t there. As usual he started talking to me.
He talked.
A lot.
As I sat there listening, all of a sudden he looked at me and smiled in this certain way that made my heart feel like it was going to burst out my chest. (I’ve seen that same look and smile many, many other times over the years. It still does the same thing to me.) And I thought to myself, “You know this guy isn’t so bad after all. I might actually like him.”
O.K., so the summer tan and nice legs reveled by a pair of basketball shorts didn’t hurt either.
In any case, I was hooked.
That fall I went out of my way to put myself in his path. I went to soccer and volleyball games because I knew he’d be there. I’d never attended a single one of those sporting events before that. I used my position as a Community Work Day team leader to spend an entire day with him by making sure his name was on my roster.
So maybe I stalked him.
Just a little.
But I think he liked it.
It didn’t take long before I didn’t have to come up with reasons to run into him. We started hanging out together pretty much all the time.
One night we went to a park.
In November.
In the cold.
In the snow.
In the dark.
At 11 o’ clock at night.
(How safe was that?)
We sat in the band shell together. It was still and silent, with snow softly falling. We were sitting close because it was — ahem — so cold. A stoplight illuminated the intersection of the street the park was on. We watched the lights change.
He turned to me and said, “Green light means go.” Then leaned in and kissed me. Probably the worst line anyone ever said to me, but whatever. I sure wasn’t cold anymore after that. In fact, I can’t remember ever being warmer.
I knew after that night he was The One.
We got engaged less than a year later, and married a few months after that. This march we’ll celebrate our 11th anniversary. We have a four year old son, and our second will arrive this June.
My husband is patient when I am not. He is optimistic when I’m all doom and gloom. He is gentle and kind. He is a fantastic father. He always lets me know I am loved. He goes above and beyond to provide and take care of our family. I am so thankful God gave him to me.
I love him so much. He is my best friend. We laugh together a lot. My favorite thing to do still is just hang out with him. With busy schedules and a son, we don’t get to do that very often these days. But this weekend our son is going to my parent’s.
I’m looking forward to some time with just the two of us.
Can’t wait for Friday night!
But I think we’ll skip the park this time and just stay in.
“Mommie, when I get big I want to go on a date. But I can’t go on a date now, because I’m still little. Do you and Daddy go on dates?”
“Yes, Daddy and I go out on dates once in a while.”
“Uh-huh. But I’m usually with you when you go on your dates.”
If you came by looking for the latest edition of Wednesdays for Wives yesterday you didn’t find it. You’d think 10 years of marriage would give me plenty of fodder, but I just haven’t been feeling inspired lately when it comes to that topic for some reason. So I’m going to take a break from it for a while. It may pop up now and again if I have something to say. Or if you’re interested in taking the reins over and being a guest writer let me know. I’d love to have you. In the mean time, I hope you’ll keep stopping by and visiting, especially on Thursdays. I’ve got something new and exciting planned for Girl Talk each week. Say tuned!
I am totally uninspired today when it comes to finding a subject for Wednesdays for Wives. I feel like the Cleveland Indians in a summer slump. (Sports reference courtesy of watching ESPN with my husband the other night.) I would have come up blank last week too if someone hadn’t published that on-line 1930′s Marriage Test.
Hmmm…
Sports — husband — I have a story brewing in my head now, but I can’t think of a point to tie it into neatly. Oh, well. I’ll just start telling it, and maybe I can bring it around home in the end.
I’m not really into sports. I don’t have any athletic ability. I was the kid who threw herself in front of the ball during elementary school dodgeball games, so that I could spend the rest of gym class watching from the sidelines. Occasionally I’ll watch a college basketball or football game on TV if I like one of the teams that’s playing. ESPN with all it’s stats and scores is Greek to me. What I really don’t get is ESPN Classic. Aren’t sports exciting mainly because you don’t know how the game is going to end? It’s the whole Any-Given-Sunday thing, right?
“What are you watching?”
“Dallas at Pittsburgh.” (If it’s impossible for Dallas and Pittsburgh to ever actually meet, sorry. I’m taking some poetic license here, and don’t know what I’m talking about.)
“In June? I thought football season was over, and why is it snowing?”
“It’s the ’82 playoff game. Dallas wins with a 40 yard field goal with less than a second on the clock during a huge snow storm.”
“Why are you watching it if you already know who’s going to win?”
“It’s historic.”
O.K. Well, my idea of historic is a documentary about the sinking of the Titanic on the HISTORY channel. But, whatever.
I know a lot of wives don’t like it when their husbands watch sports on TV. Mine actually doesn’t that often, but when he does turn on a game or ESPN, I’ve stopped complaining. Oh, it’s still boring and I don’t understand most of what’s happening. And it’s not because I’m just being a kind wife. It’s because I know that by half time or the fourth inning or the 6th hole, he’ll get bored and change the channel or go do something else. Unless the game is close, it doesn’t hold his interest that long. So, instead of complaining and arguing, I just wait it out.
Now for the point…
I think I should apply the wait-and-see approach more often. I know I complain and start arguments that could have been avoided had I only waited for more information or events to play themselves out. Sometimes it’s better to keep my opinions to myself, and trust my husband to work it out. I don’t know all the plays he’s going to call, and I don’t always agree with them, but somehow he usually comes out on top.
I watched ESPN with with my husband long enough the other night for me to pick up that baseball reference, the inspiration for this entire post. It wasn’t long before he’d heard enough scores. Then we watched one of our favorite shows together on the DVR.
I guess you’d call that a win-win.
