Anniversary after divorce?

Today, I felt like I was missing something. An appointment? A call to make? What did I forget??

And then, this afternoon I realized it was my anniversary!  Of my first wedding, way ,way, way back when I was TWENTY years old. It would have been twenty years today!

This didn’t make me sad, or angry, or bitter, but actually kind of nostalgic. How much time has gone by since that day, how much I have changed since that day.


I love this picture, especially as I get older. I am currently watching my 19 year old navigate life and comparing where she is to what I was doing at her age.

I see this photo and remember how innocent, yet all-knowing I was. How very smart and yet stupid I was. How young I was, and yet-weirdly-how I continue to stay exceptionally young while my MIND alone continues to mature and age…. strange…..

I can’t say I regret this day 20 years ago. I don’t regret being the girl in this photo. Sure, I would have liked to avoid some of the difficulties that came later, but it all brought me to this spot. And that day was a day I will never forget, even if the marriage didn’t last.

Lately, when the oldest is panicking because she can’t figure out how to physically go into the post office and mail a package without hand-holding, I think about what I was doing at her age. Living with my fiancé already, buying our first home with the help of his mother…worrying about paying bills, making enough money, and learning how to grocery shop and planning a wedding.

I’m so GLAD she’s not ready for any of that. I’m not ready for her to be ready for that!! But I’m so thankful for her and her brother, and so also thankful to have had that wedding 20 years ago.

Feels like I should be doing something then, maybe to celebrate? Or acknowledge the date?? How about some low key photo fun, compliments of snapchat……

Mushy stuff

Here, take my heart.

Here, take my heart.

I am sitting with my husband, watching him fall asleep-still in his chair-at the dinner table.

He works so hard every day, and comes home late every night. His time is not his own, a slave to his pager.

He chose to practice medicine, and he is dedicated. Careful. Methodical. Brilliant.

So as I watch his eyes flutter over the cup of tea he probably can’t even taste right now, I tell him I love him.

Because I do.

It wouldn’t matter what he chose to do for a living, what matters is the way he commits himself to everything he does.

His job. Me. Our kids. Our life together.

I am grateful that we found each other. So thankful to have this time with him.

My favorite times lately are the evenings when he gets home while the kids are still awake. They hear the garage door open, and run around looking for a place to hide.

Daddy comes in the door, asking me where the kids are.

I tell him I left them at Costco, or maybe at the park…

“Oh no! I need to find them!”

They can hear us, and start to laugh as he pretends to look all over for them. They will either get too excited, and run to jump all over him, or he will rip off the blanket they are hiding under…. eventually they all end up laughing and tickling each other.

He thanks me for letting them stay up to see him.

And I find myself loving him even more.