an anniversary

these are the lightning days. the flashes of busyness and hurry that accumulate into storm clouds so full that sometimes they burst, and sometimes they lay heavy across the atmosphere, their weight deep and real.

i apologize for my time away. it is busy season at work and my last semester of graduate school and a million other little things that seem so big in a day that's only a meager twenty-four hours long.

but today is a special day, and so blogging commences again. robert and i are celebrating nine years since our first date, and four since our wedding. though we were both tired to the bone and pablo was restless, we stayed up until midnight to ring in the big day. life's made in those midnight moments, i'm convinced. in those times you stay up even though it's illogical and force your eyes to see happy things even when sometimes they just want to shut the world out for a few hours.

i wrote a post for our anniversary last year. and  because words are failing me this morning and this post remains my favorite one i've ever written, i wanted to share it again. so here you go. happy anniversary, my love.
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i knew him before facebook.

before the north american blackout. bush's second term. the last season of friends. love actually.

before janet had a wardrobe malfunction, martha went to prison, and ken won millions on jeopardy.

we sang along to stacy's mom and watched mystic river on the couch with my parents.

eight years have passed since that summer. that late august romance. that last first date. eight years of up-all-nights, throw my phone against the wall because i-miss-you-and-high-school-is-hard-without-you -and-why-do-i-hear-girls-in-the-background-are-there-girls-in-your-dorm? eight years of dates in cafeterias, in dining halls, in our kitchen. of bible reading and home brewing. of early morning greetings and front porch goodbyes.

we've climbed a waterfall together in jamaica, and fallen into bed at nine on a wednesday night. i've seen this man cry and i've seen a laugh rise from his gut so deep it cut off his breath. i've seen him on one knee. in a tux and blue collar.

and eight years ago today, i saw him on my doorstep. with a borrowed car and pressed shirt. and three years ago, i saw him at the alter.

and i declare, for all its hardships and trials, being in love is something more than spectacular. worth saving. keeping. remembering.

and on those nights when it seems like the darkness has won, worth calling him back for.

happy anniversary to the boy who always picked up.

eight years ago

i knew him before facebook.

before the north american blackout. bush's second term. the last season of friends. love actually.

before janet had a wardrobe malfunction, martha went to prison, and ken won millions on jeopardy.

we sang along to stacy's mom and watched mystic river on the couch with my parents.

eight years have passed since that summer. that late august romance. that last first date. eight years of up-all-nights, throw my phone against the wall because i-miss-you-and-high-school-is-hard-without-you -and-why-do-i-hear-girls-in-the-background-are-there-girls-in-your-dorm? eight years of dates in cafeterias, in dining halls, in our kitchen. of bible reading and home brewing. of early morning greetings and front porch goodbyes.

we've climbed a waterfall together in jamaica, and fallen into bed at nine on a wednesday night. i've seen this man cry and i've seen a laugh rise from his gut so deep it cut off his breath. i've seen him on one knee. in a tux and blue collar.

and eight years ago today, i saw him on my doorstep. with a borrowed car and pressed shirt. and three years ago, i saw him at the alter.

and i declare, for all its hardships and trials, being in love is something more than spectacular. worth saving. keeping. remembering.

and on those nights when it seems like the darkness has won, worth calling him back for.

happy anniversary to the boy who always picked up.

a date with two boys

there were two sets of puppy dog eyes staring at me when i awoke on saturday.

one set was attached to robert, snuggled in the yellow blanket, hair damp from a summer night in the country. the other was attached to pablo, nestled between the folds of the sheets, half closed from a lingering dream.

and for the life of me, i just couldn't chose one set. couldn't leave one behind to spend the day alone. so we all three went. on the saturday drive intended for only two. to a little diner hours away where we could get BLTs and sky-high peach ice cream cones. we drank sweet tea out of styrofoam cups and sat under umbrellas. and suddenly, a date turned into a family affair.

one day, i know there will come a time when romance is planned out, and something will happen to interfere. a baby will cry. children will have bad dreams and want to snuggle. it's inevitable. and honestly, after this weekend, i kind of can't wait. we've got plenty of love to go around, it seems.

the kids dress up

it's been too long since i've slunk into a high-backed booth. in a narrow restaurant with dim lighting. too long since i've laughed with my eyes or reached across the table to gather your hands in my own. this was the summer of tomato sandwiches. of picnics under the pin oaks and long walks behind the house. it was the summer i lived in cheerleading shorts and you in your blue collar. days of sweat. of damp bangs. of sitting cross-legged in the grass pulling weeds from the shrubs. gathering the stalks into piles for the woods. it was a casual romance intoxicated by the sun.

but this weekend we will go. somewhere with a steak special that requires high heels. a place that warrants the extra dab of perfume behind my earlobe. maybe that place downtown where no one goes except executives. for drinks after work. i'll start getting ready hours early.

like prom. only this time, we can go home together. i can take down my hair and you can take off your jacket. and we'll find ourselves back where we began. slow dancing in the living room at midnight with my mascara on your cheek. and we can fall into bed. that part has changed.

and i'll look at you in the morning, the way your hair parts in that strange way when you sleep. and the comfort of it is what i'll love most of all. the rest is just dress up. but a girl does need a little of that now and again.

via

to be kissed with a furrowed brow

xxx

when i was in 7th grade, i watched the movie music from another room. before jude law was scandalous, before gretchen mol was on boardwalk empire, they starred in this darling film. i remember sitting in my friend's little rec room. the lights were off and we were up way past midnight. there was a half empty popcorn bowl between us on the tiny couch, taking up elbow room and space.

and i watched as jude gave gretchen the most beautiful, heart-swelling kiss i'd ever seen. i would not be kissed until five years later. in robert's car after our third date. with the porch light on and mama waiting up inside.

thankfully, someone thought to put a little movie montage on youtube, which includes the kiss. the whole thing will give you a recap of the movie, but i suggest scrolling right to 1:44. the furrowed brow. the way he gathers her in his arms. her submission. it's the stuff dreams are made of, and hollywood rarely gets it right.

i couldn't embed it, but you can find it here.

it was the idea of that kiss that kept me waiting all through high school. it was the reason why, when i met that boy at the beach who followed me around and watched will and grace in our rented home, as he leaned in to kiss me outside the steps, i gave him a side hug. that wasn't going to be my first kiss. not like that. not with some boy named evan with terrible hair whose last name i didn't even know, who went solely by "ev dog."

every girl deserves to be kissed this way, and when it happens, it's worth the wait, as affairs of the heart usually are.