Marriage: On a Monday, On Oneness

On a Monday, our feet don't stop moving in opposite directions until we're about to bid the day farewell and welcome in the night.

He was up and out the door before my eyes even opened this morning and our paths spread out over miles and miles of unshared terrain.

It's quite unlike the day we shared seven years ago, gripping each other's hands, eyes locked, voicing vows of love and respect, honesty and loyalty and, most importantly, oneness for all of our days together on Earth; even the clean, crisp air of today is a drastic difference from that day's thick humidity.

Today whirlwinds by, and to the untrained eye we seem anything but one as we quickly exchange a hello via phone bidding each other a happy anniversary, one brief email with a written sentiment and then a small face-to-face and kiss before work beckons me to return just as he arrives home, his capable hands taking the reigns of the household.

I tease him and smile, "What? No time for flowers today?" before walking out the door for work.

In a miracle of sorts, I arrive home in time for a late dinner that he's struggled to prepare amid boy-wrangling and unexpected-necessary errands and poop-splosion clean up.

We all find a space at the table and fall into a stillness of body as we recount our days.

Our oldest talks about school and then his little brother explains the basic tenants of good applesauce {"it yummy and it mushy"} as we listen and smile.

After the littles are talked out, he gives voice to his day's adventures and I can't help but laugh at the raucous of his grill catching fire at the same time our oldest reported that our youngest was mooning the neighbors with a poop-covered butt in the backyard.

As he recounts the craziness, he ends with the scene I unknowingly walked in on just a little bit ago.

"Then we sat down at the table and I exhaled and we thanked God for our food and our day ... and for mommy. And we asked Him that mommy would please come home, um, soon."

And with that prayer shared, he unknowingly unwraps for me the best anniversary present ever.

Because those heart cries are ones I pray everyday, too -- that we would just come back together at the end of days long and alive and filled to the brim with goodness and hardness and everything in between after being stretched so out of shape

and enter back into that oneness we knew in the most physical sense the day we promised it

but now know with our hearts seven years beyond.



Happy anniversary, John. I tried not to sing out of key for you. :-)

Join us at Alita's!

Marriage: Six Years of Tennis Shorts on Saturday Night

As hours-old newlyweds, the first thing John and I did upon arriving at our posh Chicago hotel for our honeymoon was ditch the fancy clothes -- the shoes and the hose and the jewelry -- and dive head first into worn cotton t-shirts and soft mesh tennis shorts.

The second thing?

We ordered a pizza -- we were starved from not actually having eaten much dinner during our reception.

As we spread our feet out before us while perched atop the fluffy white down-covered hotel bed, devouring deep-dish pizza, our eyes locked, we grinned like idiots and he said what we were both thinking:

"We get to do this for the rest of our lives."

I laughed.

"What?" I'd said. "Throw a helluva party and then retreat back to our creature comforts and crash together?"

"Yeah," he'd smiled. "Exactly that."

****

We arrive home from a small dinner date in celebration of our sixth wedding anniversary.

We know how to dress for the occasion of dinner at an old-world-style Italian restaurant -- him in a blue-checkered collared shirt and dark-washed fitted jeans; me in apple-red high heels, black tight-as-a-glove fitted ankle-length pants and a white sweater.


 We nosh on delicious food, enjoy the patio-view and the September-blooming flowers and laugh when a little boy, about age four, races to the edge of the pond, comes to a dead halt and proceeds to pee into the pond, his parents chasing wildly behind him, only to find him at water's edge mid-pee.

We pitstop at Whole Foods and while picking up a few essentials come across coconut milk ice cream; we buy some with full intent on it being our date-night dessert upon arriving home.

No sooner than I arrive at our house after driving the babysitter home while John had wrangled the boys into Buzz Lightyear pajamas, do we both race into the bedroom to ditch our lovely threads and slide into soft cotton t-shirts and tennis shorts.

We settle the boys in between their flannel sheets, pull a fluffy down comforter over their feet and snuggle little bodies to sleep before slipping out the creaky door.

Quietly, we sneak down the stairs, sink into the couch, one spoon for two mouths in one coconut ice cream container and begin talking about the boys, our life, our day, our wedding.


 And here we are -- six years later to do the day and date -- at the after-party, wrapped up in soft clothing, our shoulders pressed together as we sit-side-by-side on the couch giggling and sharing dessert.

And while the meal du jour has changed from pizza to delicious coconut ice cream and the clothing threads of old tennishorts, perfectly worn and soft against our skin, are different and our cush landing has changed from a fluffy bed to a couch, my best creature comfort, John, remains the same.

The best creature comfort I have is you.

Happy anniversary, John. I love you.