Eight years and counting

Eight years and counting

Today is my 8th wedding anniversary to Math Man. Eight years. There’s nothing glorious about this particular anniversary when you think about monumental dates. It’s not our 10th. Not our 25th. So on. But it is still another year of being married to the person I deem the most fabulous hunk of flesh on Earth, and I’m celebrating.

This particular day has arrived with very little fanfare. In fact, I completely messed up the calendar and circled a date five days away from our real anniversary. To be exact, I didn’t just circle it. I put a heart around the wrong date.

Math Man looked over my shoulder as I said, “Look! Our anniversary falls on Palm Sunday!”

In his ever patient way, he said, “That’s not our anniversary.”

Completely against all stereotypical rules, the girl messed up the date here. It didn’t stop at that one incident. I scribbled out the heart — put a corrected heart on the correct date — but I still kept forgetting that today, Tuesday, April 4, is our actual anniversary.

wedding boxes

We arranged for a gal from church to come hang with Sassy Pants — just a little too young to keep the rest of the minions on her own — so we could go to dinner and see a movie. His work Christmas party was the last time that we have been sans children and not in a doctor’s office worried about my health. This night out was a long time coming.

Our dinner was relatively quiet. We said several times, “No one is tugging on us!” We enjoyed food, drinks, and a few funny jokes mingled in with normal parent conversation. Go figure that we would go out to celebrate us only to find ourselves talking about the kids and every day “stuff.”

We held hands during the movie, laughed about our very first dates, and ended up at Wal-Mart because, well, kids. Knowing we could walk through a store with a hint of lag in our step made it that much more worth it. Plus, I had the chance to pick on him for taking longer in the tool aisle than I do in any aisle any where.

wedding ceremony

Today, though, is our real anniversary. As I crawled in bed last night near midnight, I waited to see the clock tick over to the next day so I could be the first to say, “Happy anniversary.” Math Man squeezed my hand and back we went to feet touching and snoring the night away.

This morning, he beat me to the Facebook update. A man of few emotion-y words, my heart beat a little faster as I read his perfectly-him anniversary wish to me.

And again — because kids — our morning went as usual. Hurry the Animal out the door while Sassy Pants fretted a little that she’d be late to school. Change Diva’s diaper and keep her from pulling everything out of the cabinets. Grab Flash out of bed and hope he ate enough to make it to snack time at preschool.

I was surprised when Math Man said, “I know you like surprises, but I also know you. DON’T GO THROUGH A DRIVE THRU after you get groceries.”

In other words, he was bringing me lunch.

And as much as I love a good surprise, that was surprise enough to know that he was going to steal away during his planning period to bring me a special treat.

wedding flowers

When I arrived home from preschool car line, he was here to help me get the kids out of the car, bring the groceries in, and start getting lunch together. He was here as Diva demanded “fri fries” and Flash requested some of Daddy’s “wet bread.” He was here with me to watch the littles go play “baby cry” (their pretending game) and help me console Diva when “he pushed me!”

But then he was off again. Back to teach his final class period. Back to regular and normal life. I was back to putting kids down for naps and getting ready to settle in at my computer to grade, create, and write.

When he gets home this afternoon, all the normal will happen. Get the kids snacks. Get the boys ready for soccer. Take the boys to soccer. Clean up the house.

Then tonight, after the kids go to bed, we’ll likely watch something on Hulu and then land in bed to start everything over again tomorrow.

So no, it’s not a glorious anniversary, per se. But it is glorious.

I tell him all the time, “I wouldn’t want to do all this crazy with anyone but you,” and he agrees.

This life we’ve built. These kids we’ve made. I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world (although sometimes I’d really like to just take a break and read a book or something).

Eight years and counting.

wedding dance

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