Happy Anniversary

We celebrated three years of marriage today. Our two-year anniversary was a blur, just days after the birth of Jonah and Riley. Things are slower now, more routine. Each morning starts as Oski darts into the yard to chase the birds that have come to feast on the minced meat Jonah and Riley spit out the day before. I feed them outside in their highchairs and hose them off afterward. The highchairs; not the kids. The weather has changed and we finally installed screen doors on the French doors in our bedroom. The mornings are crisp and the nights are calming. Of course, that could be the pain killers after Rugby practice or inhaling too much household disinfectant.

Matt says I still get giddy right before sex like it’s our first time. I think it’s wonderful. I think it’s wonderful he still shares his ice cream by spoon-feeding me the best parts. I want to date my husband again. Life seems to happen and the days are filled with, well, babies. I miss the dinners, and the getting-to-know-you questions, and the awkward touches. I want him to lead me dancing and for him to teach me how to follow. I want to buy new underwear at Victoria Secret in yellow and blue because Cal is his favorite college football team. I want to let my projects go, quiet the insanity of perfection in my head, and sit with him on the couch.

I tried to play video games with him once. But I couldn’t figure out how to run and aim and shoot all at the same time before the guy across the rundown warehouse killed me with a Bowie knife, grenade or AK 47. I just spin in circles and run into the same wall. Hmmm, that sounds like something a counselor once said.

We still have the occasional movie night at home and there’s Rugby season. I love to take Jonah and Riley to the games. They watch the craziness from the sideline doing a lot of “uh ohs,” babbling and drooling. I wear a jersey Matt bought me that says “Fresno Rugby.” It’s a good thing it doesn’t say “Fresno Thundercocks.” Not sure I could wear that one. Sometimes, he carries Jonah out onto the field and into the team huddle. Jonah rests his head on Daddy’s chest as if exhausting from cheering. And I feel incredibly thankful God gives second chances.

I met Matt on a blind date. We doubled with his cousin and wife, who I was working with at the time. I remember the black beanie, the shaved head, the beginnings of a tattoo sleeve – I had just turned 30 and was not heading down that road again. He was six years younger, however, he was not living with his parents and he was employed. He asked if I liked dogs. I said no. I think it was our mutual love of ice cream and hatred of chick flicks that won him over. He asked for my number. It took him a week to call.

And, well, the rest is great material for more blogging.

Marriage is so many things:

A broken foot, a miscarriage, and a dog.

Accepting his mustache phase as some Rugby test of bravado, which pales in comparison to the way-too-small women’s pink ski suit from the Salvation Army he wore for a “Tight and Bright” contest.

Promising to buy at least seven new Christmas ornaments for the tree every year, while refraining from throwing any away.

Bowls of Cinnamon Toast Crunch or Fruity Pebbles for dinner and laundry that moves from bed to floor, floor to bed.

Asking to experience the MMA submission technique called the guillotine choke – and him obliging.

Babies.

Disappointment, forgiveness, peace, warmth, and love.

And after three years, I finally got around to finishing our wedding album.

I climbed a tree. I picked lemons. And Matt carried me piggyback. All before “I do.” And the best part, no one knew of our afternoon adventure as I walked down the aisle in the flawless, flirty and oh-so-fun, metallic taffeta Nicole Miller gown.

Matt cried. I thought – he must love me.