June the 9th

Tobe and I celebrated eight years of marriage yesterday.

Broken down that is roughly 70,126.502 hours of wedded bliss, 1,621 meals cooked for him (with only about 5 real cooking disasters. Ask Tobe about the "four cheese macaroni" debacle someday), 391 dirty diapers, one 6 hour car trip stretched into 15 hours, 127 games of cards played, 273 late-night Sonic runs, 76 trips to the local pool, 34 hours spent in child-birth, 194 hours inside movie theaters, and two lovely children.

But, hey, who's counting?

I announced yesterday morning at breakfast that June 9th is quite the special day because it was the day in which we celebrated Mommy and Daddy getting married.

Such an announcement was not met with thunderous applause or "oh's" and "ah's". Rather someone demanded more fruit and another knocked off a full cereal bowl for the second time in ten minutes. Chalking such things up as minimal distractions, I attempted to broach the subject again later in the day-. I was outvoted on looking at our wedding album verses reading a Berenstein Bear book two to one.

Oh well. Perhaps they will appreciate someday.

At the very least I am sure Evelyn and Isaac will have a good laugh with their friends one day at how dorky their parents looked the day they were married.

June 9, 2009 was much different than June 9, 2001. For example, on June 9, 2001 I woke up and got ready for my bridesmaid brunch while chatting with my maid of honor. Yesterday I got ready while intermittently breaking up fusses over who gets to push the baby stroller and who gets to hold the Tupperware with the red lid (Seriously, why must they fuss over the most inconsequential toys?).

On June 9, 2001 I feasted on a spread of delicious brunch casseroles and seasonal fruit. On June 9, 2009 I ate a soggy sandwich that someone had accidentally spilled their apple juice on and failed to mention it to me.

June 9, 2001 found me wearing a beautiful platinum wedding gown. I experienced a wardrobe change twice on June 9, 2009 due to a grease stain from park play equipment and from the fact that apparently at 32 years of age I cannot successfully eat a strawberry without making a mess.

I remember being a tiny bit sad over the fact I never really tasted the food served at our wedding reception or had more than a three sentence conversation with any one guest at our wedding on June 9, 2001.

Yesterday I don't think I even finished a sentence in my own head, much less one spoken aloud to an adult. And I most likely would have jumped at the chance for a cheese square off a buffet table after eating the soggy sandwich.

Funny how things change over time?

Discrepancies between the two days put aside, our celebration of eight years of marriage was quite enjoyable. Thanks to free babysitting courtesy of the grandparents, Tobe and I were able to go out on the town Saturday night to celebrate. We feasted on chips and queso, caught a movie, managed to eat fondue successfully despite the near cave-like table we happened to be seated at, and (as always) enjoyed spending time together. Last night we celebrated with the children, feasting on a brisket that cooked away all day in our little oven.

After supper, we promised the children a movie. They were a bit disappointed when that movie happened to be the video of our wedding as opposed to something bearing a Disney logo. The two did have a fun time spying their grandparents in the "movie". I resisted the urge to point out my flat stomach of 2001, keeping all my "see what pregnancy did to my body" statements to myself. Isaac did inquire as to where some of his friends where after spying their parents in the video. Despite our best explanations, he just later assumed that they were all just chilling in their mommy's tummies (where he also thought he was during the wedding....that would have been quite the lengthy pregnancy, huh?).

June 9th...it's good times, my friends.

Good times indeed.