I Do. I Did. I Confess.

Last night I had some free time to myself, so I read over everything I had blogged for our anniversary in the past.

It’s funny how the things I wrote then – while true – are actually much more evocative and realized today. It’s like a self-fulfilling prophecy. They were mere truth seeds – powerful in their makeup and design – but not yet fully or half bloomed through. Now to be fair, full bloom takes forever or never and a day, if it happens at all. But oh – the potential and beauty! It’s thick. It can overrun your garden, and the the soil and the foundation will just expand to fit it all in. I’ve seen this.

I see this.

I do

The truth seeds were grown, with their potential and their capacity, and we hopefully have a lifetime to see them realized.

To realize them into bloom.

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The things I say today, are some things I’ve said before but I can’t even begin to tell you how true they are today. How messy it all is – like your blooming garden – wet and naked, dry and warm, always changing, always needing change, always finding a way to crack, to bend, to grow, to bloom, to rest, and to do it all again. And again. When they crack, they let the light in.

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There is just so much to say about nine years ago that I can barely write. His Converse. My hair. His hair. The Jedi Knight robe. Moose and wolf light projections on the tent. A horse and carriage? Yes, a horse and carriage. It was that or a golf cart.

Showing Scarlet and Des pictures of the horse and carriage is MUCH more satisfying. “Oooooh,” they breathe when they look at the wedding photos. Look at you!” Look at us indeed. And of course, nine years in the blink of an eye? Well, no. Not when you fill in those lightning quick years with long days of cross country driving and two pregnancies, and tons of “LOST” and “Doctor Who” watching. And this crazy journey of child-rearing. Sometimes, it’s hard. Like the know-it-alls said it would be.

And what we knew it could be.

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Those same people who tell us to hug our children tight because “time goes so fast and you’ll blink and they’ll grow up.” Well, I hug those children nearly 12 hours a day and I couldn’t possibly do it more, short of keeping them up all night. And still time will go so fast and I’ll blink and they’ll be grown. Then I might be sad. And what will I be left with? Well, other than the knowledge that I raised two great kids into two great adults? You. You are left, standing with me. This is what we planned.

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So yes, it can be tough. I think we’re hard on each other a lot, due to stress and dreams too big to fit into a world with sometimes narrowing choices. We always dreamed BIG. We still dream big. And, we will always dream big. And I’m talking big. Maybe not fly away in a Tardis big, but as close as you can get to that. Northern lights and a place where moose and wolves co-exist in relative harmony. More Bruce Hornsby nights. These are all real. And oh, what a gift that is.

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I confess that one of my most vivid thoughts on my wedding day was this: “Oh man. Will my waist stay this way after children?” It’s the little, strange things you remember. The little, petty thoughts that stay in your head. The things that don’t really matter. So it’s ok to say it did/does matter to me, and I’m happy to say that I love my waist today, like I did then.

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I confess I never had a single shred of doubt about the man I was marrying. I mean, you read this, right? No room for doubt. Cold feet in general? Yes. The whole thing was a mind trip for me. The relatives, the flying, the being the center of attention.

Although, the groom was never in doubt.

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I confess that I didn’t enjoy all of the reception much – my stomach and feet hurt greatly. However, the ceremony was one of the single most meaningful, spiritual and enjoyable 45 minutes of my life. I was in an all-around love trance.

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As I mentioned above, I confess that the choices to get up the hill to the ceremony were: on foot in silver shoes, in a golf cart, or in a horse-drawn wagon. I felt a little strange taking the wagon, but I admit it had style. In the carriage with my parents we said, “Is this really happening? Is this real? Pinch me? After all that..this..it’s happening?”

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I confess that our Ketubah was designed from the map in the movie TIME BANDITS. As it should be!

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And, that my mom made the centerpieces and when I saw my childhood favorite, Donald Duck, I broke into tears.

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And, I confess that I don’t really remember what the cake tasted like but LOOK at it! Whenever I looked around after the cake had been served, I smiled to see some of our favorite people eating chocolate moose and chocolate skulking wolves.

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I confess that we took a fun dance class at the Cheryl Burke dance studio in SF and I forgot a few of my steps at the end.

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And that there were a whole lot of us.

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I confess that I almost broke my leg during a strangely punk rock, extended version of Hava Nagila!

love

And that the song I chose for the father/daughter dance was “Drive” by The Cars. Not your typical choice, for sure, but it has always reminded me of him. “Butterfly Kisses” gives me hives, anyway.

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I confess that this photo was taken during the Time Warp. Obviously.

Rocky Horror Picture Show

And that maroon is the single best color in the world.

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I confess that we lit up a Vermont night. And late at night, we had projected images of a moose and wolf on the tent.

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I confess that there’s always a higher. I once thought love faded or turned into eventual annoyance and complacency. And I know that can and does happen, and I know I’m “only” nine years in. However, I do know there’s an alternative.

And we’re lucky.

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Does toddler Cassidy remind you of anyone?

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Happy 9th Anniversary, Love.

What’s Your Love Story? With K-Y TOUCH.

This shop has been compensated by Collective Bias, Inc. and its advertiser. All opinions are mine alone. #KYALittleTouch #CollectiveBias

I’m a love story girl – always have been and always will be.

In high school, my friends used to gather around me after drama club rehearsals because I seemed to have a romantic story for every occasion. In all honesty, my high school romances were limited at best, but I had cool encounter stories. I had cool “how we met” stories about boys from other towns. I had big dreams. I had ideas about what relationships could be like. I never expected anything differently than that I would have a grand and sweeping and cinematic love story of my own.

I wasn’t wrong.

The question remains, though. What is your love story? And mainly, how do you keep your story alive?

I was 23 and only a few months into a new inside sales job. I was comfortable, in a somewhat dead-end relationship, and on somewhat dead-end accounts at work. It all changed one day, when a sales rep in another department was suddenly let go, and I was offered (forced into) his old position. I had a new office, new partner, new hours, and new California accounts.

And that’s how it happened. A case of mistaken identity, one of my favorite movies of all time, and chemistry.

He worked for a film company I LARGELY admire and I loved working with him, but knew nothing about him at all! I used to try to picture him. After a great working relationship, I was taken off of California accounts, so I could focus on Houston-based clients. That’s the day everything changed. Cassidy and I became friends. He sent me photos, and I sent him photos.

I lived in New Jersey and he lived in California. Quite firmly in our places.

We fell in love through emails, and eventually, phone calls. It was wild and magical. I’d always hear amazing songs on the radio when I thought of him, and I couldn’t believe the chemistry we seemed to have. We decided to meet on the east coast, so he flew into JFK Airport and into my heart. I stood there in a crowd of people, and suddenly saw him right in front of me.

Smiling.

It was summer and we did youthful and dreamy things. We drove to The Hamptons to kiss on a beach. We drove to Maine to see moose. I flew to California and we whale watched, with dolphins and a shark. Time, youth, and distance got the best of us and we had a sudden break-up in the fall. Soon after the break-up, I realized the error of it all and did one last grand gesture of love to get him back, to no avail. I was heartbroken, deeply, and it took me a long time to heal. A year passed with no word.

Eventually I tried again, to no avail again. I moved on and fell in love again. Two years passed since I had last seen his face. I had a new love and life was good.. or was it? Cassidy called me on my 26th birthday, shattering all of the walls I had thought I had built. He only called to apologize for breaking my heart, but the chemistry was so undeniable. My world turned upside down and eventually we knew we had to be together, for real this time. I moved to California, we got married in Vermont, we moved back east to Massachusetts, and we started a family and bought a house. Sounds like a happily ever after, right?

Well, not exactly.

The end of the story is just the beginning. It’s not just about how you met and began your lives together. It’s also about how you keep your story alive. How do you keep the story going? How do you keep your love as not only surviving, but thriving?

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