8 Years
Today is our 8th wedding anniversary. Here we are 8 years ago.
Our Wedding Day!
Here we are today!
June 2009
Let’s just say…. A lot has happened in 8 years! I love you, honey! Happy Anniversary!
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A Chip off the Ol’ Block
WHERE DOES SHE GET IT????
Emme and Her Bottle
OH, NEVERMIND, I FIGURED IT OUT….
Dave and His Bottle
A Man’s Take on his One Little Word
Dare I call him Daddy-Bloo? I better not.
Since I am married, my wagon is hitched to my husband’s. So, I thought Dave should also get a chance to comment on the idea of ONE LITTLE WORD — from a man’s persepctive. So, here it is….
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In 2009 my word was “traction”. This worked well for me. I wanted to stop spinning my wheels, trying to catch… uh, greener grass somewhere, I guess. “Traction” meant slowing down and taking some thoughtfull deliberate steps – forward. Thanks to “traction” I left real estate sales and got back into teaching and coaching (as my wife had first suggested 4 years ago). Thanks to “traction”, I was able to take the time to fall in love with our new baby daughter this year. Thanks to “traction”, I’m happier than I was a year ago.
What’s my new “traction” word for 2010?
It needed to be something that hit me deep down. Like that movie “Rudy”. Something that inspired me and made me cry a little, but in a manly defying- the-odds sort of way. Something that combined the Olympic swimmer Michael Phelps with the coolness of Johnny Depp… actually, he’s a little feminine. Maybe Matt Damon.
I know, I know. I was really all over the map on this. I needed to use the lessons from my 2009 word to help me find my 2010 word. At one point, I thought I had it: Appreciation. I shared my word with Mamabloo (aka ”my wife”) and she said “ Do you mean “graditude’? I like it! You could use some graditude!” Wait a minute, “graditude” wasn’t what I said… oh, forget it. And I kept searching.
So finally, I found it. My word for 2010 is HOME.
I am not a wordsmith. Few words actually speak to me. But this one did. To me home includes family, taking time for myself, feeling good, comfort. After gaining all that ground in 2009, I want to be sure I know why I am working 60+ hours/week, why I forced myself to change careers, why I do what I do each day. I am not really after glory or fame (though, those would be nice… I think I will let my wife get all of that). But I do need to remember the five kids that wait for me each night when I come in the door, the wife who needs a foot rub, the garbage that needs to be taken out… again, and that home is not just my wife’s responsibility. I play a part, too. Putting that in front of me this year is just what I need.
Billiards versus Golf
My college roommate and I had a plan.
We were absolutely certain our plan would work.
We were going to learn to play billiards and golf and this, THIS my friends, would snag us a husband or, failing that, at least a date.
Our plan was beautiful in its simplicity. It had two phases.
Phase one of the plan required us to become familiar with the game of pool. So we enrolled in billiards 101. The idea being that having a basic but not too astute understanding of billiards would lure attractive men to the pool table in local drinking establishments, where they would take pity on us and try to show us how to play.
Phase two of the plan required us to become G.R.E.A.T at golf because, we figured, men like women who can golf. And, unlike pool, they do not want to teach helpless women how to put, drive, or chip while they are enjoying their golf game. We were gonna WOW them with our golf prowess. So, we enrolled in Golf 101 with high hopes. (Now, I bet you are thinking, “Why didn’t my college have a class called Billiards 101 or Golf 101 so I could implement this plan as well?” The answer, “You went to a better college than I did!”).
Good plan, eh?
The problem with the plan became immedtiately apparent. I mean, immediately.
We were good at billiards and terrible at golf. And when I say good, I mean give-yourself-a-nickname good. And when I say terrible I mean give-yourself-a-nickname terrible.
My nickname for billiards was “Wears Green Felt Clothes”, hers was “Slatehead.” My nickname for golf was “Continent Flies After Ball” (due to the tremendous amount of dirt and grass that was dislodged with every stroke) and hers was … well, actually, I cannot remember. But it was BAD!
It is amazing we ever got married at all with this plan. Luckily, it only took her about 6 months after this failed plan to find herself a good husband. It took me 9 years.
Ironically, her husband is a great golfer. Fittingly, mine hates golf.
But, both the husbands can kick our respective bee-hinds at billiards.
