We left off with the story of my fairytale romance and I'm here today to cause further swooning at the magic that is my life.
So as we've covered, yesterday was indeed my anniversary. My Eighth. And apparently the Eighth is the least significant of all. Or at least we treated it as such.
Ryan went to work and I had a day 'off'. My day 'off' was spent doing laundry, cleaning our disgustingly filthy vertical blinds, and doing other household chores. We had a gourmet meal of mini meatloaves and 'Sidekicks' after which my husband retired to the basement to play XBox with our six year old and I did the dishes. We had talked about maybe going to Jackass 3 after Justine got home from Drama Rehearsal. Let the swooning begin.
Just before 9, when I was off to pick Justine up, Ryan asked if I still wanted to go to the movie. I asked him the same question in reply. He stated he did but that he was really tired, as was I. So we decided to forgo the movie. He said we'd go on the weekend. Friday night will be our date night. Yeah, except I work at 6 a.m. Saturday, therefore have to get up at 5 a.m., so nope, that won't work. Saturday night would maybe be an option but I have a party (I hawk jewelry on the side), so nope that won't work either...
Instead, we settled on a run to the local 7-11 and a recorded episode of Criminal Minds watched with our two oldest children. Nothing says passion like Reese's Peanut Butter Cups and serial killers.
When it was over I went to bed. Ryan did not. He likes to watch SportsNet after we've all gone to bed because it's really the only time he can. I read for a bit and fell fast asleep.
Read between the lines people...can't you just feel the heat?
At about 3:30 a.m. our three year old came to sleep with us. I let him for a bit but ended up wedged between him and Ryan. Ryan who was snoring. Beyond loudly. So I got up and sent the little man back to his own bed and climbed back into bed with Ryan. He continued to snore. I shoved him and he responded with a grunt. I advised him he was snoring quite loudly. He said I had been too and promptly went back to sleep.
I admit, I may have been snoring but here's the difference, he can sleep anyway. He can sleep through anything. I know for certain he can sleep through crying babies and three year olds who climb into our bed in the middle of the night. He can sleep through two little boys making a train wreck of our house in the morning (this is on the mornings when he gets up with the boys so I can sleep in; these are few and far between. And basically he just falls back asleep on the couch while they run roughshod over our home). Anyway, I decided my best bet would be to sleep on the couch.
So I did.
That being said, he literally just called to let me know he put the window scraper in my vehicle for me in case I need it later.
Maybe that's what eight years means. It might not mean fancy dinners or evenings out. It might not mean a night of unbridled passion. It might mean knowing who we are and what we are and knowing it's okay to celebrate with junk food, our kids and network television. And I think it definitely means taking care of each other. Making sure we have our window scrapers should we need them, on this first snowfall of the season.
Mostly it means we've made it eight years after deciding just short of four months after meeting that we would get married, and doing so a mere six months after that.
It means we are lucky.