Our engagement photo. We’re just as mad about each other now as we were then, and just as goofy.
He is not the mac to my cheese, or the peanut butter to my jelly. He is no Prince Charming, and I am certainly no princess. Our romance busts the mold of canned love analogies. He is the wind…to my windmill.
He is powerful and steady, a constant force of change and movement. I am a vessel, carefully crafted to harness his strength and refine it for a greater purpose. We are never stale, never stagnant. Together, we are productive.
He is gentle like the morning breeze when caressing our infant daughters, steady like the Kansas wind when holding my hand through tragedy, and mighty like a wild twister when he needs to be.
He gives me power, and …
Who could deny this face? And don’t judge our nutrition choices. You know you are.
There are few things that give me the “oogies” more than cutting cardboard. And by “oogies,” I mean that nails-on-chalkboard shiver that shoots up your spine and causes your head and shoulders to shudder with disgust. (The sound of someone hocking a loogie and/or vomiting are equally offensive to me. In fact, I nearly couldn’t type that without becoming ill. Excuse me…I’ll be right back.)
When my daughter approached me with an empty oversized cereal box the other day, and asked me to “cut a hole in it so she could pretend she was on television,” I immediately grabbed a knife and started hacking away. After all, it was an awesome idea, and the fact that she said “television” instead of …