Ten Years

There's a "like" going around on Facebook that says, "Every woman deserves a man who still looks at her like he did the first day he met her."

I can't "like" it because I'd rather Darren pay more attention to me than he did when we first met. Because we can't actually remember meeting. The singing violins, the slow-motion smiles, everybody else receding into the distance, the meaningful looks across the room -- every single one of those classic romance cues missed the memo that Darren and I met on some cold day in early January in 1997.

Things were better on a warm September day in 2000. Much better. One of my cherished memories is starting down the aisle holding my brother's arm, peeking from side to side at the rows of smiling faces. And then seeing Darren standing up front waiting for me. I wouldn't say that the whole world receded and left just us. It felt more like the whole world stood up and cheered for us.

We flung ourselves into marriage: we'd never been in love with anyone else, and we were certain that no one else had ever been in love like we were. Vowing to love each other? Of course! For our whole lives? Sure! Before God and witnesses? No problem! Years later we looked at each other and said, "We had no idea what we were doing."

Today, ten years later, it rained all day. Darren took the day off, and we had a very ordinary family day at home: homeschooling, playing computer, dragging the toddler off the piano, picking up and cleaning up and finally just ignoring the mess. Darren made ham and potato salad for supper, and we shared sparkling grape juice with the kids.

I remarked, "If ourselves of ten years ago could see ourselves now -- we'd be pretty happy about how things turned out."

Darren snatched me away from the sink and kissed me. He thought so, too.

Happy anniversary to the man whom I don't remember meeting all those years ago. You've made up for lost time.

-- SJ