I'm so lucky...

...that this man is the father of my children.





...that he picked me...to walk through life with, to spend forever beside, to raise our children together, to grow old with.




...that he is earnest, intelligent, kind, deep, fun, spontaneous, surprising, faithful, wise, romantic, honest, godly, diligent, witty, compassionate, articulate, patient, balanced, forgiving.


...that I get to be the one to kiss him when he wakes up a 'thirty-year-old'.

(I just went into the living room to give him a sleepy birthday kiss as his grandfather's mantel clock chimed midnight)




Though he's always said that he will like being an old man (he really likes handkerchiefs, shoe-polish, going to bed early, Antiques Roadshow, and Mr. Rogers-style-cardigan sweaters), he's a little bit afraid of leaving his 20's forever.

I think this is the first birthday that feels...momentous and intimidating. It's easy for me to say this, since I'm a mere 27...but I really think the 30's aren't so frightening. I love the man that Ryan has become/is becoming. And I love all of his thirty years of life that he now possesses.

In the last year (maybe it's because I'm feeling 'old' too), I've been thinking about the idea that the years we have lived are ours, and though we can't go back...or 'have' them back...we do still have them. Everything that we have gained from them, all the wisdom, experiences, memories, accomplishments, joys, sorrows are irrevocably ours.

My favorite author, Madeleine L'Engle said it nicely, "The great thing about getting older, is that you don't lose all the other ages you've been."

Ryan, I love the years of yours that you've shared with me... as your friend and your wife.
I feel so lucky to have you (and all your years).

Happy Birthday!

I've been posting less here...

...though my life is abounding with good things to write about...new experiences and ideas, overly-wordy contemplations about who I am, stories to tell about my children. It's just that I'm...

SO. TIRED.




Each day seems to be a chaotic, loud, exhausting, hilarious, fun, draining, ever-surprising, blur of confusion that seems to climax around dinner time. As the post-nap-time hunger rises, the house-hold volume increases with either whining, defiance, or absurd silliness.

Sometimes, dinner is incredibly peaceful, and fun, filled with stories from our day, stories from the Bible, cute antics, and kind words.
But sometimes it's less 'magical.'

Either way, once our meal is over, we just plow ahead towards bed-time as fast as we possibly can...trying to... clean up the kitchen, keep Sophie from climbing the stairs or eating everything in sight, play just a little bit more, change a diaper of a less-than-willing adorable monster, do pajamas, potty-time, milk, stories, and taking turns granting/dealing-with/ignoring/providing loving discipline for the countless urgent requests from Maya-who-is-supposed-to-be-in-bed.

Then, Ryan and I usually collapse and look at each other with bewildered expressions, silently communicating our memories of quieter days.

Then, I reluctantly peel myself off the couch or the bed, put on my slippers and practice my violin in the basement. Though I have to do a lot of internal convincing to actually do this instead of going to bed, once I start, I really can't stop.

We'd never actually wish away these days. We love them. Really.
We're just tired.