Mr. Husband and I went to see comedian Tim Hawkins for our anniversary in July. (more…)

When I was in high school, I didn’t date. Frankly, I just wasn’t interested; the drama surrounding the romantic relationships of my friends was less than appealing. Who wanted that kind of emotional aggravation? Not me. Maintaining my grades without being buried under the avalanche of homework that the teachers at my private school were generous in assigning was enough to worry about, thanks.

Besides, I was convinced that I was not marriage material. For one thing, I recognized that I was a difficult individual — stubborn, fiercely independent, and already set in my ways (with no desire to temper the more extreme aspects of my personality) I would be impossible to live with. For another, I would never find someone who would live up to my expectations. Finally, even though I loved kids, the whole concept of being uncomfortably pregnant for 9 months before expelling an entire human being from your body was definitely not for me.

No, marriage and baby making were not in my future.

And I was OK with that. Someday, when I was ready for kids, maybe I would adopt. Or perhaps I could just provide a stable and loving foster home for a few of the many kids trapped in the foster care system, their families broken.

However these details would work themselves out, I resolved to remain blissfully single and die an old maid. Probably with cats.

God must have been shaking his head at my self-sure arrogance in a fatherly, bemused sort of way, because his next words were: “Ha, ha.”

During the year following high school graduation, I met and fell in love with my future husband. I was engaged at 19, married at 20, and cradling our first born at 22. And — big surprise! — I’m grateful that God’s plans for my life were dramatically different from my own limited vision; I love my husband, our two children, and the the life He intended for me.

Gretchen (of Lifenut) recently posted about a woman who, at 24, decided to have a procedure that will render her body incapable of sustaining human life. She claims she is certain beyond the faintest doubt that she will never want children. Maybe she will regret her decision, maybe she won’t. God only knows.

As for me, I’m grateful for my life’s happy surprises, and content to wait and see what the future holds. Mr. Husband and I wouldn’t mind having another little one someday, but this may not be possible to due to health reasons. Whether or not we ever have another baby, I’ve learned this much: God sees the big picture even when we don’t, and, unlike our own flawed designs for life, His are without imperfection. This is not breaking news — He is the Author of life and Master Planner, after all.

I’m just a slow learner.

We recently finished listening to The Horse and His Boy on audio CD as a family. In the last chapter, C.S. Lewis neatly weaves together the last threads of the adventure and goes on to tell what happens to two of the main characters after the story ends:

“Aravis also had many quarrels (and, I’m afraid, even fights) with Cor, but they always made it up again: so that years later, when they were grown up, they were so used to quarreling and making up again that they got married so as to go on doing it more conveniently.”

Mr. Husband and I caught each other’s eye and laughed heartily at Lewis’ humorous summary of marriage, even though this is the second time we’ve read the book together. It’s a subtle, playful smile; a private joke that people who have shared their lives as man and wife get, being familiar with the foibles of married life as well as the joy.

Nine years ago today, we promised our lives to one another under the authority of God before a small gathering of family and friends; we have honored and cherished and grumbled and snapped — but mostly, loved and laughed. And the love is deeper and laughter more gratifying, because we know each other more fully than when we first began our lives as one; we have a better understanding of what it means to stand together for better or worse, in sickness and in health, accepting each other and seeing the good despite imperfections, and finding plenty of humor along the way.

Happy Anniversary, Sweetie. I look forward to many years of “quarreling and making up,” and I’m happy that we decided to tie the knot so that we could “go on doing it more conveniently.”

My daughter has a board book about a character named Maisy, a cute white mouse who lives in a world of primary colors and thick black outlines, and who has lost her stuffed panda. “Will you help her find him?” the book asks innocently, and you go through her primary-color black-outlined home looking in various odd places, lift-the-flap style.

Is panda in under the sink? – Lift flap to discover a wide-eyed snail in the cabinet – Oops, not here!

Is panda in the toilet? (I wish I were making this up) – Lift toilet-bowl lid shaped flap and find a fish swimming there, but no soggy, soiled panda bear - Oops, not here!

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… and settle a debate between Mr. Husband and me. The question is a weighty one, and it came up during a family game of ‘I Spy’ the other night. (more…)

As hubby and I were preparing lunch today, our daughter sensed that food was being readied and magically appeared in the kitchen. After picking her up, I began singing “Little Green Frog” for her amusement and also to distract her from the occupation of being a Princess and pointing to a variety of food stuff on the counter and demanding to be fed Right Now. She was entertained by my vocal performance for 4.5 seconds, then abruptly wriggled out of my arms and exited the room. (Tragically sans food.) So I inflicted the rest of my serenade on my husband instead, as he was the only person left in the kitchen.

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