Entrenched.

Before we had kids, "getting away" meant far away. Like, on a plane. To a beach. With drinks and sand and books and guacamole.

Guacamole is definitely one of my love languages.

When you're in the trenches of parenthood, "getting away" takes on a broader definition. Like a trip to Target alone. Or a root canal.

Seriously. Some days a root canal would honestly be preferable to one more minute in my house with bickering children. At least I'd be alone and the only one screaming.

Nate and I are definitely in the trenches. And it's not fun. Filled with beautiful, joyful, precious moments with our sweet kids that we will surely miss someday? Yes. But fun for us as a couple? Eh. Honestly, right now it's a lot of work just getting from point A to point B every day without biting each other's head off. Turns out when you spend 15 hours a day giving everything you have to your children and job, there is very little left to give your spouse. These days the bulk of our conversation takes place on the couch from 9-10pm and is usually a combination of the following statements:

"Should we water the flowers?" (Yes. Ugh. Be back in a minute.)
"What do you want to watch tonight?" (Arrested Development.)
"Do we have any ice cream?" (Silly question.)
"Will you get up and get it while I switch the laundry?" (Sure.)
"Did you remember to give the dog her pill?" (Yes, Abby. I always do.)
"Don't forget we have to take more diapers to daycare." (Run upstairs for diapers.)
"I'm exhausted, let's go to bed." (Finally.)
"Ugh, the sheets are in the washer. Let's just sleep on the mattress pad." (Too tired to care.)
"Will you let the dog out while I get us some water?" (Sure.)
"ARGHHHH, the outside light is still on!" (I'll go back down.)

Riveting, right? I just can't understand why we're not having more fun!

Thank the good Lord for grandparents. For our anniversary this year, Nate's parents gave us a gift card to a hotel in downtown Minneapolis. It graciously included free childcare, which was a good thing because my feelings on staying in a hotel with small children lie somewhere between "NO" and "HECK TO THE NO."

Saturday morning we shipped our kids off to grandma and grandpa's, traded our minivan for my mother-in-law's convertible, and headed downtown for 24-hours of much-needed fun.

It's amazing what 24 hours can do for a relationship. 

Look, I got dressed and put on makeup! On a weekend!

Hot dogs at the Walker. Enormous.

Cute hubs.

So close.

Game faces. (He beat me by 2 points.)

Amazing.

Sorry, I'm one of those annoying people who take pictures of my food.

Bacon confit. If you insist.

Well-rested and well-fed.

Wind in our my hair.

We may not have gotten away away, but we did get far enough to remember just how happy we are to be in the trenches together.

The days in between.

Happily ever after is not a fairy tale. It’s a choice. - Fawn Weaver

Eight years ago, I stood in front of a green-eyed boy and promised to love, honor, and cherish him. During the good, during the bad, and during all the days in between.

There have been so many good days these last eight years. And there have been a couple of pretty bad ones. But, mostly, there have been all the days in between. The days when nothing remarkable happens. Days when we just go through the motions of life, bogged down by the monotony of working and parenting and doing dishes.

Why are there always so many dishes?

Today, on our anniversary, we are having grilled cheese for dinner. A repairman is coming to fix our dryer, and one of us will take Calvin to swimming lessons. If ever there was a day in between, today would be it.

But that's life. And marriage. Some beautiful highs, some terrible lows, and a lot of days in between.

There are days when I stand in awe of my husband and my children and the beauty of my life. When every touch and laugh and snuggle feels darned near magical and I sit there and breathe it in and wonder how in heaven's name I got so lucky. And there are days when I suck at my job and yell at my kids and snap at my husband and just want to go to bed. Alone.

When I married Nate, I didn't think much about the days in between. I knew what I was signing up for, sort of. A lifetime of loving and cherishing someone whom I already loved and cherished. How hard could that be? But I didn't yet realize that there would be seasons of life when, despite abundant blessings, it would be a struggle just to do what needs to be done in a day — nevermind all the loving and cherishing.

A few months ago, I had a bit of a psychotic break. I was on my hands and knees plucking random toys out from wads of dog hair under the couch, and I collapsed in hysterical laughter. Nate, who had been doing the dishes for what I'm sure felt like the 800th time that day, came in to see what was so funny and I just started yelling "I am done. I am just so done! THIS IS SO BORING! All I do is pick up toys and get kids ready for school and go to work and pick kids up and feed them and bathe them and put them to bed and I AM SO BORED." And then Nate started laughing and pulled me up off the floor and we stood there and laughed and hugged and then laughed some more because it's true and there's nothing we can do about it.

Except choose to love and cherish each other anyway.

Even in the midst of boredom, of chaos, of dust bunnies and anniversaries celebrated with swimming lessons and grilled cheese. 

Even when we don't really feel like it.

We can choose to keep the promise we made to each other and to God on that beautiful spring day eight years ago. To love, to honor, to cherish. In good times and in bad.

And especially on those days in between.

Evolution of a valentine.

10 years ago, Nate and I celebrated our first Valentine's Day. It was kind of fancy.

I mean, he hung flowers from the dining room ceiling. Really, he did. It was like walking into an enchanted...well, an enchanted apartment dining room.

And I bought a new outfit. To wear over to his house.

(Oh, 22-year-old Abby. I wish I could slap you sometimes.)

He made me a fancy dinner, and I'm sure got me a fancy gift — to be honest, I don't remember. More than likely I made him something crafty, because I was poor from all the new outfit buying.

It was all very sweet and romantic, and I love the memory of that first Valentine's Day.

And this year?

Well, this year we got up and sat around our embarrassingly messy house in a comatose state after yet another sleepless night. I spent most of the day in yoga pants, which I eventually traded in for jeans and a slightly nicer than average sweatshirt. We had a pizza lunch date. With our baby. Dinner consisted of porkchops and broccoli and boxed mashed potatoes with our two year old. Our daughter stayed up until 11:30pm, and when I finally made it to bed Nate was passed out with the light on. I passed out next to him about 3.5 seconds later.

But I still got flowers (in a vase). And lots of kisses (some of them stickier than others). And sweet snuggles (from my babies and my husband).

The grand gestures, the elaborate meals, the big gifts of our early relationship were lovely and so much fun. But I much prefer the easy, comfortable love — and life — we have now. Buy one get one free Caribou coffee, a kiss from my husband in the middle of our kitchen full of dirty dishes, a fridge covered in heart shaped preschool crafts, a sippy cup full of pink milk on the dinner table, and a baby dressed in pink and red polka dots — these are the things that make my heart skip a beat, the valentines I cherish most.

Though it's never a bad thing when the guy you're dating takes time to hang flowers from the ceiling.

In fact, I'd say it's a sign of even better things to come.

Words and deeds.

This morning as I stumbled out of my bedroom, sporting wild hair and Nate's old t-shirt, I literally ran into my family. My husband smiled at the sight of me and said to Calvin "look at your pretty mama!" Calvin whispered back "she is soooo pretty."

Let me assure you, I was looking anything but pretty in that moment. But the tone of Nate's voice wasn't sarcastic or teasing. It was sweet. Loving. And my son's tiny voice was reverent.

These boys of mine, they love me. Despite my bad hair, bad days, bad moods. Despite my failures as a wife and mom, which are plentiful. Every day I am showered with sweetness and adoration, most often when I don't deserve it.

My son is too small to understand the impact of his precious words. But my husband, he knows. And he teaches Calvin every day how to be a man. A man who respects women and cherishes his wife. A man who provides for and leads his family. A man who makes time for and treasures his children.

And he does so gently, easily, in both words and deeds.

What a blessing it is to be his wife.

Twins.

Oh, calm down. Not really. But this photo was taken after a ridiculously good dinner at Heartland with my husband, so I figure there's a human baby AND a food baby in there. And let's be honest: Twins is the only excuse for a belly this big at 22 weeks.


So thankful for this one, who loves me despite my double wide middle. And who still makes me laugh harder than anyone else in the history of the world. I dare you to ask him about the $2 at dinner.


Actually, I will pay you $2 to ask him, because then I can laugh all over again. It's a story well worth $2. My husband is very funny.

And exceptionally cute.

And an amazing husband.

And an even better dad.

Our babies, food and otherwise, are blessed to have him. As am I.

(Here's hoping all this sucking up will keep him from killing me over the mere mention of the $2 at dinner. Because we all know it has to come out now...)

Hooked.

Throughout the course of our relationship, a few things have happened that one or the other of us will never live down. For example, the time Nate tried to fix our kitchen cabinet using string. Or the time I fell down in the mall parking lot and ended up with a lost flip flop, a sprained thumb, ripped jeans, and two bloody knees.

Yep, Nate and I were MFEO.*

One of the more memorable stories involved me leaving town with both sets of our keys. Halfway to Iowa, Nate called me in a panic because he couldn't find his car keys anywhere, and asked if I may have picked them up accidentally. I searched my purse and told him he was clearly insane to think I had them and he needed to look harder. Thirty seconds after chewing him out, I found them in the bottom of my purse. Whoops. Too embarrassed to admit I'd been wrong, I hid them in the side of the couch once I returned home a few days later and then "found" them for him.

Marriage is nothing if not built on honesty, trust, and the occasional face-saving move involving neither honesty nor trust.

Since then we've had our share of lost key incidents and we've become somewhat notorious for misplacing them. For Christmas one year, Nate's parents got us each a ginormous (like 5") wooden initial key ring so there'd never be any confusion as to whose keys were whose. Alas, those were not practical for everyday use, so we had to come up with an alternate plan.

Enter Anthropologie. Have you ever spent time in that store's hardware section? Holy mother of all that is pretty and overpriced. If you are a lover of fake vintage stuff (because, let's face it, real vintage stuff is rarely a good choice for utilitarian items) and kitsch like I am, this is the "hardware store" for you.

Nate and I were shopping there one day (he's a good husband) and he ran across these adorable alphabet hooks. We purchased an A and an N, thinking we'd hang them by the door and that would take care of that.

But I am a complicated creature and like to make small projects into giant ones that take too long and sometimes never get done. Just ask the half-finished Mickey Mouse balloon and ribbon birthday wreath I made for Calvin's party, which has been sitting in our basement since April. So instead of merely hanging the two hooks on the wall, I decided to buy a shadow box, take out the glass, cover the backing in cute bird fabric, set the two hooks on it, and then leave it, unfinished, on the dining room table for two months.

Thankfully my husband took it upon himself to finish this project for me, and when I came home the other day it was hanging next to the door. A sweet little shadow box housing an A and an N, ready and waiting to keep our keys (and the two of us) organized.

Of course I've only remembered to actually put my keys on the hooks twice since then, but you know. Baby steps and all that.


*Made for each other. Seriously, didn't you ever see Sleepless in Seattle?

Marriage, in a nutshell.

This morning:

N: Abby, your car won't start.

A: Okay...

N: You watch Calvin, I'm going back out to try and get it started.

----

Ten minutes later:

N: Got it started.

A: Oh, good. Thanks. What was the problem?

N: I think it's the sparkplug.

A: Really? How would you know that?

N: When I tried to start it, there was nothing. It didn't have that spark.

A: Hmm. Okay. What should we do?

N: Well, I think you should take my car to work and I'll try to figure it out.

A: Figure it out, like try to replace the sparkplug yourself??

N: Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's what it is, so I'll just take a look.

A (starting to laugh): Nate. Do you know what a sparkplug looks like? Or where it goes? Or what kind to buy?

N (offended): No, but I'm sure I can figure it out. I'll just go to the store and ask them what kind I need to buy for your car. I think it's pretty easy.

A (still kind of snickering): Yeah, no. Nate. It's freezing cold outside, you have no idea if it's actually a sparkplug-related issue, and you're going to get this figured out before you work at 11?

N (still offended, but not in the mood to argue): Fine, I'll take it in. Although sparkplugs are really inexpensive and if we have to pay someone to put it in...

A: Worth it!

----

An hour later, via text:

N: Weak battery. Gonna replace that and go from there.

A: So...not a sparkplug?

N: Not yet.

N. Smartalec.

A: I would have them check again. I'm pretty sure it's a sparkplug issue. It just didn't have that "spark."

N: So I'm officially not a mechanic. Shocker.

----

Thirty minutes later, at home:

N: You're not going to start calling me Sparky or something, are you?

A (laughing, all the while plotting out this blog post in her mind): No, of course not.

Investment strategy.

Nothing feels quite right when you're apart from your child. Your arms feel useless, your purse too light, your attention span too long. Everything's just off.

Mothers are used to carrying their child, their child's favorite toy, a blanket, a sippy cup, and a set of keys in one arm while opening doors and hauling diaper bags and laptop cases with the other. They're no stranger to digging through layers of daycare reports, day-old sippy cups of juice, diapers, wipes, blocks, and tiny toy cars just to find their cell phone — which is nestled in a bed of crushed Cheerios at the bottom of their purse. Moms are accustomed to keeping one eye on the friend with whom they're conversing over lunch and the other eye, both arms, and possibly a leg on their toddler, who can no longer be contained by a car seat or high chair in public places.

It's a shock, at first — the transition from caring for yourself to caring for yourself plus this tiny busy creature who needs everything, constantly, all day, every day. But shock slowly turns into reality and reality slowly turns into acceptance and acceptance slowly turns into the inability to imagine a life where you don't have a tiny busy creature demanding things of you every second of the day.

At first you hate it, but then you begin to love it. Crave it, even. Your child wants to be near you, on you, touching you, grabbing things from you, giving things to you. And this bond, which began to form even before your baby's birth, is made stronger with each morning hug, lovingly prepared meal, tuck of a blanket, kiss of a scraped knee, and midnight snuggle.

It's exhausting. But each of these moments is an investment in your child. In their lifelong happiness and success — and, by proxy, yours, too. So you do it, day in and day out. You feed, you clothe, you carry unbelievable amounts of stuff with you everywhere you go and only halfway listen to your friends at lunch. Motherhood becomes who you are. Not just what you do, but who you are. Try as you may to avoid that cliche, you can't. This job is all-consuming. It keeps no hours and has no limits.

Except time.

One day — all too soon, I imagine — my son will be grown. At college. Working. In love. Married. Having babies of his own. And when that day comes, it will just be me and Nate. And hopefully a dog, because I don't think I can live with that kind of quiet anymore.

It's easy to invest in our children, because they demand it. Loudly. Physically. And from the moment those shrieking pink bundles are placed in our arms, our hearts demand it, too. We love them, and we would do anything, anything, to ensure their safety and happiness.

When you spend your life investing in your children, as mothers inevitably do, it's easy to overlook the investment that started it all — your marriage.

I don't want to look over at Nate on the day our last child leaves for college and wonder who he's become. Or why I married him. Or what we're going to do now that it's just the two of us. I want to look at him and feel a deeper, more weathered version of the love I had for him the day our first child was born. I want to look in his eyes and see not just our past, but also our future. I want to look at him and smile mischievously because now we can make out whenever and wherever we want to, and I can finally buy a white couch.

More than likely I'll be lying in a heap on the floor sobbing, but when I finally stand up, those are the things I want to feel. Love for my husband. A still-strong connection to the man I married all those years ago. Excitement for a new chapter in our lives together.

Our children will always need us, in one form or another. And I know the investment I'm making in Calvin right now is a good one. But if I'm putting all of my love, attention, and energy into my son — and letting my marriage sit idly by during these busy years as a young mom — what kind of return can I expect from my relationship with Nate once Calvin is grown?

It happens all the time: the kids grow up, the parents break up. I don't want that to be our story.

Which is why, a few times a year, we take a break from our roles as Mom and Dad. Calvin goes to visit Grandma and Papa, or Nana and G-Pop come to stay, and Nate and I sneak away. It's never easy; we're full-time working parents, and the time we have with Calvin is limited and so precious. But we do it anyway, because it's important. It's an investment in us. In the foundation of our family. In our future together.

And during that time away from my child, my purse is lighter and my attention span is longer. But my arms aren't useless.

They're wrapped around the one I loved first.

True story.

Once upon a time, on the Saturday night before Thanksgiving, a Girl Who Worked a Crappy Job That Got Her In Loads of Debt was set up with a Guy She Didn't Want to Meet by a Friend Who Also Worked the Same Crappy Job. The Friend had a Boyfriend who was the Guy She Didn't Want to Meet's best friend from high school.

The Girl told the Friend that she wasn't interested in being set up, but the Friend told the Girl that she thought she would hit it off with the Guy She Didn't Want to Meet. So the Girl reluctantly agreed to go out in a big group that included the Friend, the Boyfriend, the Guy She Didn't Want to Meet, and a few other people.

It was fun. The Girl Who Worked a Crappy Job liked the Guy She Didn't Want to Meet. They played Golden Tee at the bar and she used all her best flirty moves and he used a few clumsy lines and they drank a little and laughed a lot.

Then a Charming Scottish Guy tried to pick up the girl at the bar, and the Girl was flattered but not interested, so she grabbed the hand of the Guy She Didn't Want to Meet and claimed he was her boyfriend. The Charming Scottish Guy smiled, shrugged, and walked away, but the Guy She Didn't Want to Meet kept holding her hand. He held it as they left the bar and crossed the street and until they got back to the car, where he let go so he could pee in someone's bushes. Once that happened the Girl didn't want to hold the Guy's hand anymore, but she did find his off-key rendition of Britney Spears' "Crazy" kind of endearing during the drive back to her Friend's house.

And she was a little thrilled when he called a few days later to invite her over for movie night with friends.

And somewhat suspicious when movie night turned into date night because everyone but the Guy She Didn't Want to Meet left as soon as she got there.

But the Girl was happy as the night wore on and the conversation got deeper and the Guy She Didn't Want to Meet sat a little closer and the first date turned into a second date which turned into a third date which turned into love.

And nine years later, the Girl Who Worked a Crappy Job That Got Her in Loads of Debt and the Guy She Didn't Want to Meet found themselves living happily ever after with a Sweet Little Boy and a Small Brown Dog.

And the Guy She Didn't Want to Meet still holds the Girl's hand whenever they cross the street.

The End.

Four days.

Two days is the amount of time Nate and I have decided we can spend together without driving each other crazy.

We're not used to being together all that much. For the past nine years, Nate has worked jobs that require evenings and weekends. And I've worked a nine-to-fiver. A typical week for us includes maybe two nights together at home and possibly a weekend day. Some weeks we barely see each other. Those weeks are rough, but we're used to them — we've each settled into our own routines at home without the other.

Which is why we tend to drive each other a little batty when we're both home over a long weekend. And this weekend we were both off for FOUR DAYS.

Yikes.

But Friday was one of those magical days that rarely happens — a day when we're both off, but our daycare provider is not. Hooray! Off to daycare went Calvin, and off together went we. We slept in, went out for breakfast and lunch (and wine), and did some shopping. We spent a few fun hours with Calvin in the evening, then ended the day with the worst movie ever made: Couples Retreat. We felt severely ripped off by Redbox. I'd like my dollar back, please.

And then Saturday morning I got to go see Eclipse with a friend (judge away, I don't care, it was awesome). Later that afternoon the three of us went to our little neighborhood pool. Where we actually saw a neighbor! How cute.

On Sunday we celebrated the 4th of July by taking Calvin to the zoo. Which was really just a trip to the farm, with lots of adorable pictures and a quick stop by the bears and fish. And then Nate and I watched Valentines Day and ate Culvers. Yay for french fries, romantic comedies, and America!

Today Nate played golf, then we went over to see our friends the Vuongs and meet their sweet baby girl, Kiley. She is precious. I thought maybe my uterus would start quivering at the sight of a newborn (an adorable GIRL newborn, I might add), but I left feeling surprisingly okay with just the one boy child I have. He's kind of a lot of work. Plus he woke up at 4am this morning, so I think I'm just too tired to quiver.

Turns out it was a full, fun weekend at home with the two I love most. Minimal crazy-making by the husband and quite a bit of cuteness from the small one.

Hmpf. Four whole days. Who knew?

Fun at the farm:


And the picture I can't stop laughing over:


I love both of my crazy-makers to bits.

Aloe and Advil.

Nate and I were white. Pasty, pasty shades of white. Well, I was, at least. Nate was pasty for him, which is still about four shades darker than me.

So, why, why, why, why did we think we could survive the Mexican sun — in late May — wearing spf 45?

Silly pasty white Breyers. Although pasty really isn't the word for it anymore. Now we're both slightly sunkissed (that's the nice way of saying "not tan") and super peely.

Despite generous aloe applications, regular doses of Advil, and not being able to touch each other (or, you know, sleep on our backs...or shower...or walk) for nearly five days, we had a really amazing vacation. It was fun to leave work and school and parenthood behind for a few days, though we admittedly found it hard to talk about anything else for the first day or two. We spent eight years alone, only talking about ourselves, and now after one year as parents we have a hard time talking about anything else. It took a day (and a few mango margaritas) to find our way back to just being Nate and Abby, and not Calvin's parents, but we got there. And it was just as good as it always was, maybe even better.

We ate well (that probably goes without saying), laughed a lot (we are such dorks), and did some serious relaxing (when your legs are so burnt you can't walk, you kind of have to). It was the almost* perfect way to celebrate five years of marriage, surviving the first year of parenthood, and Nate's graduation.

*Next time I'm bringing spf 100. Or 150. Do they make 150? They should.

And now, a series of photos of the two of us, taken by us, or one of us, taken by the other. Photos are tricky when you're on vacation alone.

Together (you can see the sunburn progression from horrible to marginally improved):




















































Alone, each of us looking kind of ridiculous:












































































Random scenery and some iguanas:































































And, finally, the photo we took to prove that we've been in a bar in the last five years. Granted, it was noon, we were waiting for our taxi to the airport, and we were the only people there. But we're still cool! Seriously! I promise!

Recipe for the perfect weekend.

Takeout from Holy Land (the sheik's dinner for two, which is more like dinner for 20) + my husband making me cry by giving me four place settings of our wedding china (completing my beloved set) + renting The Blind Side + getting to sleep in until an unprecedented 7:50am + morning trip to the farmer's market as a family + dropping Calvin off for a sleepover at Grandma and Grandpa's house + gift certificate from Nate's parents to our favorite B&B + afternoon matinee of Date Night + incredible dinner at Bar La Grassa + finding out my parents had taken care of the bill for incredible dinner at Bar La Grassa + cheesecake and coffee at Cafe Latte + staying out past 10pm on a Saturday night + sleeping in on Sunday morning + leisurely breakfast and newspaper reading at Bread & Chocolate + picking up our adorable baby from Grandma and Grandpa's + grilling bacon wrapped asparagus and cheese stuffed chicken breasts from Brine's for dinner + eating Nate's homemade strawberry rhubarb crisp + laundry done + kitchen clean + bed at a reasonable time = a very good way to celebrate five years of marriage.

Date night.

Calvin had his first sleepover at Grandma and Grandpa's Friday night, which meant we had our first night alone in almost eight months.

We went to dinner! By ourselves! At 8pm! Somewhere nice!

I felt we should commemorate this momentous occasion with a photo.

Here we are post-dinner — tired, happy and very (very) full. And Nate's wearing an acorn pin because, really, what's a night out without an acorn pin?

Don't ask, because I really don't know. But it sure made me laugh.

First came love, then came marriage...

Then came Calvin, our precious baby boy.

Calvin John Breyer
May 15, 2009
3:45pm
9lbs 11oz
21 inches

We are so happy.

An ordinary life.

About a year ago, my mom told me she thinks Nate and I have one of the great love stories.

My reaction to this was: "huh?"

I mean, yes - Nate and I have a really good relationship. We love each other deeply, we are the best of friends, and neither of us could imagine life without the other. But one of the great love stories? Like Romeo and Juliet, or Heathcliff and Catherine? We don't have nearly enough drama or excitement in our lives to go up against couples like that.

But those are fabricated love stories, not tales of couples dealing with everyday life. Real couples have mortgages and jobs and financial stress. Real couples get so busy they barely see each other, and when they do it's to kiss good morning before rushing out the door. Real couples fight about real things, like who forgot to pay the water bill and how the car is 3,000 miles over for an oil change and why it's never a good idea to invite people over without checking with the other person first.

Nate and I are very much a real couple.

We love each other, but we drive each other crazy. We don't always agree. We don't always do things in a way that makes the other person happy. We take our bad days out on each other. On the nights we're both home, we're likely to sit on the couch and stare at the TV for a few hours before heading to bed, where our dog sleeps between us (talk about romance) and we fall asleep to reruns of Friends.

In most ways, we're just your typical tired, over-worked couple.

And yet. There is something not-so-ordinary about these ordinary moments in our life.

Yes, we argue. But very rarely, and never about anything important. And even during our biggest, loudest, most dramatic fights (the drama is all me, Nate isn't much for yelling), we end up laughing. Always, without fail. We just can't stay mad at each other.

When we sit and stare at the TV at night, we cuddle up against each other and talk. We giggle at The Office and 30 Rock and our amusing dog. Nate plays with my hair, and I scratch his hand, because he loves that.

When we go to bed, we always kiss goodnight and say we love each other. We fall asleep curled together — Nate's hand on my belly, Mattie snuggled between us — our little family of three and a half.

On the nights when he works late and I go to bed alone, he always kisses me and tells me he loves me when he comes home. I am usually too sleepy for much of a response, but in the morning I always have a vague, dreamy memory of being kissed goodnight.

We lay in bed every morning and talk — about the previous day, the day to come, our plans for the weekend. And then the dog barks at Nate for her breakfast, he wrestles with her on the bed, I yell at them both to behave, and we end up laughing as we get up and begin to go about our separate days.

I married my very favorite person in the world four years ago today. And I can say with all honesty that even when life is hard, too busy, or just plain dull — we are happy.

Our life is very ordinary. But our love for each other is anything but.

And if that's what my mom meant when she said we have a great love story, I would have to agree.

Here we go...

I love my dog.

Love, love, love her. I look at Mattie's cute little face, and I get all melty inside. I love when she climbs on my lap to chomp on her bone, and I really love when she gets in our bed and wiggles her way under the blanket to curl up next to me. I love when she prances around with two toys in her mouth (she is a very talented puppy), and when she plays "soccer" — batting a ball around with her little white paws, always with another toy in her mouth. I love how excited she gets when I come home from work, and how she leaps and spins around in delighted circles while waiting for me to feed her dinner. I love how she gives me the stare-down with those big brown eyes whenever I'm eating anything — she's smart, and I'm an easy target.

Mattie has brought so much happiness to our home — Nate and I both adore her, and neither of us can imagine our life without her. She's badly behaved (they could have easily called the book "Mattie and Me" instead of "Marley and Me") and she's spoiled rotten, but she's ours. We are madly in love with her.

Which is why I'm a little concerned about how much we are both going to freak out come May 24, the anticipated arrival of baby Breyer.

If I love my dog that much — a dog who has chewed on our woodwork, eaten my underwear, barfed chocolate cupcakes all over the interior of my car, left hair on every surface of my house, dug holes in our yard, chewed up two pairs of my shoes and cost us many dollars in unnecessary vet visits — how much am I going to love my child?

This scares me.

I didn't even like dogs a year and a half ago. And now I sob every time I see that Sarah McLachlan save the dogs infomercial.

We are in for it, big time. That little baby is going to turn us both into huge piles of mush and I am going to become sappy and overprotective and annoying.

I'll be a mom.

And I can't wait.

Aloha!

Having been a bridesmaid 11 times — and the personal attendant/guest book attendant/greeter in at least five weddings — I have thrown my share of showers. In fact, I would consider myself a bit of a pro when it comes to all the wedding rigmarole. I think I've got it down.

However, when it came time to throw a shower for my sister, I felt a little underprepared.

My attendants threw me what was quite possibly the loveliest shower I've ever been to. It was beautiful and elegant — kind of like a mini-wedding. They set the bar pretty darned high.

Now, Jill's not a fussy person. She's actually pretty casual and laid back about stuff like that. She has a beautiful, well-decorated home, but she's not stuck up or into super fancy stuff. However, I wanted her shower to be just as nice as the one she threw for me.

Unfortunately, she's having an October wedding — and her colors are red and black. Beautiful for a fall wedding, less ideal for a Sunday afternoon shower in the middle of summer. Her bridesmaids and I toyed with the idea of a fall theme, but then Laura suggested a Hawaiian shower in honor of Jill's honeymoon spot. I loved the idea, but insisted that it had to be an elegant Hawaiian theme.

In other words, no plastic luau junk from Party City.

My mom and I got to shopping right away. (Any excuse to buy more serving pieces.) We found beautiful ocean blue glass dishes at HomeGoods, along with a lovely white tablecloth that had a simple blue stripe around it. I bought shells and sand and beach glass, and dainty little paper flowers. My mom found pretty candles with shells in them, as well as these green glass leaf platters and plates. All of which met my rigorous requirements for an elegant shower.

But, inevitably, we started to buy the plastic luau junk. Hawaiian stuff is everywhere in the summer, and we got a little over-excited. I bought bright colored paper napkins. My mom bought paper lanterns and grass skirts. Laura bought leis and drink umbrellas. My mom found a straw cover for the patio umbrella.

And then I kind of freaked out. I knew we needed color — otherwise it would have just been beachy, and not Hawaiian — but could not visualize how we were going to combine these beautiful glass pieces with plastic grass skirts. It was really stressing me out. (That might sound a little dramatic, but that is exactly the type of stuff I get stressed out about. We won't get into my anxiety attack over the possibility of the bridesmaid dresses not exactly matching the table overlays at my wedding.) Thankfully, my mom calmed me down and I became determined to make it work, Tim Gunn-style. Worst case scenario, I wouldn't use any of the plastic stuff.

But I did use the plastic stuff, and it turned out SO CUTE!

It wasn't the fancy shower she threw for me, but it was really pretty and a lot of fun. I hope she was as happy with it as I was.

Now it's on to the next shower — my sister-in-law Mary and I are throwing one for our soon-to-be sister-in-law Callie in a mere three weeks. Let the anxiety begin...