Dear Beloved,

I had this great plan. Well, my first plan was that we would go back to the beach where we got married and, you know, renew vows and eat cake and drink champagne. Only that sort of didn't happen.

Then I told all my girlfriends I was going to have someone take a picture of me in my wedding dress, you know, sort of arty snapshot thing, that I could give you, only I would look okay in it, not totally thrown together. I had it lined up and planned for the day you were going to be working, but then you didn't work. Oops.

So then I started trying to think of back-up ideas, and the pressure of the ten-year anniversary gift started to freak me out every time I thought about it. You know how much I like ritual. I wanted something kind of formal and fantastic.

Then, just now, as I was getting out of the shower at 3, which I know is an extremely endearing quality about me, much like my inability to get out of bed and the fact that my feet stink, I decided to just take it. I didn't even wait for my hair to dry.

Only I forgot I got sunscreen on the lens of the phone camera at Worlds of Fun and didn't realize how heinously blurry these were until I emailed them to myself and opened them up, and dammit, I have a conference call in a half hour and then I have to go get the little angel, and you know this is how it is, this life thing that keeps happening while I'm planning the fabulous things I'm going to do for you.

But the carpet almost looks like the sand we stood on.

And the little beads still remind me of stars.

I couldn't get the whole dress no matter how I stretched and thus gave myself double chins. Another endearing quality: I have really freakishly short arms.

Maybe if I leaned over? Nope. Not going to happen.

Baby, I love you. I really wanted to get you something amazing, something heartfelt, but I realized I do have this blog, and maybe telling the Internet how lucky I am, how amazing you are, how astonished I am that our lives turned out so perfectly after these ten years, how much more comfortable I am in that dress than I was that day when I was so worried about the details and the sand and our relatives and friends, that today when I put on that dress all I thought about was us, and you, and how there's no one I'd rather see at the end of every day and when I first wake up and when something bad happens and when something good happens and when nothing happens at all.

I love you. Happy anniversary.

I had this post all composed yesterday, but then a bunch of stuff happened, and I ended up having to shut down my computer without saving it.  I'm kind of bummed, because that post was better than this one, or at least more sappy. It wasn't done, though, and there is no fast way to write a post about seven years of marriage.

Yesterday was my anniversary.  Today is my parent's anniversary.  Happy anniversary, Ma and Pa!

Seven years ago, my husband and I stood on a white sand beach in St. Pete Beach, Florida, and exchanged vows.  We were 27. At the time, that seemed old to be getting married.  (I live in the Midwest, remember.)  Now, I can't believe anyone let me DRIVE at age 27, let alone get married.  My generation gets married older, has babies older.  My parents got married when they were near the same age, but for their generation, they were OLD.  Funny how times change.  Maybe by the time the little angel grows up, kids'll be getting married right out of high school again - why not, when you can download your college degree onto your iPod?

I remember when we first got married, after a weekend spent driving to Iowa and back (there were many more of them then than there are now), we'd have to each go our separate ways for a few hours on Sunday night.  Too much togetherness.  We got on each other's nerves.  That doesn't really happen as often now, and I think it's because we've had to learn not to annoy each other, because with the little angel around, we have to be together more often.  There is no more running off to the gym or sinking into an entire afternoon of napping and sports on TV when we're feeling pissy.  There is no more avoidance.  We've learned to make adjustments so coexisting is easier.  We've learned to step out of the way in the bathroom proactively instead of bumping into each other and swearing.

There have definitely been some hard times, recent hard times, but the hard times overcome make the relationship sweeter.  I knew when I married my husband that he was funny and smart and strong and kind, but I didn't realize he would be so resilient, so handy, and so comforting. 

Yesterday I had a bad day.  There was a bad conversation, followed by a big dose of stress and a bunch of things left unaccomplished.  I started leaking tears on the way out of work.  S. and The Editor Across the Aisle sent me home instead of to a birthday happy hour that I wasn't supposed to attend anyway, because I was supposed to go home for my anniversary dinner, but I was feeling guilty about missing the birthday and feeling guilty about the bad conversation and not getting my beloved a fabulous anniversary gift even though we said we weren't going to and did I mention I'm always a little upset about things during the ides of the month?

So I drove home.  Made a few calls.  Cut off my beloved to take a call from my best friend, who I know is better at listening to me vent than Beloved is (he is great, but he IS a man).  By the time I got home, I thought he'd be pissed, because instead of being in a great and loving mood on our anniversary, I was strung out and stressed.  I pulled in to see him and the little angel getting out of the car, carrying roses.

Seven years ago, he would've been pissed.  Yesterday, he recognized that I was just having a bad day and in need of a little pick-me-up.  Of course, I melted, and felt bad that I hadn't gotten him anything.

"Ha ha," he said.  "I won."  And he walked outside to light the grill.

Seven years.  Some itchy, some not.  Getting better all the time.

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Julie won the Build-a-Bear gift card giveaway and you can enter to win free Lee Jeans capris or pedal pushers at Surrender, Dorothy: Reviews.

My best friend is getting married on Sunday.

My college roommates will be arriving soon. 

Four people are spending the night at my house on Friday.

We're grilling for somewhere from eight to ten people tomorrow night.

I'm meeting my parents an hour away to give them the little angel for the weekend (oh, and Blondie's seriously enormous, purchased-at-Home-Depot birthday gift) tomorrow morning.

A half-hour before I'm supposed to pick two friends up from the airport.

One of the people who is staying with me tomorrow night is allergic to cats.

Bella is going to the boarder's, but her dander must be banished as well as possible.

Bella is shedding all over the couch next to me as I type. (I'm working from home today.)

I'm working today.  I'm on a really important project.

We have found sponsors for book parties, and now I actually have to schedule them.

It's pouring.

I hope you have a fabulous Memorial Day weekend.  I've purchased copious amounts of alcohol, and soon as I address my horrifying to-do list, I'll be enjoying it with some of my very best friends in the whole world.  Enjoy the holiday.  See you Tuesday.

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Reviewing preservative-free spaghetti sauce at Surrender, Dorothy: Reviews.