I still think children are good for a marriage.

Way back when I started blogging, I was very shy about writing about marriage. It's a tricky topic and, though I venture there a wee bit more these days, I'm still hesitant. But I got bold one day way back when. I think I was bothered by somehting I read. (Isn't anger a great motivator to write? On second thought, don't answer that.) I wrote about how openness to life made us better--better spouses, better friends, better Christians. That piece has been republished today at Suscipio. Won't you join me there?

Perfect, Part 2

This is Perfect Part 1

Thank you for all your kind words and your prayers yesterday. The secret was a huge success! I had envisioned slipping in and standing next to him as we watched the show, but I knew there could be production glitches that would call the whole thing off. Last week, I enlisted the help of our dear family friend, Frankie, who works in Mike's office. I shared the idea and asked him if he thought it too crazy. He was enthused and thought it might work, given a tidy production day. We both acknowledged that sometimes first days aren't all that tidy. The plan was to check in with Frankie around 2:00. If all was good, I'd hit the road. It's a bit more than an hour into the city from our house. 

At 11:46, my phone rang. It was Mike. I knew that they were shooting at noon. My stomach dropped and my heart leapt. I was sure something was terribly wrong. Why in the world would he call so close to "action" time? Because that's the time we exchanged our vows. He just wanted to say, "I still do."

We chatted for just a few minutes and I hung up very pleased that I was still keeping the secret.

At 2:00, I checked in with Frankie and he said there were some glitches but to come on. Patrick and I drove into the city and Paddy dropped me off at Mike's office at 3:30. Frankie met me in the lobby and helped me clear security. He explained that the glitch was pretty big and he was going to sit me in Mike's office until it was a good time to tell him I was there. I was a little bummed that I wouldn't see him, but really glad I'd enlisted Frankie's help. The last thing I wanted was to be in the way and I knew Frankie would keep me from doing that.

I sat at Mike's desk and doodled little notes and pictures on a notepad. I'm sure he'll smile when he goes to jot things today. I left yesterday's blog post up on his computer. And then, I started to get a little concerned. It was 10 minutes to air and I couldn't figure out how to work the TV on his office wall. How ironic would it be if I came all this way and missed the show? I texted home. My teenagers always help me with TV issues. No luck. So I stuck my head out the door and 'fessed up to all those TV guys that I couldn't even turn it on. After getting all tuned in, I settled in to watch the show. In his office. By myself.

But it was fine. I was pleasantly surprised by how much I liked the show (I'd had my doubts). Frankie checked in a couple times to tell me that the glitch was unglitching, but that Mike was crucial to making sure it all went well. At the end of the show, a huge cheer went up in the ESPN wing of the ABC building. And I think I heard an audbile collective sigh of relief. It was way fun to be there for that. 

After the show was over, Frankie insisted Mike come upstairs to his office. I'm pretty sure Mike was annoyed with Frankie;-). He opened the office door, saw me sitting there, and literally did a double take. A smile slowly spread all over his face and he said, "You're here. Wow. You're here." I explained the rest of the plan, shared that we had reservations at 7 and that he had plenty of time to do all the things he had to do. If we needed to go a little later, we could do that, too. Then I curled up in the corner with my Kindle and let him do his thing.

When he was satisfied that all was well with his corner of the television world., we walked to this restaurant, a block or so from the White House. On the way, Mike said he really couldn't believe I'd done this whole thing, that I'd appeared on this day. I was quiet and he went on to elaborate. You have fear of cities (um, yeah, that whole agorophobia thing). Today was the first day of full ballet and soccer driving--everybody has something. HOW did you manage that? (With fine-tuned precision and a lot of help). You were afraid that because the 10th anniversary of 9/11 was a Sunday, the new attack would come on the next day. (You knew that? I never said that! How did you know that? But, yeah, that was the big obstacle. And then I remembered that you flew the first day planes went up ten years ago and you have said ever since then that the terrorists win if we let them make our plans for us. So I did this for you. Because you're brave. I am not.)

Fear is a thief. I've allowed it to rob me far too many times.

After dinner, we walked in front of the White House and across Lafayette Square. I noted that there is an American Craft exhibit at the Renwick Gallery and promised myself to come back soon. Mike and I chatted about art, craft, and creativity. I'm grateful for a life that allows us both to do things we genuinely love to do. We went back to the studio and turned off all the lights. We gathered up the leftovers of the Georgetown Cupcakes emblazoned with the new show's logo and took them back to our kids. 

A perfect ending to a very sweet day.

We're in this together.

Twenty-four years ago, we said "I do." Sometimes, it's hard to remember the people we were back then, the dreams we dreamed, the plans we made. We said "in sickness and in health." Boy howdy, did my new husband get more than he bargained for there--nine months of pregnancy nausea followed quickly by chemotherapy and radiation. He married a petite, long-haired girl and by the time we celebrated our third anniversary, I'd been fat and bald (and throwing up) most of our married life . He was a very good sport.

In all seriousness, he was better than a good sport. He was everything I could have ever hoped for and more than I ever imagined. He was with me at every single doctor's appointment. Every single blood draw. Every step of the way. We walked that path alone. Together. None of our friends were married yet, never mind married with a baby and cancer. Many of our friends from high school and college walked out of our life as we walked this unpaved path. Together, we found a strength in Someone bigger than we were. Together we dreamed hope. 

And we were never the same. It was never him and me again.

It was us. Together. With God.

Then the babies came. It takes a very strong man to say "yes" to every opportunity to be co-creators with God. A very strong, very faithful, very hard-working man. One after another, every two years until there were seven of them, all lined up like a staircase, each one looking very much like the next one. Seven precious souls to love and cherish and teach and drive to soccer. It was still us--but us plus them. Busy. Busy. Busy. Mike building a career. Me, holding down the fort at home. Still together, but sometimes, much more often than we liked,  just in spirit.

Two more really hard pregnancies, the second one a refresher course in life-threatening goal setting. There he was again, right beside me every time it got so scary I thought the fear would crush me. Lovely miracles, two golden haired sweethearts. They are his heart's delight. Even now, nearly three years after the second was born, I can't quite believe how generously and abundantly our good God answers our fervent prayers.

{Speaking of prayers, I have prayed for Mike every day since we were sophomores in high school. That's a crazy lot of prayers. Thirty years of daily prayers. 10,950 days worth of prayers. }

But back to those babies. Nine babies in all--nine babies to feed and clothe and educate. He has worked so hard all these years, often far away in a TV truck parked outside one stadium or another. He has spent many a night in hotel bed, trying to sleep just a couple of hours before catching the early flight home. And I've been here, trying to do all the things that need doing, trying to craft home, even when home is a lonely place without him. Together we've done the best we can. So often, he calls and he says he I wishes I were there. I believe him. I wish I were there, too. He's really good at what he does in those trucks and those studios and I wish I could come alongside him more often and watch him in action.

Early this year, we made a gut-wrenching decision. He sacrificed a huge opportunity and a long-hoped-for title and we prayed the tradeoff would be to settle down a bit at last. The whole idea was to bring him home. That hasn't quite worked out yet (though I'm assured it will very soon). He has been gone a lot since that decision, finishing up his freelance work and then working indescribably long hours  to launch a new show. The show is shot in Miami, but produced in DC. He has done his level best to be both places at once. Neither place is home.  

Today is our 24th wedding anniversary. Today, that show launches. He has a big day ahead of him. He will be working from dawn until showtime. Then, late in the afternoon, he will watch the show become what he envisioned-- in a cold studio in another city. And just like every other time, he will want to share the moment.

This time will be different.

A lot of people who love us (most of them those aforementioned babies) have come together to cover all my bases at home. God willing, when that show goes to air, and Mike is watching months of work come to fruition, he will be surprised to see me standing right beside him. 

Because, today, I can't imagine being anywhere else.

{Thanks for listening to this story. I have never surprised my husband with anything; I have a very hard time not telling him my every thought. So, the writing of this piece was therapy. I had to spill it somewhere and telling Karoline didn't seem a prudent option. So, I will set it to auto-post at a time I am quite certain he won't see it. That means that you are in on the secret, because really I'm a terrible secret keeper and I had to tell someone and you are much less likely to spill the beans than my little girls.}

Maybe if I write it, it will leave me alone

There was an earthquake here yesterday. The day was bright and beautiful and clear as a bell. I'd just come inside from dropping Paddy off at the pool to lifeguard and I hustled Sarah into the bathroom before taking her to the doctor. There, the house shook and a low rumble filled the air for what seemed like a very long time. I yelled to my kids to stop roughhousing in the house (though I couldn't imagine what they were doing to make the whole house shake). When they said they weren't doing anything, I told them to turn off the washer. Most crazy off-balance spin cycle ever. They told me the trees outside were shaking. We all figured out that it was an earthquake just as it ended. 

Three trophies fell from an upstairs shelf. They broke. No big deal. They were Division 2 trophies.

I talked to my sister--the queeen of hyperbole--and learned there was a tidal wave in her backyard pool. I checked in with my mom and my dad. I left a message on Mike's voice mail. He called back a few minutes later and we briefly connected before his phone went dead. That happens all the time.

I scooped up Sarah and we went to the previously scheduled doctor's appointment. Business as usual. I thought about how it was kind of cool to have felt an earthquake, particularly since there were no reported serous injuries or deaths. 

Most of my children left to go a long-anticipated sleepover at their cousins' house. Mike's sister commented that it was taking her husband forever to get out of the city. Mike decided to stay and wait out the crowd. So, the handful of people left at home ordered Chinese carryout. They watched a movie and I sewed.

Mike returned home around 9:00. I asked him if he'd been in his office when the earthquake happened. He said that he was two stories underground in the studio. He described the same thing we felt here. Only he was underground. A stone's throw from the White House. He didn't think roughhousing kids. He didn't think off-balance washing machine. He thought "if that was a bomb I should..."  "If that was a plane I should..."

When  you work in Washington, D.C., you don't think first of earthquakes, you think of a clear September day ten years ago and you think of bad guys who would be tickled to watch the federal government scramble in fear and chaos. When he told me about his earthquake moments, it stopped me in my tracks. It still brings tears to my eyes.

That studio is in the basement of ABC Washington. It didn't take long to find out it was an earthquake. Mike went outside and saw the panic in the streets. It's easy to poke fun of the silly people in Washington, DC who are overreacting to a minor earthquake. And it's the fun thing to do to get on Facebook and giggle over incompetent folks who work in our nation's capitol. But it's another thing entirely to think about my dear man, working to support his family yesterday and wondering if the world had been rocked the way it was ten years ago. No matter what I think about our government and the people who do or don't get things done in DC, I have to applaud the courage of the men and women who got back in their cars this morning and drove over those bridges. Because really, it's hard to shake that "what if" feeling.

Yarn Along

The knitting pace is picking up.It's so nice to have hit a knitting rhythm again! I have taken six children to the dentist in the last 24 hours and Sarah visited the pediatrician--lots of waiting room knitting. Tomorrow, we have 5 orthodontist appointments and then Friday will bring some labwork. I think this sweater might get as finished as possible without a trip to see Ginny this week.

It's been nice to knit in waiting rooms and talk with recptionists about knitting. One of the ladies behind the desk at the dentist told me all about how her mother taught her to knit when she was little. She said she hadn't knit in years. Then, she went on to remember how it's a wonderful stress-buster. Pretty sure there's a visit to a yarn store in her near future:-).

I'm reading Young and in Love: Challenging the Unnecessary Delay of Marriage. I did receive a complimentary copy of this book in exchange for a review and I'm breaking radio silence this week because that review is overdue (and because I missed talking with y'all  about knitting.). The topic of early marriage is one that fascinates me. By today's standards, I married young. Since one of my children is already older than I was when I married (he's actually older than I was when he was born), it's a topic whose time has come around again. I haven't finished the book, but there is one critical point that absolutely rings true with me: young people today have a tendency to extend the immaturity of their teen years well into their twenties and delaying marriage is part and parcel of that selfish behavior. Often, delaying marriage is not about delaying gratification and waiting until one is mature and capable of establishing a household; it is instead, about choosing to behave as if they were the center of a universe that exists solely for their pleasure. 

Ted Cunningham, the author, validates young love. He doesn't dismiss the idea that there are young people who know that they have found the spouse God intends and he encourages them to get married and begin the life of love God wants for them. He gives a young couple tools for evaluating the relationship and for forging a solid bond. It's a worthwhile read and it is certainly food for thought and for discussion. If God is trying to knit a couple together, society shouldn't tangle it all up. Every relationship is unique. When I consider my own relatively young marriage, I'm always astonished. How did we know? How did we do that? Where did we get that sure confidence and exuberant joy? It was the grace of God. Only the grace of God. And 25 years after making that decision, it's still the grace of God that fuels the union. No matter how many books are written or how many scholars and pastors weigh in, no matter how many demographic studies are done, the most important thing I want my children to consider God's will for this most important decision. 

Go visit Ginny for more reading and knitting inspiration.