Remember when you were a child and you thought “when I grow up, I can do whatever I want?”

Adulthood. It’s when you get do whatever you want! It’s when get to buy whatever you want!

When my husband and I were newly married, I bought something I had always wanted, because I could. I bought a 12-foot trampoline to go smack in the middle of our yard. To me, jumping on a trampoline = bliss.

When the trampoline was delivered, I was giddy! My husband and I promptly set it up in the yard and we proceeded to jump. And jump. We jumped for two hours straight. And then.

Ugh. We got the worst headaches. Too much jiggling our brains, I guess.

It was the saddest realization: I was too old to jump on my beloved trampoline. We took it down, boxed it up, and shipped it back.

So much for adulthood.

‘Tis the season to be thankful. Thankful for dirty dishes? Thankful for eye wrinkles?

Dude! It’s all in the way you look at things. I am thankful for:

1. Dirty dishes. We always have plenty of food.
2. Sand in my car. My car reliably transports us to the beach.
3. Dog fur on my clothes. My puppy loves to cuddle.
4. Expensive grocery store bills. My kids have good appetites.
5. Long work hours. I have a good job.
6. An errand to Home Depot. It’s a date with my husband.
7. Being a chauffeur. My kids have interests.
8. A noisy house. My family is thriving.
9. Dirty soccer cleats. My kids are active.
10. Gloomy, rainy days. The grass is always green.
11. Piles of dirty laundry. I am needed.
12. Stepping on Legos with bare feet. My kids are creative.
13. My mortgage. My house is my home.
14. My children yelling. They are normal.
15. My slow-ass jogging skills. I am trying.
16. Eye wrinkles. Lots of smiling and laughing going on.
17. Exhaustion. My life is full.

Life. Health. Family. Love. Abundance. To be needed. I am thankful for it all.

It was a decade ago when my husband gifted me a guitar for my birthday. It was the sweetest birthday present ever. Sweet because he was supportive of my “musical dream.”

You see, I kinda wanted to be like Maria from The Sound of Music.

Dorky, right? Are you kidding? Maria was freaking awesome.

I wanted to learn to play Do Re Mi Fa and Old MacDonald Had a Farm for my young son. I was eager to strum along in his Kindergarten class down the line, to entertain the children with my forthcoming talents.

A glistening, wooden acoustic guitar smiled at me, beckoning. With new red picks, a tuner, a guitar case, and everything!

I tried to pluck. I tried to strum. I watched the DVD Playing Guitar for Dummies.

But I couldn’t do it.

I tried. For days. Weeks.

I just couldn’t get the hang of it.

Then, I got pregnant with my daughter. And I got busy with other things. Years passed. My guitar sat lonely in the corner of our living room, gathering dust.

Years later, people would visit and see the guitar and ask, “Cool. Do you play?” “Yeah, I play,” I would lie. Because saying “No, I never learned,” sounded so lame.

I later tried playing from time to time, but I didn’t have the patience (or the skill). I tried Guitar Hero. And I sucked at that too. Red. Green. Blue. Green. Red. Red. Yikes!

Now my daughter is nine and is learning to play the “fancy guitar in the corner of the living room.” We dusted it off. Bought her some new strings and neon picks. She has the patience. And she seems to have some talent.

I smile at her enthusiasm as she strums. And I smile that it was my husband who bought me the guitar in the first place.

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One wedding day. While I could write about the beauty and love and sweetness of that one day, I decided to write about all the other little things that made that day memorable.

• One rainy day in June, in a summer of hot, sunny days. Outside wedding, with no back-up plans.
• One manicure and pedicure. The bride’s first.
• One ginormous piece of chocolate cake gobbled down by the bride an hour before the ceremony. Nerves. And starvation.
  
• One floppy-hat-wearing woman in a floral dress took over the bride’s bathroom and changing area–and would not leave. Yikes! No place to change!
• One janitor’s closet brimming with mops, down the hall. Bride’s father saved the day and stood guard while she wiggled into her dress, knocking over brooms.
• One hug by a well wisher, pre-ceremony, left one red lipstick stain on the bride-to-be’s puffy sleeve. Club soda needed pronto!
• One dry spell, moments before the ceremony, lifted the clouds so the bride and groom could exchange their vows in sunshine.
• One couple, with the biggest grins you ever saw, standing before 30 people. A small wedding. With big heart.
• One starched groom, who found he was allergic to the starch in the rental tux shirt. Puffy, itchy head-to-belly rash post-ceremony. Only to be cured by 48 hours of honeymoon sunshine.
• One long table with all the swordfish, garlic mashed potatoes, endive salad and three-tiered chocolate cake you could eat. Oh and Robert Mondavi wine all around.
• One hefty restaurant tab for the newly-married couple. Who would take nearly two years to pay off. Independence.
• One drunk chauffeur. Who swerved and sped down the freeway, in the black Towncar, to get the bride and groom to the airport to catch their midnight flight..
• One airport snafu. The plane tickets were in the bride’s married name, yet her passport and driver’s license were in her not-married name. Houston: we have a problem. A stopover in Houston, Texas to plead to the authorities. Have pity on the bride, wearing her jeans and veil on board.
• One red-eye flight to Puerta Vallarta, Mexico. On our wedding night.
• One week off of work from our first out-of-college jobs. Not much vacation time accrued when you’re just starting out.
• One afternoon, upon arrival, with Macarena playing in the background, was one happy couple who passed out from exhaustion, poolside.

One memorable wedding day. And life for this one couple is still just as quirky and funny and love-filled and riddled with goof-ups, 6,935 days later.

Never look a gift horse card in the mouth.

Someone gave my husband a $100 gift card to fancy schmancy restaurant. Not a chain restaurant. And definitely a no-kids-menu restaurant.

It was a teensy tiny place with white table cloths and candles. With a menu written in calligraphy.

Date night! We had big plans of ordering tons of drinks. Tons of apps. Tons of food. Tons of dessert.

I even wore something with a little elastic around the waist to account for expansion.

But whaddya know. After scanning the menu–gulp–prices were so high, our visions of drinks and apps sorta dissipated. Even with the $100 gift card.

“We’re fine with water,” I told the waiter.

I ordered the mushroom ravioli with cream sauce. And my husband ordered the chicken with pesto and pine nuts.

No apps. No extra drinks. Face it. We’re kinda cheap when it comes to restaurants. I mean, we’ll spring on beers and a pile of nachos as big as your Grandfather’s Chevy any day.

What can I say? I like big food. (I also like Sir Mix-a-Lot’s I Like Big Butts song…)

The salads arrived. Nothing special. Just your typical grass-and-weed mix. Crunch. Crunch.

Then the main course. And it looked like this.

I’m not kidding you. I thought I ordered RAVIOLIS. As in a huge pile of them. I felt like the giant in Jack and The Beanstalk eating a pea. What is UP with the ginormous plate and the itty-bitty food that cost as much as my winter parka

Do you take your knife and fork and slice up the one freaking ravioli?

And you won’t catch me offering, “Here honey, try some of mine.”

My husband’s meal was just as comical. He’s a big guy. Like NFL-quarterback big. You can’t fool him with the sauce drizzled in a spirograph pattern, creating an optical illusion.

We finished our dinner snack in about 8 minutes. Taking little bites and drinking lots of water.

The check came. That was that. We shelled out $20 of our OWN money for a tip. And left with our tummies grumbling.

Then we hightailed it Burger King for dinner #2.

giant plants. small portions. kaching.

This poem, The Prophet On Marriage, was read at my wedding ceremony. Nineteen years ago this year.

In this poem, Khalil Gibran–an author from Lebanon–wrote about togetherness and sharing, but also about being your own person and having your own space.

That Khalil. He was one smart cookie, I mean pita.

The Prophet on Marriage
by Khalil Gibran

Then Almitra spoke again and said…
“And what of Marriage, master?”
And he answered saying:

You were born together,
and together you shall be forevermore.

You shall be together when the white wings
of death scatter your days.

Aye, you shall be together even in the
silent memory of God.

But let there be spaces in your togetherness,
And let the winds of the heavens dance between you.

Love one another, but make not a bond of love.
Let it rather be a moving sea between
the shores of your souls.

Fill each other’s cup but drink not from one cup.
Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf.

Sing and dance together and be joyous,
but let each of you be alone,

Even as the strings of a lute are alone
though they quiver with the same music.

Give your hearts, but not into each other’s keeping.
For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.

And stand together, yet not too near together.
For the pillars of the temple stand apart.