Saturday, November 13, 2010

     It'll be eight years in July that we've been married.  For the first seven, I kept thinking to myself that it seemed like so much longer.  Like the number was too small to match our experience and our journey together.  It didn't accurately reflect the depth of our time together.  Beyond the days and the weeks and the months and the years has been the intensity with which we've loved each other. Who described numbers and time this way?  That it is more than just more or less.  It's forwards and backwards and sideways. Time isn't just felt in terms of where the sun's place is in the sky - it is felt in degrees.  The degree of drama in our first year. The degree to which we were in debt at the beginning. The degree of worry he endured over my questionable health for a while there. The degree to which I supported his musical aspirations. The degree of patience he had with my continuing education.  Time slowed for us. The time it took to find a house. The time it took the owners to move OUT so we could move IN.  The first holidays together, the long drives, the quiet evenings that we tried to stretch into days.

     Children changed time for us, too.  Emma made it more precious instantaneously.  From her first cry, time meant something totally new to both of us.  Ava did something different with time. She tightened up the schedule.  She made baths in to bath time, lunch into lunch time, and night-night into bedtime. She turned a cold front into fall shopping for the girls grocery shopping into menu planning.  They've both turned time inward on itself, too.  Because it's something we hoard, as well.  Time together, away from the world, at home and doing nothing with time except letting it wash over us like a low tide.

Eight years of marriage and ten years together in July.  Of any accomplishment, this is the one of which I'm most proud - being in love with the man I fell for in no time flat.